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He dares roll his eyes.
Maybe, just maybe, I am being unnecessarily jerky. I massage my jaw, which literally aches from its perpetual clench. I surrender to a sigh—right before the bombshell tale of the disastrous birthday party spills out. I hate the pity I see when I get to the story’s climax, while a different part of me relishes it. I got a raw deal, and it’s high time someone else recognizes it.
Letting the story settle like ashes, I stare at the computer as my lock screen reappears, timing out when I fail to enter my password. The only thing that eased the pain was Hollie.
“I’m sorry, John. That’s rough.”
“Yeah.” I drop the pen and lock my fingers behind my head. “You already knew about my wife, didn’t you?”
Tripp nods slowly.
“I figured. There are still a few old-timers who were around when it happened. I didn’t murder her, but considering the hand I dealt Tyler, I guess I can’t blame him for blaming me.”
Tripp dashes his head. “Not true. He’s a grown man now, and the facts are plain if he cares to look. He’s choosing to hold on to the bitterness.”
Fair enough. We’re all responsible for our actions, good or bad. Our attitudes, too. Tyler is still young. Perhaps there’s hope.
Tripp’s eyes lose focus, reminding me of his own story. We’re two brick walls most of the time, but we’ve worked together for years. I know he’s got daddy issues himself, issues he came by honestly, from what I’ve heard. He’s all Mr. Wisdom today, but I’ve been noticing little changes in him lately, and if you ask me, his own fast-approaching fatherhood is playing games with his mind.
Sure enough, this may be my crisis session, yet he visibly shakes off a burden. I’d ask—but, clearly, I can’t even handle my own garbage.
He palms his thighs. “So. Hollie. Tell me more.”
“There’s nothing more.”
“You’re not the only trained investigator here, John. I know bull when I smell it.”
Lousy chair could wake the dead with its squawking every time I so much as breathe. I set my elbows on the desk, thinking. “Don’t make me regret this, Walker.”
He lifts his hands, the picture of innocence.
I pull in a deep breath through my teeth. “Hollie is…complicated.”
“Women generally are.”
I snort. “Right?” My fingers drum the plastic keyboard. “She says I’m a bully.”
“You kind of are.”
Nervy, isn’t he?
“Sorry. That was probably out of line, but I only know work-John, and around here…” He lifts an eyebrow.
I pick the pen back up because I suspect I’ll need to toss it soon. “I paid for a new battery for her car, so if that makes me an ogre, I’m guilty as charged.”
“You paid?”
I jab the ballpoint his direction. “Stop it. It didn’t mean anything. She’s short on funds, and she’s got one trouble after another. She doesn’t deserve that.”
Watching his eyes, I see him opt against saying something that would tick me off further. “I’m sure she doesn’t.”
I release the pen and fold my hands across my abdomen. “When I first met her, I thought she was some—” I can’t finish the unjust thought in my mind, much less speak it. “I assumed she was one ofthosewomen.”
“What women?”
“You know. The kind that doesn’t use the sense God gave her, running from one lousy man to another and then reaping what she’s sown.”
“That was quite an assumption there, John.”
