Page 77 of Hometown Girl

She shoved the jar of bubblegum at him. “Here.”

To be polite, he took a piece and unwrapped it, then popped it in his mouth. While he didn’t consider Birdie a friend, it was nice to have a conversation with someone who actually knew who he was.

“Have you told the blonde the truth yet?”

He met her eyes but didn’t respond.

“I see.” Birdie took the pair of reading glasses that hung by a chain around her neck and propped them up on her nose, squinting at something on her easel. “What are you waiting for?”

The taste of bubblegum exploded in his mouth. “I don’t want her to know about any of this.”

“Why in heavens not? Maybe she can help you.”

Drew blew a bubble, let it pop, feeling like a ten-year-old again. Some vague part of him remembered sitting in here with Birdie and Jess. “What’s she going to do, crawl inside my head and figure out what’s broken?”

Birdie plunked her paintbrush in the water jar. “Did you ever think maybe you didn’t see the man? Maybe you don’t have a single answer locked inside your mind.”

Drew shook his head. “There’s something there. I can feel it.”

“Why? Because some adults told you there was.”

He didn’t want to talk about this.

“Maybe the adults got it wrong, kiddo. And telling that pretty girl the truth isn’t going to run her off.”

“I lied to her, Birdie.” He couldn’t tell Beth the truth now. They’d been working together for three weeks—he’d missed his window. Besides, he didn’t want people knowing he was the reason Jess’s case had gone cold. What would they think of him then?

She took the glasses off and stood, still behind the easel. “Well, then unlie to her.”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “It’s not that simple.”

“That girl cares about you. She’s not going to hold it against you that this terrible thing happened to you when you were ten years old.”

He spit the gum into the garbage can. You could only chew Bazooka Joe for so long. “How do you know she cares about me?”

And why did his pulse race at the thought?

Birdie sat back down on her stool. “A woman knows.”

“She just needs me to get the farm ready.”

“Keep telling yourself that, sonny.”

Birdie was obviously seeing things that weren’t there. She glared at him. “I think you need to realize you didn’t do anything wrong here.”

The words hung there, thick and heavy, the way dense fog hung over the meadow in the cool mornings.

“You were as much a victim as Jess was. And shame on those adults for not making sure you realized that.”

“I’m not a victim.” He stood.

She walked over to him, standing at least a foot shorter, and stuck her bony finger into his chest. “You were just a boy. You shouldn’t have had to carry the weight of any of that. And you’re still carrying it—I can see it on your face. I could see it the first day you walked in here.”

“I’m fine, Birdie.”

“Then why did you come back?”

He swallowed the lump that had formed at the back of his throat. It caught him off guard, this rare, unwanted emotion that proved she was right.

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