Pauline Kesler ran the community center. She’d run it for eleven years, ever since her husband passed, and she needed something to fill the hours. She was sixty-two years old, sharp as a tack, and she remembered every name that ever walked through her doors. That evening, Pauline stood by the entrance with a clipboard, checking off names as families arrived. Behind her, volunteers strung up the last of the string lights. Somewhere in the kitchen, a coffee urn the size of a small child was already gurgling to life.
Grant Wexler from the local news station was setting up his tripod near the stage. Cedar Falls didn’t get much news. A gala like this with a big check at the end of the night was about as exciting as it got. “We’re live at eight,” Grant told Pauline, “right after the demonstration.” “Perfect,” Pauline said, though she wasn’t quite sure yet what the demonstration would even look like. That part was new this year. A self-defense program for seniors donated free of charge by a local business. Pauline had been thrilled when the offer came in. Free classes, she’d told the board. What a gift. She had no idea what that gift was about to cost her town.
While Pauline checked her list and Grant checked his camera angles, a young woman in a gray community center polo shirt was quietly setting up folding chairs in rows of ten. Her name was Emily Reeves. She was twenty-five years old with light brown hair pulled back in a simple ponytail and the kind of face people described as pretty without ever quite noticing the details. That was fine by her. Emily had never wanted to be noticed.
She worked part-time at the community center doing whatever needed doing. Setting up chairs, mopping floors, fixing the ice machine when it jammed, which was often. She’d been there almost two years now, and most people in town knew her as the girl who kept the place running. Nobody asked much about her life outside of it, and Emily never offered.