“It doesn’t matter. Why are you not wearing reflective clothing?”
“The only reflective things I have are a pair of wristbands and a neon Speedo. Both are on loan to your grandmother. Now let’s get back to your deflection. So not a date?”
“No.”
“Okay.” Miller’s tone was airy and way too congenial. “I sense you don’t want to talk about it.”
“Spot on.” I tilted my head toward the painted ceiling where two old fans spun in wobbly synchronicity.
“But whatever it is,” Miller persisted, “it’s bothering you. Here’s an idea. Instead of you spilling the contents of your heart, how about I make some guesses and you just nod or shake your head?” He paused and waited for an answer. “Can you do that?”
I was flogged with fatigue. But also wired and strangely didn’t want to be alone. “I guess.”
Miller scooted in closer. “Prepare yourself. I’m a master at this.”
“One day we’re really going to need a session to work through some of your confidence issues.”
“You’re deflecting again. Here we go. I have a good feeling about my theories.” Warming up, Miller rubbed his hands together and did a quick neck stretch before lasering me with a weighty stare. He was focused, intense. A man ready to cross-examine his witness. “Since returning to Sugar Creek you got a side gig at Frankie’s House of Hustle on the Missouri line and you just can’t shimmy for the boys ordering bland hot wings one more night.”
“No.”
Miller gave a thoughtful nod. “Not sure I believe you but moving on. You tried out for the community theater production, but wining the role of an Oompa Loompa wasn’t what you wanted, and the orange paint is beginning to chafe.”
“Also wrong.”
“Very well. You’ve started a one-woman cabaret at the Sugar Creek Community Theater, and tonight’s crowd didn’t appreciate your jazz-fueled rendition of ‘Baby Got Back’?”
I bit my top teeth on a smile and let some of the tension and sadness roll off my shoulders. “I saw my dad tonight.”
“Mr. Sutton?”
I dug into my purse, pulled out the folded up flyer, then handed it to Miller.
His eyebrows slanted into a V as he read the contents. “You went to a rodeo in Oklahoma?”
I gave a tired nod. “Because my bio-dad was there.”
The teasing countenance left Miller’s face and concern took over. “You went to a rodeo to see your biological father by yourself?”
“Yes, Miller, this wasn’t a rodeo in the Middle East. I was surrounded by hundreds of people at a family event an hour away. Completely safe.”
“Still.” He folded up the flyer and handed it back. “Does your brother know?”
I shifted away, crossing my arms, blocking out this line of inquiry. “I don’t see what difference that makes.”
“Because you know Colin wouldn’t approve.”
“I don’t need Colin’s permission. If I want to see Buck Sorrel, I certainly can.”
Miller held up a hand in surrender. “Fine. Just anticipating what your overprotective brother would say.”
“It doesn’t matter. I didn’t even talk to Buck.”
Miller reached for my hand and tugged me until I leaned into him. I waited for him to release me, but his fingers continued to hold mine. “So your bio-dad was nearby and you decided to go look at him?”
Now it all felt silly. “One of the cornerstones of healing from a past hurt is confronting it. As if it weren’t obvious before, after Ned dumped me, I realized I’m on this hamster wheel of relationship dysfunction.” I spun my pointer fingers round and round.Whoosh, whoosh.“Different guy, same story. I’ve done years of therapy, I’ve read all the books, I’ve self-treated, I’ve explored my feelings, I’ve eaten my feelings, I’ve crafted my feelings, and I’ve even painted them in really terrible watercolors that will never leave my closet.”
“Tonight you thought you’d confront Buck?”
