Chapter 7: A Difficult Decision

KC keeps looking around her, almost more paranoid than you are, and you are speaking barely audibly (the last thing you need is nosy-Joe butting into this top-secret…secret). It was hard to wait an entire day to talk to her about it, but you wanted to hear Hobb out before you spilled the beans. Taking that small step forward was frightening, and became even more so when you heard the proposal in full. It was unbelievable, but despite its preposterous nature, complicated things rather than making them easier.
“Let me talk to my dad,” she says after a long silence, uncharacteristic of her. “He knows people in those circles. Maybe he’ll finally be good for something.”
“What would that accomplish?”
“Well, at least it would verify the story. I mean, really: you are having to take their word for it and you barely know these people.”
“Yeah, I thought I might try to find some stories in the newspaper or something to see if it all matches up.”
“Of course—at the very least. But I’m saying that Dad knows people in that community. He could ask around, or heck, he might even know off the top of his head. When I mentioned who was doing your art show, he was really familiar with Trent and Hal.”
“You told him about the art show?”
“Duh, Will. We don’t see eye to eye but that doesn’t mean we’re estranged.”
“I was getting a very different impression.” Pause. “I don’t know—I technically shouldn’t even have told you. The more people who know, the more…I don’t know…dangerous it seems.” Your conversation is interrupted by a regular patron, whom KC helps cheerfully: her preoccupation isn’t evident—well, to others, anyway. When she returns, she immediately steers the conversation from the subject of her father back to your current plight.
“Okay: list time.” She pulls out a napkin and a pen from her apron. “Pros and Cons. GO.” You were waiting for this signature move, but you don’t roll your eyes this time.
“Pros: money.”
“It makes the world go ‘round.”
“More importantly, it would help me go around the world.”
“Next?”
“Justice? Helping Hal? He’s terribly likable. I don’t trust Hobbs as much, but Hal does, so I guess by association…” An influx of costumers. The list stays shoved in KC’s apron pocket for the next hour, but that doesn’t stop it from continuing to develop in both of your minds.

On your break, you jot down a few more ideas, but find it only minimally helpful. None of the positives seem able to outweigh the negatives: the one in particular that is most terrifying. In fact, when Hobbs spoke it, you were certain he was either joking or was experiencing a mental lapse. You haven’t told KC yet— not quite prepared for the magnitude of that impending flip-out. You look up over a last bite of your cheeseburger and the few remaining fries getting colder by the minute. There she is: busy mixing drinks, and filling and passing out pints with expert ease. Ever so often, she touches the corner of her glasses. Your mind drifts to a memory that you have worked hard to suppress. It’s been so long that it’s only in moments of real vulnerability that you find yourself returning there, and, unsurprised, you realize that you can recall every single detail: the words that were spoken, the look on her face. That was the day you learned what kind of crier she was—silent, dry, barely noticeable to someone less observant. You are lost in this place for a few solid minutes before she looks up to see you watching her. You simply share a quick smile before she beckons you behind the counter: it’s her turn to break, now.

It’s a special occasion, so you and KC find yourselves repeating your old tradition of walking downtown in the early hours of morning, drinking coffee and slowly making your way through a dozen glazed (with one sprinkled each). You make your way to a familiar park bench at the center of the city and settle in, chewing quietly, fighting away the occasional wave of tiredness.
“I know we’re on an entirely different subject, Will, but I have to ask you something else.” KC says, using a tone that you think very few others have ever heard: soft, vulnerable.
“Yep.”
“ Why are you so bent on getting out of here? What do you imagine is out there for you?”
“Why sound so fatalistic, like this is all there is?” You are surprised at her. “You are always asking me to dream big, to care about the direction of my life rather than just let things happen.”
“Yes, but I think you could accomplish that in the environment you’re already in. Do you think it will be easier in a new place?”
You lick glaze from your thumb before taking a sip of coffee. “Yes. I guess I do.”
“What’s holding you back here? Besides yourself.” She is so earnest that you can’t look into her eyes. You don’t have an answer.
“Well, what about you?”
“What about me?”
“Are you going to be a bartender for the rest of your life?”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“It’s a pretty small dream, don’t you think?” When did this conversation turn so sharp? You think briefly, but too late to stop what you are both already immersed in.
“Only if you think ‘dream’ and how you make money are synonymous.” She is caught up in it, too. “Why does my dream have to be monetary? Why can’t it be relational?”
“It just feels like your dreams are for other people, not for yourself. What are you dreaming for yourself?”
“Good friendships are what I dream of for myself.” She is stalwart, unbending.
“So you don’t want to sing, eh? You can take that or leave it.” You get the feeling you have caught her, but having that power doesn’t feel as satisfying as you initially thought it would be. You struggle to free her. “Never mind; forget it, really.” She doesn’t move, but you sense a struggle between her vocal chords and the words forming in her mind. “I just want to try something new. I want to be somewhere fresh—maybe it would jump start my passion or something? Sometimes I feel trapped here. As long as my mom is here…”
“Yes, your mother.” She breathes out. “I can understand that. But what I can’t understand…” after an unbearable pause, she jumps up and walks the few steps to the trashcan where she throws out her coffee cup. Not turning to face you, she says, “let’s start back.”
“KC,” you are a few steps behind her and tug at the strings dangling unevenly from the folded apron on her arm. “What can’t you understand? Tell me.” Finally facing you, she says evenly, slowly.
“I won’t be there.” You feel flush. Your fingers start to tingle, your forehead feels damp. “And I don’t see why we can’t be in the same city and you can be satisfied at the same time.”
“That doesn’t seem fair.”
“I know…I know.”
“But KC—“
“I know. I know.” She starts to walk and you catch up, then shorten your strides to stay in step.
“No—you’re not getting away from it that easily.” She refuses to slow down, but you refuse to ease up, pursuing her down this suddenly opened avenue. “That means something to me—you know it does.”
“Yes.”
“But you realize that by holding me to that, you are becoming one of those ‘holding me back’ factors.”
“Yes.”
“KC—you asked me not to…do I have your permission to…”
“No.” Mounting frustration hits its peak.
“No! You and your double standards.” You catch her elbow, stopping her forward movement. She does not resist, but can’t meet your gaze. “Well, I’m going to say it anyway: I would take you with me. I would do it in a moment. But you won’t—“
“Won’t? Can’t.”
“You won’t be able to hide behind that forever, Kathryn Cadence Cleary. No, it’s ‘won’t’.” Although her face exudes disagreement, her voice doesn’t chime in.
“I’m sorry, Will. I really shouldn’t have said anything. I wish I hadn’t. We can’t talk about this—you know that it’s pointless! With J in the picture, it really is pointless.”
“Well—you think so.” Despite the heatedness of the conversation, she is looking at you tenderly. You have always loved that you get to see beyond that curtain she holds up for everyone else. The guys at work would never believe her eyes could look like that. This is the KC you prefer. She knows that you are done, and you know it as well, although with such a lack of resolve, you’re not sure why. She speaks up again before you have a chance. “Any closer to a decision?” You gladly take the bait, ready to let go of at least one burden tonight.
“Yes, I think I am. Good ol’ listing!”
“Speaking of which—let me see it.” She holds out her hand and with a bit of nervousness, you place it in her palm. She unfolds it, but it only takes her a second to find the word you expect her to be fixated on. “What the heck--” she pronounces forcefully—such a sudden turn that you aren’t entirely prepared for it when it hits “—is this doing on here?” Her finger points to the first word scratched under the ‘con’ column: ‘jail.’
“Alright: here’s the deal,” she is fuming, so you speak quickly. “I have to take responsibility for the theft. That’s the key, according to Hobbs. I have to fess up to conspiring to take that money and have my car taken so it couldn’t be traced to me. That’s why I’m so important. I have motive and—well, it was my car. That could mean jail.”

KC hasn’t spoken to you in days. You’ve never gotten the silent treatment like this before—not from her. She is usually above such behavior but you can’t really blame her for resorting to it in this case. You know it’s because she’s afraid, anyway, because she can’t tell what you’re thinking. You know her enough to understand that she sees the great battle between your common sense and your dreams for the future. Neither of you could find anything to either contradict or confirm the finer points of Hal’s story—but you expected as much. So in the end, common sense and dreaming are what it boils down to. As you sit stiffly in the back of Hal’s car behind a silent chauffeur, watching tree by tree quickly left in your wake, you wish you weren’t doing this alone. And she’s the only one you have.

What happens next?

A. You agree to help Hal, despite the risks and the consequences.
B. You decide that you are not the only one in danger here: you have to decline.