Grimacing, he said, “I hate thinking about what happened to you.”
“You and me both.” The images crowded her mind clear as day. Her father beating her, her brother walking out the door, leaving her to fend for herself. Not his fault. Not really, when staying would have only made things worse.
“Rumors are still circling that you’re dead.” The grin died on his lips before he added, “At times, I thought you were close enough to it.”
Jessie didn’t have an answer and waited to see if Greg’s train of thought took another detour.
“Do you know who the new county sheriff is?”
“No. Should I? Did I break some kind of law becoming a business owner and building a new track of houses?” She didn’t mean the snippy tone. Greg’s hedging irritated her and made her nervous. “Out with it. What’s this all about?”
“The new sheriff goes by ‘McBride.’”
At the mention of his name, her breath stopped, and she stared at Greg as if he’d grown another head. “Mc—” She couldn’t even spit out the whole thing.
“That’s right. McBride. Looks as if your Dylan moved back to his hometown.”
She slapped her hands down on her desk and squared off with Greg. “He’s not my Dylan, first of all. Second, what’s this got to do with anything? You know I’ve put it all behind me.”
“Bullshit. Let’s leave off the fact that when I walked in you were reliving prom night and its aftermath. You may have gotten your GED, graduated college, worked your ass off to start your own business, and transformed from a broken girl into a strong woman. What you haven’t done is put the past behind you. You live with it every day. You don’t smile, you don’t date, you haven’t had sex in eight years, as far as I can tell, you won’t contact your family, and you spend all your free time alone in your workshop.”
True. Every word. Greg knew her well. She hadn’t realized just how good a friend he’d been to her all these years. He and Pop were the only people she allowed close.
With little choice in the matter, she’d told them what happened to her. When she’d gotten off the bus in Solomon, showed up at their office, fifteen and a lot worse for wear, they’d threatened to call the police and have her sent home. Once she spilled her guts, they’d given her a job and let her be the woman she’d become the night of the prom.
“Why are you harping on me today? Why are you bringing up my brother and Dylan?”
“Dad does a lot of business in Fallbrook. He got a call from a friend who mentioned something interesting. There’s no easy way to tell you.” He walked around her desk and crouched down in front of her. Taking her hands in his, he looked her right in the eye. “Your father died in his sleep last night. Heart attack.”
She exploded out of her chair and almost toppled Greg. Coming to his feet, he held her in place. Her whole body filled to bursting with rage. Her head felt like a plug on a volcano, the pressure building until she might actually explode.
“Are you telling me that bastard died peacefully while he slept?”
“Damn, honey. I didn’t want to tell you at all.”
“Why is it some people can be as bad as they want, do what they want without regard to how it affects anyone else, and get away with it? I always thought, at least in the end, he’d get his due. Maybe he’d end up wrapped around a tree after driving drunk one too many times, or he’d die a miserable death from liver failure. Hell, even a heart attack on the job could have been excruciating, long suffering, and scary. Never, not one time, did I ever consider he’d simply drift off to sleep and slip into death without so much as a whimper. I should have picked up the knife he dropped that night and gutted him where he stood.”
“Vivid image, J.T.” Greg’s shoulders shuddered. “What are you going to do?”
“What am I going to do?” She threw her hands up in the air and let them fall to her sides with a slap against her thighs. “Nothing.”
“He’s dead. You’re not going to the funeral? Don’t you want to know about his business, or your brother? Dance a jig on his grave?”
“The last is the only one that sounds appealing.” She smiled, but let it fall away. “Why the hell should I clean up the mess?”
“What mess?”
“Oh, I don’t know. How about the trouble my brother’s gotten himself into? He’s a drunk just like the old man. He got married two years ago, and they’re expecting a baby. He doesn’t work, and they have bills up the ass. My father sold the business four years ago to his partner. He worked off and on since then. Mostly off. As far as I know, he’s been living off the money he got for the business and social security, not that it’s much.”