Page 48 of Rules

"Mom," I muttered.

"She loved you, she still loves you, just like I do. We all want you to be happy." Tim's voice softened. "Does Ruth like you?"

"Don't."

"Why not? You need to live, Dad. Spoiler alert—there's more to life than being the pillar of virtue, sheriff."

The accusation stung. "That's not fair."

"Isn't it?" Tim challenged. "You've been that way my whole life."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"I think I do." Tim's voice remained gentle despite his blunt words. "You know Mom was vibrant, full of life. I don't know Ruth all that well, but it seems she has the same qualities. Mom also believed in seizing opportunities, in living fully. She neverwould have wanted you to spend fifteen years alone, punishing yourself for some imagined inadequacies."

I stood abruptly, unable to sit still under my son's too-accurate assessment. "It's more complicated than that."

"Is it? Or are you just afraid?" Tim remained seated, his calm demeanor a stark contrast to my agitation. "Afraid to take a chance. Afraid to let someone in. Afraid to admit that maybe, just maybe, you deserve some happiness."

"I have responsibilities," I argued, pacing the kitchen. "The town, the investigation—"

"Yeah, so?" Tim interrupted.

"She's too young," I countered back. "People would talk."

"How much younger? Don't make me call her and ask," Tim stared at me.

Clearly seeing he wasn't going to give this up, I let out an exasperated sigh. "Thirteen years."

"Shit, that's all? Who cares."

"You don't understand. She could want a family, I already have one. She's young and spry, I sound like a bowl of Rice Krispies every time I get out of bed. She doesn't want that. Not to mention, what would the town think of a Sheriff who robs the cradle."

Tim shook his head. "Damn, that's a lot of excuses there, Dad. First, have you asked Ruth if she wants kids? Asked if she sounds like a certain breakfast cereal in the morning? I mean, maybe she sounds like Corn Pops. I see the problem there—Corn Pops and Rice Krispies definitely can NOT be together. Goodness, you're right, whatever would the town folk say."

"Funny," I rolled my eyes.

"You're right, it is. Dad, all of those reasons aren't yours to make, they're Ruth's. Who, by the way, isn't a child; she's a grown woman with a thriving business. I'm pretty certain shecan make a good decision. Why don't you learn from her and make some of your own?"

The fight drained out of me. "When did you get to be so smart?"

Tim smiled, a sad little quirk of his lips. "I had a good teacher. A man who taught me to look for the truth, even when it's uncomfortable."

I closed my eyes, feeling the weight of years of self-imposed isolation pressing down on me. "I don't know if I can change."

"All you have to do is talk to her, with an open mind." Tim replied, pointing at me. "I bet she's a good listener."

"You think it's that easy, huh?" I couldn't keep the sarcasm from my voice.

"No, it's probably the hardest thing you'll ever do." Tim stood, coming to stand beside me. "But I think it's worth it. The way you talked last night, I think she means more to you than you're admitting to yourself."

I remembered fragments of what I'd said to him: her laugh, her strength, the way she challenged me, the copper fire of her hair.

"I called her last night," I admitted. "Told her pretty much the same thing I told you. That I'm a failure. That she deserves better."

Tim winced. "Yeah, women love hearing that from drunk men at midnight."

"I fucked up."

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