Page 144 of When Fences Fall
I focus on my hands. “I don’t remember that.”
“Why would you? You loved your father and wanted to see the best in him.”
The room seems to tilt. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“You were young. You’d just lost him. What good would it have done to complicate your grief?” She takes my hand. “I’m telling you now because I want you to understand that people aren’t all one thing. Your father was a good man who sometimes made mistakes. And maybe Jericho is too.”
I pull my hand away, needing space from this new reality. “That doesn’t excuse what he did.”
“No, it doesn’t. But it might explain it.” She stands, patting my knee through the blanket. “Drink your chocolate before it gets cold. And remember—listening to someone’s story doesn’t mean you have to forgive them.”
She leaves, closing the door softly behind her, leaving me with more questions than answers.
I reach for the bourbon with a splash of hot chocolate, taking a small sip. The sweetness and bitterness are soothing my senses, making me feel more numb to the pain.
My father had a temper. My father got into fights. The narrative I’ve built my life around—innocent victim of senseless violence—suddenly has cracks in its foundation.
48
Jericho
I went by the diner to try to find Nora, but Roman said she wasn’t there. My knuckles are white on the steering wheel, tension climbing up my arms and into my shoulders until my neck feels like concrete.
When I pull back into my driveway, I sit there with the engine running, staring at nothing.
“Goddammit.” I slam my palm against the steering wheel, the sharp pain a welcome distraction.
I’d prepared for her anger, her disappointment. What I wasn’t ready for was the fear in her eyes. Like I was suddenly dangerous. A threat.
The same look they all gave me when I came back home.
I kill the engine and head inside, not bothering with the porch light. The darkness suits me fine. Inside, I strip off my wet jacket, toss my keys onto the counter where they skid and fall to the floor. I don’t pick them up.
A beer from the fridge. The cap twisted off with more force than necessary. Half of it gone in one long pull.
The house feels emptier than usual. Like something’s been taken from it. From me.
I thought I could outrun it. The whispers. The sideways glances. The assumptions. Four years inside taught me a lot of things, but apparently not that.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I ignore it. Probably Jethro checking in like he’s been doing every day since he left. Like I’m something fragile that might break if not watched carefully. Now I can’t face him even more than before because he was right; I should have told Nora everything myself. She should have heard it from me and not someone else, especially not Dick.
Another buzz. Then another.
With a curse, I pull it out, ready to tell him to back off. But it’s not Jethro.
It’s Cheryl.
We need to talk. Now.
Followed by:
I know you’re reading this. Don’t make me come find you and pull you out of your house in handcuffs.
And finally:
Off The Road. 30 minutes. Don’t make me use my badge.
Great. Just what I need. Big Love’s finest coming after me now. And she wants to meet at a bar, far from here. Probably scared to be seen with me but still needing to kick my ass, and I don’t blame her.
