she never met—Izzy’s hardly had the best paternal influence.
“Did he—” She frowns, trying to conjure the right words. “Did someone hurt him in a road rage incident?”
I shake my head and wonder if that might have been easier to deal with. If I could direct my anger at the assailant instead of my own father.
“He got frustrated behind a slow-moving farm truck.” It was hauling manure from a nearby ranch, a detail that made the story more titillating for town gossips. “He passed in a no-passing zone and then overcorrected when an oncoming semi crested the hill.”
“Oh, no.” Izzy draws a hand to her mouth. “How horrible.”
“That’s not the worst part.” Because of course, it gets worse. “My mother was in the car beside him. She remembers the whole thing. Careening out of control into a big sign in front of the Baptist church.”
“A sign?”
“It was mounted on this low stone wall, so they hit that first.” I take a hit of icy air. “That week’s sermon was all about forgiveness, so their reader-board had a quote from Proverbs: ‘Fools give full vent to their rage, but the wise bring calm in the end.’”
“Oh, dear.” Iz looks at me with tear-filled eyes. “Bradley, that’s horrible.” Her voice trembles, and she stops walking to touch my arm. “Was your mother hurt?”
“Pretty badly, yeah. Julia was in college back east, and I was right at the end of my first tour in Iraq. I’d been planning on another, but my obligation was up, so it just made sense to come home.”
I switched to the Army Reserves and somehow got lucky enough to land an instructorship in the general practice program at the local hospital. Possibly it wasn’t luck. My small-town roots, the fact that I knew everyone in town, may have paid off. I’ll never know for sure, but I suspect someone felt sorry for me.
“I got to take care of my mom when she needed me,” I continue. “And after a while, I started my own practice.”
I’m leaving out a few details, like how bummed I was to leave active duty, or the way my mom blamed herself for what happened. “I should have tried to calm him down,” she kept saying.
Like that would have made a difference. Like it ever made a difference in decades of my father’s fury.
We’ve stopped walking again, Izzy pausing to let Kevin nibble the edge of a shrub. Izzy stands watching me, her face upturned in the milky winter light. Wrapping Kevin’s leash around her wrist, she bites her lip.
“That’s such a sad story.” She hesitates. “Would it be okay if I hugged you?”
“Of course.” My foolish heart hopes it’s fondness and not pity, but I’ll take what I can get.
Her cheeks flush just a little. Then she slides her arms around my middle and squeezes tight. My own arms circle her waist by instinct, pulling her against me. As she burrows against my chest, she gives a soft little sigh.
I brace for words of sympathy.
I’m sorry for your loss.
That must have been terrible.
But that’s not what she murmurs against the front of my coat. “God, you feel good.”
The instant she says it, she stiffens in my arms. It’s like the words slipped out without her consent, and she’s fumbling for a way to backpedal. “I mean, I’m so sor—”
“Don’t.” Breathing in the scent of her hair, I will her not to draw back. “I liked what you said the first time.”
“Really?” She does draw back, but only to look up at me. “It wasn’t very sympathetic.”
“I’ve had plenty of sympathy.” I stare into the bright green of her eyes and see a question there. “That’s not what I need.”
“What do you need?” Her question is barely a whisper, but there’s heat in her eyes. “Tell me.”
I swallow hard, sensing the gravity of this moment. That I could say the wrong thing and send her skittering away like a startled animal.
“Izzy.” I lift a hand to brush her hair back from her face. She closes her eyes and leans into my touch, her cheek soft and warm against my palm. “Izzy.” I whisper her name again, uttering it like a prayer.
Her lashes flutter open, and she gives a tentative smile. “Is that your answer?”
“What?”
“I asked what you needed and you said my name.”
God. I don’t know the right answer here, the one that won’t send her running scared. I’m still deciding what to say when she stretches up on tiptoe and brushes my lips with