I almost never talk about my dad—except for with Sally. And Ramon knows a little, of course, but he’s not one for going deep. Beau’s invitation is as rare as a solar eclipse.
And I feel like the moon. All that sunlight just for me.
I soak it in for a minute, and then tell him. “Moira used to work in a beauty parlor—anywhere else, you’d call it a salon, but in Broken Bow, it’s a beauty parlor,” I say in my Okie drawl.
“You’re so funny.” Beau chuckles under his breath. “That says it all.”
I’m gratified. “Anyway, she did hair and nails and worked every other Saturday, so when she wasn’t home, my dad would take me to Beavers Bend.” I wrinkle my nose. “Moira hates outdoor stuff, so we never went as a family.”
Beau nods as if this tidbit doesn’t surprise him. I don’t think anyone who knows Moira would be surprised, but Beau’s never even met her.
“We’d usually pack a lunch and hit Skyline Trail.” Just thinking of it has me smelling pine resin and Velveeta sandwiches. “We didn’t have a lot, but my dad’s most prized possession was his old Nikon. He’d sling that thing around his neck, hook a backpack over his shoulder, and off we’d go.”
I smile so big it hurts.
God, it hurts.
I swallow again, remembering the climb after the third Bee Creek crossing. How hard it was for me when I was little. Dad would sometimes have to piggy-back me before we reached the top of the ridge. For a moment, I close my eyes and see the back of his head. His long, dark hair used to tickle my nose.
I open my eyes. I can feel Beau’s gaze on me, but I don’t look up. I keep my own trained on the trail in front of me.
“He used to take pictures all day. He was really good. He’d shoot everything. The view from the top of the ridge. Lichen on a rotten log. Salamanders in a shallow stream… Me…”
The memory seems to pull my mouth in two directions. Like I could just as easily laugh or cry. “He loved those pictures. Whatever extra cash he had after paying bills and buying groceries went into developing and making prints.”
Moira used to give him hell about that. The money. But she liked the pictures of me. She used to ooh and aah over them. Just look at my baby girl! She could be a model. She must have said that a thousand times.
“Sounds like they were important to him,” he says, breaking me out of the memory.
I nod. “Yeah, he loved photographs.”
“I wasn’t talking about the photographs,” Beau says. “I meant the Saturdays with you.”
A gasp charges my throat. My gaze flies to his. “You think so?” The strangled question escapes me before I have a chance to tame it. A blush follows hot on its heels.
Beau holds my stare with his earnest one. “Yes, Iris.” I don’t know if anyone has ever spoken my name with such kindness. “I do.”
It’s almost too much. You know the saying, Kill them with kindness? It feels like I’ve sustained a mortal wound. Right through my heart.
When I told Beau about my dad leaving earlier, I left out the part about how I’ve wondered why he took off again after returning to Broken Bow. Did he come back because he heard we were gone? Did he leave again when he got my letters and knew I was looking for him? Looking for answers?
That thought crushed me at first. That he disappeared again because I reached out. But then I thought that maybe he’s not ready to face me. To explain why he left me. Maybe he’s not ready to give me those answers.
Maybe he needs to hold onto them more than I need to hear them.
So I won’t go looking for him. He won’t have to look hard to find me if he ever wants to.
I don’t know if that will ever happen. All I know is that Beau Landry just gave me something I’ve been aching for: a reason to believe that even though he left, my dad loved me.
When I can breathe, I force the words out. “You are nothing like what I expected.” The confession is raw, just above a whisper.
Beau’s watchful eyes smile. “You, Iris Adams, are the last thing I expected.”
We stare at each other. If this were a movie, this would be when the boy and the girl kiss. I know the part as