Page 78 of The Hometown Heartbreaker

“Oh, I know it’s hard for you to see me. I know I’m a reminder of the two people you loved the most in your life and lost, and I’m sorry,” my voice cracked on the apology.

Buddy shook his head, I could see that he was going to deny it, but now that I’d started talking, the words were flowing out. Everything I’d wanted to say to him was being broadcast unfiltered.

“That’s why you kept the letters from me, right?” I asked.

His eyes snapped back to mine, his expression more confused than ever. “What letters?”

I reached into my bag and pulled out the battered bundle of envelopes, the ones I’d found in his desk. I laid them gingerly on the table between us, like a peace offering or maybe a live grenade.

“I found them,” I managed to say, over the lump of anxiety in my throat. “Dawson’s letters. You never gave them to me. You told him you would, but you didn’t because you were afraid if you did, I’d read them and come back, and you didn’t want that to happen.”

He looked at the bundle like it was a snake poised to strike, then at me. There was a lifetime’s worth of hurt in his eyes, but also something softer—regret, maybe, or shame. For a moment I thought he might deny it, but Buddy Shepard never lied. Not even to spare feelings.

He exhaled, slow and shaky, like letting air out of a tire. Then he nodded once and closed his eyes.

“You’re right,” he said, and the admission cost him something. “I didn’t want you coming back. But not because of you, and sure as hell not because of me.” He ran a hand over his face, and when he dropped it, he looked older than I’d ever seen him. “It was because of a promise I made to your mama. Right before we lost her, she grabbed my hand and said, ‘Don’t let Sadie get stuck here. Not like me. Make sure she goes and sees the world.’ She wanted more for you than this little town, this farm. It was her dying wish. I tried, honey. I really did. I tried to do what she wanted, even when it killed me not seeing you.”

I felt the tears before they came, and for once I didn’t bother to hide them. “That’s why you didn’t give me the letters?”

“I knew if you read them, you’d be on the first plane back here. And I love that boy, but he messed up and I wasn’t about to let you throw away your life for a man who’s cattin’ around behind your back. Not like your mama.”

My dad cheated on my mom the entire time they were together, and pretty much bounced after she got pregnant with me, and it affected her health. I didn’t know Buddy found out what happened with Dawson. I never told him because I knew he wouldn’t forgive him. He never said anything, so I thought he was none the wiser. When I left so suddenly, all I said was that we broke up and I wanted to go see Uncle Ronnie, who had always said there was a room for me if I ever wanted to visit. I never told Buddy about what I saw at the motel, but I should have known he would hear it in this town.

“Actually, he didn’t,” I explained, my throat tight with emotion.

Buddy’s brow furrowed. “Don’t go makin’ excuses, the boy was young and⁠—”

“Jeremy Miller tried to roofie Donovan Valentine’s beer, but Dawson ended up drinking it, and he passed out. He spoke to Vicki about it and she confirmed nothing happened.”

Buddy looked as shocked as I’d been when I found out. He also looked guilty. He shook his head, but it was more in awe than disagreement. “Well, I’m sorry I kept those from you. I was doin’ what I thought was right. And I’m sorry I made you think I didn’t want you here. When I look at you, I only see my Sadie-girl, no one else. I know I checked out after we lost your mama, and I’m sorry about that. But it had nothing to do with you, I was drownin’ in my grief. But you’re wrong, I haven’t lost the most important people in my life, the people I love the most. One of them is still here and I’m looking at her. I had lost you, but it looks like you’re back now. And if being here is what makes you happy, I am over the moon about it. I’ve missed you so much.” Tears were forming in his eyes.

I crossed the room, and for the first time since I was a kid, I hugged him. He was stiff for a second, then he put his arms around me and squeezed so tight I thought my ribs might crack. When he let go, he wiped his eyes and laughed, a hoarse bark that startled us both.

“So that’s settled, then. You’re staying,” he said, like he needed to hear it out loud.

I nodded, grinning and crying at the same time. “I’m staying.”

He hugged me once more. “Welcome home, Sadie Rose.”

30

EMOTIONALLY WATERBOARDED

Dawson

Ihad the urge to pace, but I kept myself rooted in the reception nook by the row of battered wooden chairs. The waiting room of the admin building was lined with black-and-white photographs of mustached men and intimidating women glaring out from the Gilded Age. Spring sun spilled through the stained-glass transom and painted the far wall in pale green. I kept my eyes trained on the office door, listening to the muffled cadence of my mom’s voice and the higher, unfamiliar tone of a guest.

The grandfather clock in the corner—brought west by covered wagon, according to family legend—bellowed the half-hour. I’d been waiting for fifteen minutes, which was about fourteen and a half minutes longer than my usual tolerance for this kind of anticipation. I had a plan, or at least the skeleton of a plan: talk to my mom, get her read on the situation, then figure out how to fix what I’d broken with Sadie. I was a man who liked preparation, who found comfort in routines and contingency plans, but lately every interaction felt like walking blindfolded through a field littered with bear traps.

There was a thud behind me, followed by the low growl of Dean clearing his throat. The man could sneak up on a coyote, but when he wanted you to know he was around, he made sure you didn’t miss it. He leaned in the doorway with his arms folded, posture telegraphing both relaxation and the faint threat of violence, which was pretty much his default setting.

“This is a surprise.” He eyed my boots. “Everything okay?”

“I’m here to talk to Mom,” I replied, which was already more than I’d planned to say.

Dean glanced back at the closed door, then at me. “She’s got an interview. New events coordinator to fill in for Lydia. If it goes well, I’ll be meeting with them next.” His head tilted to the side. “You look serious.”

Dean’s comment landed sharp as a thrown horseshoe. He was the only man I knew who could make “You look serious” sound halfway like an accusation and three-quarters like he actually cared. I shrugged, which was about as much as I ever gave, but Dean waited me out. His stillness had a way of extracting answers, something about the way his jaw set.