But here was this other man who’d shown up. He’d shown up at baseball games and said nothing, just quietly rooted for his daughter and asked for nothing. Clearly, her happiness mattered to him. He wanted to see her, to see she was happy, but didn’t feel like he had to be the center of it or the cause. Here was a man who had a claim and never staked it because doing so might cause harm.
And suddenly, I knew why.
I understood.
“You love her,” I whispered. Tears again pricked my eyes. “That’s why.” I pressed my lips together to still my wobbly chin, but it was too late. Cletus must’ve perceived the unsteadiness of my voice because he was next to me in a flash, his hand on my back, quiet support. “You love her. And that’s why you want what’s best for her, even now. That’s why you stayed close but never intervened. You love her, and that’s why her happiness matters more to you than what you could’ve gained as her father if you’d made it known.” I shrugged at the futility of his situation, and at the futility of my own. “You love your daughter, Jason.”
He stared at me, eyes glassy. I stared at him, tears spilling down my cheeks. But I didn’t care, because at least now I knew for sure. I could stop feeling guilty for not feeling guilty. I could stop trying to mourn for a man who only ever saw me as something to be used, controlled, exploited.
Jason had shown up to the engagement party because he loved his daughter. My father showed up to my engagement party because he never loved me.
And now I could let him go.
Chapter Twenty
*Cletus*
“Nothing travels faster than the speed of light with the possible exception of bad news, which obeys its own special laws.”
Douglas Adams, Mostly Harmless
I still hadn’t pieced together all the details. But at some point I was going to have to inform Jenn of my suspicions. Namely, I suspected her brother, Isaac Sylvester, was a horrible, soulless, evil dumpster fire of a human.
“Are you excited?”
My brother Jethro’s cheerful interruption of my careful internal deliberations had me blinking up at him. Presently, I was on the ground of the auto shop, staring unseeingly at the underside fender of Belle Cooper’s Cadillac, most of my body obscured beneath the car.
“Pardon?” I frowned, disliking that he’d caught me unawares while debating weighty matters.
Prior to Diane’s departure, I hadn't informed Jenn of my suspicions about Isaac because, though the possibility had always been there, I’d felt no degree of certainty until Diane relayed her version of events. Then, like flooding after a hurricane, the possibility of Isaac’s involvement could no longer be ignored.
Unfortunately, keeping this suspicion to myself had put me in a perpetually perturbed mood. I wanted to talk it over with her, think through it, but how could I broach the topic?
These pancakes are delicious, and I know you’re going through a lot at present, but have you considered the possibility that the reason your momma was so adamant about not recognizing the shooter’s voice is because the man with the gun that night was your brother? Also, more bacon while you’re up, please.
Jethro stopped rubbing his hands together and peered at me with a measure of caution. “Uh—”
“What do you want?” I snapped, rolling myself out all the way. “I’m backed up here, so unless this is a blueberry emergency, make it quick.”
“We’re not backed up, Jethro.” My brother Beau, smarmy ginger and contradictor extraordinaire, poked his head out of the hood he’d been tucked behind, adding, “So unless he’s talking about constipation, he’s lying.”
I wasn’t technically lying about being backed up. My preoccupied state over the last few weeks meant my output had been lower than normal. Beau and Shelly had pitched in the last few days, and we were now all caught up.
But I had 100 percent been lying—through omission—to Jenn.
I hadn't told Jenn yesterday, or the day before that, or the day prior to that about her brother because my lady’s soft heart had been suffering since Diane’s exodus three weeks ago. Despite valiant attempts and meticulous consistency, no amount of foot rubs, back rubs, or—ahem—other rubs had vanquished my love’s melancholic mood. She slouched. She sighed. She stared at nothing. Her smiles never quite reached her eyes. It was the difference between a sunny sky and an overcast one; the sky remained in the same familiar position, but nothing about felt it the same.
“She doesn’t always need to be sunny,” Sienna had said yesterday during our early morning yoga. “You’re worried about her, we all are. But she’s sad, and she has every reason to be. She just lost her father and now her mother. Give her time.”
She just lost her father and now her mother.
That was the truth and the crux of the issue. How could I tell Jenn about my suspicions when doing so might mean losing her brother too? The blond muscly menace had returned to his previous modus operandi, functioning as an Iron Wraith, in town, always at a distance. He never saw his sister purposefully, never reached out to her.
But he was still here. Present. And yet, if I spelled out the facts as I knew them to be, it wouldn’t matter if his body existed in Green Valley, his soul—and therefore him—might already be gone. Lost to her.
Yes, I’d promised I wouldn’t keep information to myself, lie, or obfuscate facts anymore. But this . . . this wasn’t information. This was a nuclear warhead covered in murder hornets and the plague.
Sometimes, rarely, and by rarely I mean just this one time, I really hate knowing things.
Jethro, appearing uncertain, glanced over his shoulder at Beau and then back to me. He then set his hands on his hips as I got to my feet. “Are you sick? Does this mean you’re not coming to dinner?”
“My bowels are none of your concern.” I tossed a wrench into the nearby toolbox and stuffed the rag in my grip into my back pocket. He inspected me with a worry that had me regretting my words. So I lied. “But, yes, I have been having some tummy trouble. If Sienna wouldn’t mind making me one of her coconut smoothies, I’d be much obliged.”
His brow unknit itself, and he nodded. “Sure. No problem. I just came from the store, and I’ll text her on the way home. But, just to be clear, y’all are still coming for dinner tonight, right?”
“Correct. And to your earlier question, we are excited. Have Duane and Jess recovered from their jet lag?”
My surly younger brother and the love of his life had flown into town just yesterday. They planned to stick around long enough to attend the wedding next week and visit loved ones, which of course included the James family: Deputy Jackson James, Janet James, and Sheriff Jeffery James. They planned to be in attendance at dinner tonight, which I suspected would likely reek of conversation missteps and awkwardness, seeing as how Jenn had been arrested two months ago.
I’d only seen the sheriff a handful of times since the discovery of Diane’s clandestine departure. The man hadn’t seemed at all surprised by her inexplicable absence. In fact, Sheriff James seemed relieved. After interviewing Jenn and I—and always in the presence of lawyer Genevieve Taylor—the FBI also packed up and absconded Green Valley. Our stories had been synchronized, unimpeachable, and Jennifer’s distraught tears had been very, very real.