The next afternoon, Brent found Betty sitting on the porch of her house, a book on her lap. She looked up as he approached, her expression cautious.
"What do you want, Brent?" she asked, her tone guarded but not unkind.
"I need your help."t.
She raised an eyebrow, setting her book aside. "With what?"
He hesitated, the words catching in his throat. "Megan. The baby. I need to figure out the truth, and I think the answers are back home."
Betty frowned, studying him carefully. "And you think I’m going to help you dig up your past?"
"I know I’m asking a lot, but no one else knows what it was like back there. No one else understands the people, the places—everything that could be connected to this. I need you, Betty."
She sighed, leaning back against the porch railing. "You’re dragging me into a lot of drama here, Brent. I’ve had enough."
"I know," he said quickly. "But I can’t do this without you."
After a long pause, she said, "Fine.”
***
The road stretched out in front of them, the familiar landscape of their hometown coming into view as Betty glanced at Brent from the passenger seat. His grip on the wheel was tight, his knuckles pale, and the tension in his jaw hadn’t eased since they’d left campus.
"You okay over there?" she asked.
He nodded stiffly but didn’t look at her. "Yeah. Just… weird being back, that’s all."
Betty could relate. The sights, the smells, even the way the air felt—it all tugged at memories she hadn’t wanted to revisit. Yet here they were, driving straight into the heart of them.
They parked outside the local diner, its neon "Open" sign flickering against the early evening sky.
"Ready?" Betty asked.
Brent exhaled, his hand lingering on the door handle before he pushed it open. "Let’s get this over with."
***
Inside, the diner was buzzing with the usual crowd of regulars, their voices blending with the clatter of dishes and the low hum of an ancient ceiling fan. It looked exactly the same as when they’d left years ago: cracked linoleum floors, mismatched chairs, and a jukebox that hadn’t worked since middle school. They slid into a booth near the back, their presence earning a few curious glances from the older patrons.
As they ordered coffee and chocolate pie, Betty’s ears perked up at a conversation from a nearby table. Two women, both middle-aged and hunched over their cups of tea, were talking in hushed tones, their eyes darting around as if to ensure they weren’t being overheard.
"She left fast, didn’t she?" one of them said.
"Too fast," the other replied, shaking her head. "Rumor has it, it wasn’t just high school drama."
Betty stiffened, her eyes flicking to Brent, who had heard it too.
"Think it was true, though?" the first woman asked. "You know, about the pastor?"
Betty’s stomach churned.
"Couldn’t say for sure," the other woman replied. "But something wasn’t right. Leaving town like that, no goodbyes, nothing? Suspicious, if you ask me."
Brent leaned back in his seat, his expression dark. "Did you hear that?"
Betty nodded, her mind racing. "Megan left right after the immersion, didn’t she? No one knew why."
"And now they’re hinting at… what? Something with the youth pastor?"
"Let’s not jump to conclusions. But if there’s something there, it might explain why she’s been so defensive."
Brent’s gaze dropped to the table. "She’s been hiding more than I thought," he muttered.
Betty reached out, placing a hand on his arm. "Is there anyone from the immersion that we can talk to?”
He looked up at her, his eyes conflicted but grateful. "Yeah, her best friend, Claire.”