That’s a good reason, I think. That, and we might finally be making some progress on the lawsuit. We have River getting us access to information we’ve never had before. We have proof that Duke and Nathan are up to something, even if we don’t know what yet. We have a sister pact and the resolve that comes with it. It’s not much, but it’s not nothing, and it makes everyone’s mass and sudden loss of faith that much more tragic. Nora doesn’t know any of that, but it doesn’t matter. For her, it’s tragic enough already.
“They’re. Evil.” Nora’s own eyes look witchy, black and bottomless.
“Maybe.” Zach steps back, away from her. “Maybe not. Maybe they’ve changed. Maybe Nathan is different from his father. Maybe mistakes were made, and it’s time to forgive and move on. What’s the worst that can happen?”
She flings her arms wide to enter into evidence all of them, all of us, all of it—Bourne-that-was versus Bourne-that-is and our whole world.
“Right,” says Tom. “The worst already happened. It can’t happen again.”
“Of course it can!” She didn’t mean to be so loud. I can see it in her face. “You think they’re chastened? You think they’re sorry? They’re triumphant. They learned they can fuck us over with not a single repercussion. They learned they can fuck us over, and not only won’t anyone out there notice”—she waves around at the rest of the world—“no one here will notice either. Or if we notice, we’ll move on soon enough. They should fuck us over because they make a shitpile of money doing it, and when they’re done, we bend over and beg them to go again.”
“They’re the answer to our prayers,” Hobart says, emboldened now because she’s yelling.
“You prayed for death, poison, and destitution?” Nora spits.
“We need jobs, Nora. We need money. We need something to do all day besides sit in here and drink. We can’t leave. We’re stuck here. Our property ain’t worth shit. Our houses. Our land. That ridiculous excuse for a school. What are my kids gonna do? Huh? Belsum is our last best shot. We have to give them another chance because they’re giving us another chance. If they come in and make good this time, it’ll be like they promised before. Growth. Opportunities. Our property values go up. Our town becomes less of a dead end. Our kids have a chance.”
“But at what cost?” Nora is shaking. Or maybe it’s me. Probably it’s both of us. “What about the principle here?”
“Well, now those are different questions.” Zach is making his voice sound reasonable. “We don’t know at what cost. Last time didn’t work out for them either. Must have cost ’em a fortune in lost revenue when they shut down. You figure they’d really rather not poison us if they could.” Weak smile. “They’ve worked out some kinks maybe. They’re less willing to take that kind of risk. They can’t afford to do it again. So probably no cost.”
“You can’t know that,” she interrupts.
But he keeps talking. “And we can’t afford to stand on principle, Nora. We literally can’t afford it. Only rich people get to stand on principle.”
“And besides,” Tom begins, then stops.
“Go ahead.” She knows what’s coming.
“You’re right.” He shrugs. “We’re already ruined. They can’t ruin us again. They’ve taken our livelihoods, our dreams, our confidence, our prospects. What the hell else is there? There’s nothing. We might as well let them come back and try. We’ve got nothing left to lose.”
She pauses, shakes her head, crosses her arms over her chest. “They’re not going to hire you.”
“They are, Nora.”
“They aren’t because you’re too fucking stupid. How are you going to work at a chemical plant when you’re this goddamn dumb? Frank wouldn’t hire you to mop the floors in this bar because you don’t have the brains for it. He wouldn’t hire you to carry rocks because the rocks are smarter than you are.”
“Frank,” Tom appeals to a higher authority. They’re cowed in her presence, and they’re sorry, but they’d still like not to be abused by their bartender.
“Don’t cry to Frank,” Nora says. “Frank’s the only one of you who’s not an idiot. Frank’s got sense and faith and isn’t about to let himself get fucked again by these assholes. Every goddamn one of you”—she’s calling out to the whole bar now—“dropped off the suit except me and Frank.”