Crime and Periodicals: Green Valley Library Book #2 Page 10

  I stared at the walls, the stone fireplace, and the toys that littered the corner in front of the pink toy box. The silence of the sleeping house enveloped me; it pulsed inside my ears. My mind raced as I took in the walls that suddenly felt too small to contain me.

  I stood up, paced to the kitchen, and opened the refrigerator. My throat felt tight, and my eyes felt hot. I grabbed a bottle of water, removed the cap, and drank a few sips before capping it to hold against my forehead as my breaths grew shallow. The cold did nothing to counter the anger that simmered in my heart.

  I walked back to the living room and stood at the tall uncovered window next to the front door to stare out at the dark night. The wind scraped the tree branches against the house and set the dead leaves to flying. It crept inside me—that dark breeze outside filled me up with its cold empty air. I turned and threw the water bottle against the fireplace; it hit near the ceiling with an explosive pop. Water drenched the stones and spilled over the mantel. Drops landed on the picture of me and the girls to spill down the glass frame like tears.

  I collapsed backward to the couch. My phone sat on the coffee table—like a life preserver there to save me from drowning. I was swirling in a confusing riptide of anger and hopelessness. God, I needed someone to pull me out.

  Sabrina.

  We were supposed to talk on the phone tonight. I shouldn’t let her down right out of the gate…should I?

  Putting my feet up on the coffee table, I swiped through my contact list. I tapped my foot against the coffee table while it rang. Was it a mistake to call her when I was this upset? I shook my head; it was too late for second thoughts now.

  “Hello.” Her voice was breathy and sweet. The sound covered me like fresh air.

  “Sabrina, how are you tonight?” I asked. I sank back against the cushions and took in a deep breath.

  “I’m great. So…how are you and the girls? Are they up?” she asked.

  “No, they fell asleep.” Should I tell her what happened? I sighed into the phone.

  “Wow, it’s early. Harry is still up playing Minecraft with my dad,” she said.

  “They usually stay up later. They had a rough night. I can’t believe I miss the sound of their arguing.”

  “Aw, I never argued with my sister. She was so much older than me.” Her voice was sweet, but wistful. The sweet drew me in, but the wistful made me want to stay right here and keep talking to her until I found out exactly what made her tick.

  I cleared my throat and tried to get a handle on my rapidly racing thoughts. “I fought with my brothers constantly. I spent most of my childhood sitting next to them, all in a row, in time out.” I laughed, but my heart wasn’t in it.

  “What can I do?” she asked.

  “What?” Clearly, I wasn’t doing a good job of hiding my feelings.

  “You sound kind of sad. Can I help?”

  “Just—keep talking to me?” Twisting my body, I stretched out across the couch. I shoved a toss pillow under my head and tried to relax.

  “I can do that. Do you want to tell me what happened? You can if you want to, or not. It’s up to you.”

  I decided to tell her. If I was determined to date her, keeping this a secret would end up being pointless. “I’m going to have sole custody of my girls. Their mother gave me papers—asking to relinquish her rights to them. I got them in the mail today.”

  “Oh, no, Wyatt. I had just assumed they were sick or something like that. Those poor babies…”

  “They were already hurting because of their mother. It’s been happening since we moved here. Even before—she never was an attentive mother. She was hardly ever around.” Was I unconsciously testing her by telling her this?

  “It will be hard, of course it will. But eventually they will be okay. And it will be because they have you. I believe that and you should too. You don’t need both parents to be a happy kid. Kids just need love. Just keep loving them, Wyatt. Everything will get better as time goes by.”

  I took that in. Her words moved through me, soothing me. “I hope so.”

  “How old are you?” Her voice, changing the subject, jolted me out of my melancholy.

  “I just turned thirty. You?”

  “I’m twenty-seven. Did you always want to be a sheriff?”

  I chuckled. “Yeah, I did. I always wanted to help people. Plus, I was a fat kid—I got bullied a lot—I can’t stand bullies and abusers. I liked the idea of throwing them in jail. That, and I wanted to drive fast with the sirens blaring.”

  She laughed. “You’re cute.”

  “Sabrina, there’s nothing cute about being a sheriff. It’s a badass job,” I corrected with a chuckle.

  She laughed even harder. The sound of it reminded me of Tinkerbell in the movies my girls were obsessed with. It made me smile. “You’re right,” she said. “I’m so sorry. Only badasses can do your work—busting up robberies and rescuing old ladies from convenience stores.” She was teasing me; it was adorable.

  “Oh, God, no. You’ve seen the video too…” I groaned. That video was the bane of my existence. I wouldn’t wish that kind of attention on my worst enemy.

  “I saw it. It was everywhere. Even on the news,” she confessed.

  “I’m just glad Green Valley doesn’t have a Stop and Go.” I couldn’t go near a Stop and Go anymore. Whenever I did, it made me either a walking punchline or a heartthrob, depending on who noticed me.

  “Is that why you left Nashville? To get away from ‘the Stop and Go’s Superman’?”

  “Ha ha ha, you’re quite the little smarty pants. I didn’t realize you had that in you—I like it.”

  “It’s always easier for me to talk when I’m not face-to-face with someone.” She sounded embarrassed. She shouldn’t be; her shyness was one of the things that first drew me to her. Aside from her knockout good looks, of course.

  “I’ll admit I was making a mental list of ways to get you to talk to me. And all I needed was your phone number.” Ruby was right. I made a mental note to thank her for the advice.

  She laughed. “I’m glad you came back to the library. It’s easy to forget about someone like me—lots of people do.”

  “Then they’re missing out,” I declared.

  “You say sweet things,” she whispered.

  “It’s the truth,” I whispered back. “So, what’s your favorite color?”

  “Pink. Yours?”

  “Green. Favorite food?”

  “Pizza. Yours?”

  “Also pizza. What kind?” I asked.

  “I don’t want to say,” she groaned into the phone. That groan was sexy. I wanted to hear it again, in person.

  “Uh oh. You like pineapple, don’t you?” Teasing her was fun. She was blushing, I knew it.

  “Yeah, I do—with pepperoni and jalapeños. Please don’t judge me.”

  I laughed. “Never. Unless you tell me you’re a flat-earther or something equally ridiculous.”

  “Ugh, I have a brain. I mean—gravity, Sir Isaac Newton, basic logic—hello, science? What food do you hate?” she asked.

  “Now I don’t want to say.”

  “Oooh, except, now you must. Come on, Wyatt,” she cajoled.

  “Potatoes…” I had to force myself to hate them. Potatoes in all their forms were one of the major contributors to my chubby childhood. Now I was fully convinced that potatoes disgusted me.

  “You’re crazy! What’s to hate about potatoes?” Her outburst was hilarious. “They’re multifunctional. They’re creamy, fluffy, and potato-y. You can boil them, mash them, and stick them in a stew. Think of the French fries, Wyatt! I’m judging you now.”

  “Well, what do you hate?” I managed to ask through my laughter. “This better be controversial or I’ll judge you right back, so hard.”

  “I like everything. Except food that looks like other food,” she said with an adorable giggle. I wished she were here right now so I could see her smile, hear that laughter, and maybe steal a kiss or two.

/>   “What?” I could barely form words through my laughter. She might just be the cutest woman I’d ever met.

  “I may or may not cut you if you ever give me a birthday cake that looks like an avocado,” she informed me.

  “Ahh, I’ll make note of that. What about food that looks like something else? Like a unicorn or a Chihuahua.”

  “Gray area.”

  “God, Sabrina, it’s official. I’m cheered up. Thank you.”

  “Woo-hoo. Mission accomplished.”

  “So, Miss Librarian. What’s your favorite book?”

  “That is a complicated question. Tell me what yours is first.”

  “The Hobbit,” I immediately answered, then sat up. Talking to her made me feel good. The gloom of my earlier mood was gone.

  “I love The Hobbit,” she burst out.

  “Maybe it was meant to be. Now you.” I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror hanging above the chair in the corner. I had the goofiest smile on my face. I quickly looked away. Seeing that much hope reflected back at me made me nervous.

  “Okay, okay. I don’t really have a favorite. It depends on my mood, or even what time of year it is. I guess that I could say Dr. Seuss’s Sleep Book is always a favorite because I remember my mother reading it to me before bed every night when I was a little girl. It’s one of the few real memories I have of her. I read the Harry Potter books with Cora, and then again with her kids. Or I could say the Twilight series and the Smash-Girl comic books because of the way I devoured them with my best friend when we were in school together. I love Jane Austen and the Brontë sisters. So does Mrs. MacIntyre—she’s fun to talk about books with. And I love Stephen King. Jackson does too. Oh, A Midsummer Night’s Dream is a favorite, which technically isn’t a book, but it’s the first piece of Shakespeare I’d ever read and I fell in love with it…” she trailed off.

  “Don’t stop now, Sabrina. I want to know more. I want to know everything about you. You talk about books like…”

  “Books are just like life. Books used to be my whole life,” she whispered.

  “You attach your memories to books. I want to read all of them—every one of your favorites. Then you can tell me all the reasons why you love them.”

  “Wyatt,” she softly murmured.

  “Sabrina, I mean it. Everything I find out about you, I like. I’m lucky I met you that day. It will always be my favorite traffic stop.”

  “I feel the same about you,” she said.

  We ended up talking for hours after that. We talked about everything and about nothing at all. And all the things that lived between. I felt like I knew her better now. And I liked everything I found out. We talked until we were both exhausted and our phones were dying.

  Sabrina had attracted me from the moment I first saw her. She was a beautiful woman. But I knew for sure I wanted to get to know her better when Mak and Mel had sat with Harry and shared his leaves at the park and she’d almost cried. She had leaned against me and shared that moment. Light had radiated out of her like a bright beacon and I had wanted some of that light for myself. Now, after this phone call, I found myself wanting it for my girls too.

  She had sensed I was down tonight and did something about it—she cheered me up without letting her shyness stop her. She cared enough to try, and that was all I needed to let me know that I shouldn’t give up on her.

  I stumbled down the hall to crash on the edge of my king-sized bed next to Mak and Mel. Staring at the ceiling, I felt the weight of my responsibility to my daughters. I glanced across the bed—I had to be careful with their hearts. I had to protect them, no matter what.

  Nothing and no one will hurt you like this ever again, I promise.

  I had jumped in headfirst when I got Isabelle pregnant. All I wanted was to be a good father to our baby, to do everything possible to make them happy.

  Could I trust myself to make the right decisions when I had made so many mistakes in my past?

  Chapter Twelve

  Sabrina

  I was still in a dither from my phone call with Wyatt last night. We had talked for three hours and thirty-seven minutes. I checked the call time when we finished. I knew him a lot better now, and I liked him a lot. But even if I didn’t end up with him, I would still make changes in my life. I still needed more. I still needed to get a life. I stepped onto the front porch and squinted against the bright glow of the early evening sunlight glinting off the windows.

  We had just finished dinner and I had decided to confide in my father. He always encouraged me to talk to him. But I rarely ever talked in-depth about myself with anyone, unless you counted my therapist. I usually only talked to my father about the kids or my job or random things like what was for dinner and books we had both read—things that were light and easy.

  He was inside fixing a cup of coffee. I sat on the swing to wait for him. Then I stood up and started pacing. I wasn’t afraid to talk to him, that wasn’t it. But talking about the changes I was making made it feel real. Openly acknowledging that I was trying to change my life would mean everyone would know if I failed.

  I jumped when the door opened, and I spotted his smiling face. “Hey, Dad.”

  “What is it, sweet pea?” he said as we took our seats, him in his favorite rocking chair and me on the porch swing across from him. He took a sip of coffee and I wrinkled my nose in disgust. He always added blackstrap molasses and apple cider vinegar to it—it was a hideous concoction that he swore was good for his digestion. I would rather be constipated than drink that. I’d take cream and sugar until the day I died, thank you very much.

  I took my time getting comfortable in the porch swing, fluffing the outdoor pillows and arranging them just so before I finally just bit the bullet and started talking. “Well…um…can you watch Harry on Saturday night for me? Because I have a date with Wyatt Monroe. He stopped by the library and asked me again and I said yes.” I watched his eyes widen as he froze with his coffee cup halfway to his mouth. “Secondly, I’m going to Genie’s tonight. Will you watch Harry for me tonight too?” I took a huge breath in and held it. There was no way to tell what his reaction would be—I hadn’t had a date since I was sixteen.

  His head drew back, and his eyes widened. He looked like he didn’t know where to start. “Genie’s?” he finally asked. His incredulity was deserved. I mean, the thought of me hanging out in a bar was crazy.

  “I saw Willa there when I picked up the chicken last week. I want to go back and see her. Genie acted like no one was supposed to know she’s home yet.” I let this information burst out of me to distract him from the date announcement.

  “Willa’s back?” Ruby cried as she barged into our conversation. I jumped and almost swung my butt right out of the swing at the sound of the front door slamming behind her. She must have been listening in at the window again. Ruby had always adored Willa. Willa used to come over here every day after school let out.

  “Yeah, I saw her at Genie’s Bar last week,” I explained as I resituated myself in the swing and tried to pretend that I had not just almost fallen out of it.

  “Oh, I’ve missed her so much. Get her back, Aunt Sabrina.” She sat next to me and bumped her shoulder against mine.

  I wrapped my arm around her and smiled. “That’s the plan.” My voice was too bright. Trying to hide my nerves always made me sound crazy. I took another deep breath and tried to force my shoulders to relax.

  My father was smiling at us over the rim of his coffee cup. “Okay, that makes more sense. I’m glad Willa is back,” he said. “It’s about dang time. I’ll call Genie after we talk about your date with Wyatt Monroe.”

  “What? Why? Don’t call Genie. And we don’t need to talk about that,” I protested.

  He looked away from me. “I’ll make no such promise. Michael is out there refusing to sign the papers and acting the fool. Genie will keep an eye on you. She’ll be discreet. You drive straight there, stay inside the bar, and then come straight home when you’re done. I know
you’re an adult and I want you to get out there and live your life. I’m glad you want to do that. But I’m worried about you.”

  I sighed. He had a point. Ruby smirked at me—she usually had to endure the dating lectures, not me.

  He continued, “I’m glad you said yes to Wyatt. But even though he’s a good man from a good family I’m still going to worry about you. Wyatt is a deputy sheriff, which means I don’t have to worry so much about your safety where Michael is concerned when you’re out on the town. But you haven’t been on a date in a long time, sweet pea. I don’t want you to get carried away and end up getting hurt. I want you to be careful; guard your heart before you let him inside of it. Be really sure you can trust him. And of course, I’ll take Harry tonight or whenever else you need me to. You know that.”

  “Thank you, Dad. And don’t call Genie. Please.” I was twenty-seven. How humiliating would it be to have my father call the bar I was going to hang out in? Gah!

  Ruby stood up in an indignant huff. “Wait. That’s it? Pop! That’s all you’re going to say to her? When I went out with Mason Drake you lectured me for like, almost an hour.” I chuckled; she had her hands on her hips. It was about to get serious.

  “Ruby, you’re a sixteen-year-old girl. Sabrina is an adult. There is a huge difference there.” My father rarely ever lost his cool. He merely looked at her and sipped his gross coffee, waiting for her to calm down.

  She twisted her lips and sat back down. “Fine. I guess you’re right. But tell me you got at least one lecture from him, Sabrina. I mean, come on.”

  I exchanged a grin with my dad. “I got at least one, maybe two.”

  He stood up with a laugh, leaving his coffee cup on the side table along with the others he seemed to be collecting there. “I’m going to head to the senior center for a spell. I’ll see you girls later.”

  “Okay, Dad. Don’t call Genie, okay?”

  He avoided my eyes when he answered me. “See you later, sweet pea. I’ll pick Harry up at Essie’s and put him to bed tonight. Don’t worry about a thing.” He headed to his car in the garage with a wave.