“No.” I didn’t bother telling her I barely even knew Buck. “I assume he’s back on the road following some rodeo.”
“If you see him, tell him I’d like my two robes, vase, and an oil painting back.”
There went that security deposit. “I’ll be sure to do that.”
She shuffled out, muttering beneath her breath, and instead of leaving, I sat down on the bed. The room smelled like cigarettes and beef jerky. It smelled like Buck.
I’d done it again, hadn’t I? I’d tried to fix a man and minimized myself and my own mental health in the process. And for what?
After Ernie’s intervention, I’d almost not come to the Magnolia Manor, and clearly I should’ve listened to my gut. The same gut that had told me not to marry the last two men or date the many that came before them. The same gut that told me I’d made a mistake with Miller, and maybe I should give us a try. But my wayward heart always overruled. It wasn’t that I’d come for a happy father-daughter visit with Buck tonight, but he’d said he’d wanted to talk. And I’d traveled over an hour, carrying words for him too.
Back in my vehicle, I aimed the SUV in the opposite direction of home, deciding to stop at a burger joint on the other side of town that was renowned for its queso fries. And by gosh, if anyone deserved those melty, cheesy divinities, it was me.
Ten minutes later, I veered onto Exit 42.
I saw a faded sign for a Burger King, a flashing arrow to a gentleman’s club, and a familiar truck broken down on the shoulder.
Buck.
Red hood open, smoke pouring out. And his head stuck under the hood like the Ford was trying to eat him as a sacrifice.
Shutting out the voice of Ernie playing in my mind, I pulled my car behind Buck and got out. “Need some help?”
His gray head popped out. “Hattie.” He looked like a schoolboy caught sneaking away before the bell. Wiping his greasy hands on his Wranglers, Buck limped my way. “I guess we both know I’m beyond help.”
“No one is beyond help, but I’ll leave that alone today.” I patted his truck and peeked in to see the source of the smog he was creating. “Funny thing. I stopped by the bed-and-breakfast to see you. But you weren’t there.”
“I can explain. I just left for a bit to grab some smokes.”
We both knew he was lying. “My visit was to tell you goodbye, Buck. But I guess you told me goodbye first—in your signature way of leaving without notice.”
“I was going to call you.” Buck’s voice was solid, convincing. He was a man who believed in the goods he sold. “This whole day’s gone off the rails, but maybe we can do breakfast in the morning?”
“No. I don’t think so.” I was almost too tired to be mad at him. Almost.
Buck forced a laugh. “I’ve seen you take down a double stack.”
We all had our talents. Mine could not be denied. “I mean, I can’t do breakfast.”
“Okay, maybe the next day?”
“No, Buck. Not today, not tomorrow.” Here it was. The tough words I’d settled on during the drive over. “I won’t be visiting you anymore.”
He stepped away from the hood, giving me his full attention. “I don’t understand. We just found each other again. And you promised you’d help me.”
Which was hard to do when he was on the run. “This isn’t healthy for me.”
He stared at me with a mix of disbelief and confusion. “I’m your dad.”
“We both know you’re not. I have a father, and his name is Shepherd Sutton. I’m glad I met you again, and I appreciate your taking the time to talk to me. I told myself I’d wanted to fill in some gaps, find some answers. But I think beneath it all, what I wanted was to find a Buck Sorrel who would make the past miraculously make sense, but you can’t.”
He pushed the sweaty hair from his line of vision. “You’ll have to pardon me. I’ve been kicked in the head a lot, so I’m having trouble following this.”
“You’re still you.” I swept a hand toward his getaway vehicle as proof. “I need to accept that. I wanted you to be different, a man changed by his regrets. But my healing can’t be dependent on you and your progress. The fact is, you’re still the man who left his kids on their front porch and drove away.” Cars and semis zoomed past us, completely unaware that a father and daughter were having a moment of reckoning, a different sort of breakdown altogether.
“I told you I was there more than you thought,” he said. “I kept up with you kids as best I could. Remember? I was at Colin’s football games and I watched you accept your high school diploma.” A Honda Accord did a slow crawl off the exit, the bass of its rap music vibrating the air around us.
I unclenched my teeth, then forced my tongue from the roof of my mouth. “Colin didn’t play football.”
