“I’m here now. I’m being a good daughter and going to see Daddy, aren’t I?”
Wounds from the night she left Little Crooked Creek were still fresh and coupled with the new ones, she couldn’t have done this any sooner. All of yesterday had been spent in the fetal position on Pamela Sue’s bed, alternately bawling and staring at the wall.
Then Daddy had taken a turn for the worse, and she’d forced herself to push back the grief. What if he died before she saw him again? She didn’t want to have to live with that. He was still her father.
The shoulder where she’d stopped to check out the sleek Ferrari flew by in a flash. Just like her relationship with Kris. Relationship—or whatever it was called when a person blinks and the highlight of her existence vanishes, leaving only a sharp memory too vivid to erase and too painful to enjoy.
She’d only meant to drool over the car. Not the driver. Or his hands. His mouth. The way he opened up when he was inside her and his soul spoke without any words. And when he did talk...her eyelids fluttered closed and time stopped while she ached.
She missed Kris, and it was a slow, agonizing death instead of the difficult, but eventual, recovery she’d hoped for.
Bobby Junior took a deep breath, jerking her out of her misery. “Why didn’t you tell me what Daddy did to you?”
“Which part?” she asked, too surprised he’d found out to answer right away.
His hands were clamped so tight on the steering wheel, veins popped. “When I picked up Daddy from the sheriff, he was babbling about how he’d driven you away. I finally got him to tell me he’d taken all your money.” Bobby Junior paused for a beat. “And that he hit you.”
She shrugged. “What difference would it have made if I had told you?”
“What difference—” He thumped the seat between them, startling her with the force. “You could have stayed with me and Jamie. Let us help you get your money back. You’re so independent. There’s nothing wrong with asking for a little help. Why didn’t you?”
Her throat hurt from the twinge in Bobby Junior’s voice. How selfish she’d been to leave without thinking how others might take it. She probably should have told her brothers about Daddy hitting her, too, but she’d been so sure no one would take her side. “I don’t know.”
“I do. You’re just like Mama. Both of you take charge. The whole time Mama was sick, you did what had to be done. I don’t know where you found that grit. Then she—” His voice broke and he swallowed. “She died and all of us were lost. Except you. You took care of the funeral. Daddy. The boys. Everyone except yourself. I’m surprised it took so long for you to break. Woulda been nice if your rebellion had been a little safer and lower profile.”
“Pamela Sue made me promise to use condoms.” Which wasn’t everything she wanted to say but her throat closed.
The blush, not quite gone anyway, flared up and spread from his cheeks to his neck. “Glad to hear it,” he said gruffly and tapped her chest. “But I meant safer in here. You’re different. Your shoulders are heavier.”
“I grew up. It was past time. I have to face reality, not live in a fantasy world where an exciting man sweeps me off my feet, only to disappear at midnight.”
All of a sudden, it didn’t seem so devastating to be back in Little Crooked Creek, still broke, but not in such a bad place after all. Some maids became princesses, and some women just became self-sufficient. When she’d left the first time, options were hard to come by and the one promising excitement and escape won. Now, because of Kris, she had the wisdom to evaluate opportunity openly, honestly and without a coating of fairy dust. That’s what strong women did. Like Mama. Like her.
“Want me to kick his butt? I’d like to think you still need me for something.” Her brother’s affable gap-toothed grin settled her heart. Not completely, but along with the gift of absolution, it went a long way. He ruffled her hair like he had for as long as she could remember.
She smiled at her brother and patted his arm. “Thanks. That means a lot.”
Downtown Van Horn unrolled through the windshield as Bobby Junior drove down the main street lined with adobe-plastered stores, family-owned Mexican restaurants and dust. West Texas still wasn’t for her. She’d find a way to get back to Dallas and start building a life on her own terms. A life based in reality.
He pulled into the hospital lot and parked, then threw an arm around her shoulders to walk with her into the lobby. They sat by Daddy’s bedside for a few hours, talking to each other, talking to Daddy without expectation of a response, smiling at the nurses. Daddy woke up once and squeezed VJ’s hand. It was enough. She’d find a way to forgive him. Not today, but eventually. Some hurts went too deep to heal easily.