Maggie pored through the piles of paper on her desk like a detective, looking for the details that would resonate with a complete stranger. In her application for assistance from the county, she went well beyond the facts⏤year built, number of square feet, value of lost inventory⏤and included a short narrative about each family touched by the fires. She knew from experience that she had to make this situation personal and tangible to whoever would be reviewing these forms. In the city, where everyone was more or less anonymous and unconnected, decisions were usually made by the book and nothing more. If she could spark a more intimate connection between the administrator and her now-homeless constituents, they had a much better chance of getting financial assistance. While their homeowner’s insurance would carry much of the burden, in her experience tragedy was always way more costly than expected, and burns always went way deeper than anyone realized. They would need all the help they could get, and it was her job to help them get it. Choosing the right words could make all the difference between a yes and a no.

Maggie always thought carefully about words, and in reading the archives of the West Vernal Observer, it was clear that its founder did as well. Old Wedderburn may have spoken in gold, but Serena Dutton spoke in paper. Maggie didn’t have to look too long or too hard to find everything she needed, hidden in plain sight for any good observer to see. No one looks for gold in a pile of garbage, but they should.

Some people set fires for the thrill of watching things burn, and some people set fires for the thrill of rebuilding from the ashes. Maggie was a rebuilder, and if Harry’s decision to buy the Dutton coins made everything around them crash to the ground, then it would fall to her to put everything back together. She put the finishing touches on the county application for rebuilding assistance, drove to the vast quarry on parcel 7, and dropped the coveted golden coin into the deepest open crack in the granite ledge. She listened as it jingled its way down into the darkness, leaned back against the strong, grey stone, and posted an anonymous video of her hand slipping the coin into oblivion. If she couldn’t stop the battle for the coin, she could at least redirect it away from everything she held dear. 

THE END

Copyright 2023 Kesel Wilson (entirely, 100% human-created)

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