Cade opens the apartment door and holds on to Nana, leading her inside. She says, “I need to lie down.” She slips her arm out of Cade’s, shuffles to her room as Cade stares helplessly after her.

“Who did this to us?” Mikayla asks, once we’re sitting around the kitchen table. “Who could do something so hateful?”

“We’ll do our best to find out. Do you have surveillance cameras?”

Cade shakes his head. “No.”

“We never thought we would need them,” Mikayla adds, looking shattered. “This is a good community.” The words hang in the air, hollow.

Cade updates them on the additional articles and the letter to the editor by Reg Ashford.

Shawn frowns. “This isn’t the only incident that’s occurred within the last twenty-four hours. The Lake Towns Journal reporter’s car had swastikas keyed into the paint and—”

“Bethany Beshett?” I ask.

Shawn nods. “And headstones were toppled and smashed in a Jewish cemetery forty-five minutes from here.”

“Because we spoke out against the assignment?” Cade asks.

“Because people hate,” Shawn says.

Officer Tisdale asks us to email a list of every student who taunted us, threatened us, called us names. I ask, “What about teachers?”

“Everyone,” Shawn responds. “We’ll check around the premises, canvas the area, and speak to some of the other business owners nearby.”

“Are we safe?” Mikayla asks in a whisper. She reaches for Cade’s hand.

“If it will make you feel better, we can make arrangements to have someone keep an eye on the inn 24/7.”

Nana shuffles into the kitchen. “We’ll never be safe,” she says. Then she turns to Mikayla. “Where are your manners? These officers need some coffee and cookies.”

Chapter 51: Cade

After the police officers leave to speak with the neighboring business owners and Logan heads off to work at the library, Mom goes into Nana’s room to “talk.” The fear gripping Nana leaves me cold and scared and confused. Nana’s words replay in my mind. We’ll never be safe. No one but Mom and I understood what she meant, and when she served coffee and cookies, we talked about the community’s reaction and the lack of support. Officer Sullivan’s expression was grim. Officer Tisdale listened but showed no response. I had always thought of Riviere as a warm, welcoming town, but when Logan talked about the homes flying Confederate flags, the last remnants of our idyllic life crumbled into a pile of rubble. How did I not see it? What else have I ignored or missed?

As I sweep the kitchen floor, Mom walks in. “Nana’s resting.”

“This scares me, Mom,” I say. “What are we going to do?” My statement and question are so much bigger than the vandalism. It’s Nana. It’s her past. Our history. Our identity. The look on Mom’s face tells me she’s struggling just as much as I am.