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“It’s not about the fistfight, babe. It never was. He was the only man in uniform there who wasn’t part of the parade. And he turned his back when your brother led his convoy past. Can you imagine how that feels?” Dad’s eyes are darker, more sympathetic than they should be behind his glasses. “There were men in their sixties, seventies, eighties there. Five vets from Afghanistan, two from Iraq, plus a few old timers from Vietnam. Sheriff Wheeler almost had a conniption fit.”
His words hit like a poison dart. I hate being thrown back to doubt after I was sure I could at least have a safe conversation with my family about this.
Wishful thinking.
“Never saw anything like it in my life, Sadie. Neither did anybody else. This kind of drama only happens in the big cities. Not our town. We’re a simple place. Mr. Howard should’ve known the whole town would turn on him the second he decided to disrespect a hometown hero, and go down swinging, screaming how your brother did all kinds of terrible things.” Dad pauses, shaking his head. “The man’s clearly unstable. It’s a miracle they don’t take his little girl away.”
It physically hurts to hear him say that. My eyes shut so tight they throb at the mere suggestion.
Goddamn it, he doesn’t understand. Just like everybody else, who seems to think he’s the devil incarnate.
A moment of passion, a big public mistake, shouldn’t ruin a man’s life. There’s a lot I don’t know about Marshal and his inner workings, but he’s proven that much.
There isn’t a cruel bone in his body toward Mia. I’ve looked. What’s there is a busy, stressed, and caring father. Nothing evil. Not so different from the man in front of me.
I’ve watched him light her world up and make her smile with my own two eyes. No rumors, or scorn, or past mistakes will ever strip that truth away.
“How long have you known?” I ask, trying not to let on how bothered I am.
Dad shrugs. “A few days, maybe. You know Emmie at the corner store. She said you’d been on a lot of little snack runs lately, and I guess those winter Oreo packs are his girl’s favorite. Wasn’t hard for her to make a good guess.”
Damn! I tried so hard to keep it on the down-low, too. If only this town wasn’t so small, so gossipy, so incestuous. Keeping secrets for more than three days tops is near impossible.
Dad clears his throat again, stepping closer, loaded words at the tip of his tongue. “Sadie, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t concerned. This nanny thing, it isn’t healthy. It isn’t good for you. There have to be other jobs in town. Between us, I don’t think it’s appropriate to continue. You just saw how hard Jackson’s taking it.”
I’m quiet for a moment. “You’re asking me to up and quit?”
Dad looks at me and nods, slowly.
I don’t know why it cuts as deep as it does. Maybe it’s knowing now I have a fight on my hands. I’m not backing down easy, but it also seems like the worst time in the world to discuss Marshal’s live-in offer.
Too bad. I want to get this over with.
“I can’t. I’m sorry. I understand he doesn’t like it, and neither do you, but I need the money. Marshal’s a fair man. He pays me well, every single day. I’d like to think his little girl is kinda attached, too. I won’t give up on her.” Imagining Mia alone and disappointed stings worse than anything else. “I’m a grown woman. Jackson will have to get over it, dad. And I hate to say it, but so will you.”
“Jesus, Sadie,” he growls, rubbing his face. His glasses are foggy – steaming from the tension in the room – and he rips them off and starts cleaning them with his shirt. “This isn’t an ego thing, in case you’re wondering. I’m trying to look out for you, for the whole family. Working for the Castoff isn’t just unhealthy. It’s –“
“I’m taking more hours in January. Overnights. Probably for a few weeks. Marshal has a big job out of town, apparently. He’s offered higher pay and some really generous benefits if I take him up on it. I didn’t want to lay it on you like this, but there’s no point in hiding it. Sorry I didn’t come clean sooner about my boss.” I ignore his wide-eyed glance, strolling past, ready to go to my room.
I can’t get past the figure in the hall. Mom’s been standing outside the kitchen eavesdropping for God only knows how long. She looks like she’s numb to everything in her baggy sweatshirt and scuffed clogs. The usual paint splotches are on her arms, at least three different colors, her sleeves rolled up in a rumpled mess.
