His love for our family was never in doubt. “I know, Dad.”
“And I’m sorry things didn’t work out with Sawyer. That’s my fault, too.”
I nod. My throat feels thick at the mention of his name. “Dad…” I pause, deciding how to word what I’ve been wanting to say to him. “Sawyer thought it was weird his mom died so close to the HCC, while you were… you know.” I cannot say the wordaffair. Not to his face, anyway. “He asked the sheriff for the police report from that day.”
I gauge my dad’s reaction. There is none. Not even a tic along his jaw.
I swallow past the lump in my throat. “Was there anything weird about it?”
He leans against the sink, folding his arms across his chest. “I can see why he’d think that. If it were my mother, my mind would go there also. But the answer is no. Cynthia’s death was an accident. A terrible, tragic accident.”
Relief sweeps over me. “That’s what I thought.”
My dad pulls me in for a hug. His scent is the same as it’s been since I was a little girl. It’s the first time since Sawyer left that I feel comforted.
37
Jessie
I rode Titan today,and all it does is remind me of the last person I saw riding him. And also, of the horse I can no longer ride.
Hester Prynne's ashes are ready to be picked up, according to the voice mail left this morning. I'll get them tomorrow. My heart hurts just thinking about it, but it's a familiar feeling. My heart is in pieces anyhow.
Seventeen days since Sawyer left. Not that I’m counting.
After work, I picked up a bottle of wine from my cabin, then stopped at Wes's and requested his pistol. He eyed me warily, asked why I wanted it, then removed the gun from the safe and handed it over. He must think my reason is good enough.
I reach the spot where Hester Prynne broke her leg and get out. I stifle a sob and wipe away a tear. Three seconds before she stepped in that hole, I'd thought my life was perfect. Here I am now, and I've lost my horse and the man I'm in love with.
I unscrew the wine, drink from the bottle because there's nobody out here to care, and get down on my stomach next to the closest dirt mound. I've done my research. Those rodents like dusk, and a clean shot is the only way to get rid of them. Poison is off the table, because you can't have other animals eating them and getting poisoned as well. Trapping has a low success rate. Enter: the .22.
I wait. And I wait. I am still as can be. A furry little head pops up, and I curl my finger on the trigger. Take a silent breath. And—
Headlights swing my way, a truck in the distance. The gopher drops back into his hole.
"Goddammit!" I'm up on my feet, stomping in the direction of the vehicle. Wes's truck approaches, slows, then turns off. He gets out and rounds the front.
"Thanks a lot, asshole. I had a shot."
He waves me off and opens the passenger seat. Gramps?
Wes grabs two folding chairs from the back of the truck and walks slowly to me, Gramps beside him.
"What's going on?" I ask.
Wes sets up the chairs and tries to help Gramps sit down. Gramps swats at his hands. "Keep your grubby paws to yourself, boy."
Wes grins and backs away. "Thought maybe it was your turn to be on the receiving end of Gramps's words of wisdom. He helped me once—"
"Just once?" Gramps asks sarcastically.
Wes delivers a look to the back of his white-haired head. "He might have something good to say about what you're going through, Jessie. Or maybe not. Maybe he's too old."
Gramps lifts his middle finger in the air. Wes winks at me and holds out his hand. "Give me back my gun." I hand it over, sheathed in its holster. "Bring him back to the homestead when you're done out here."
"You got it." Wes takes off. I settle next to Gramps.
He looks out at the field and sneers. "Place is full of gophers. Little fuckers. I hate those things."
