56

SHELBY

If good times were snapshots of blessings, Saturday night with Dad, Aria, and Denton had filled my memory’s scrapbook. Aria and I cleaned up from supper while Denton took Dad to see Big Red. I knew the topic of their conversation, but I was confident in Denton’s explanation of the phone call. Sheriff Wendall arranged for two off-duty officers to keep an eye on the cabin.

For a little while, I relaxed and allowed normal to seep into my heart and soothe the turmoil. If only I could make these hours last forever. As the evening wore on, Denton suggested a game called Scattergories. I’d forgotten how competitive Dad and I were at games, while Aria and Denton laughed at our antics.

Once in bed with Aria’s soft, rhythmic breathing beside me, I tried to stay awake . . . just in case. My body had a mind of its own, however.

Sunday morning, I woke early and tiptoed into the kitchen, where Dad and I swung into action with breakfast. Coffee sounded really good, so I took the grinder outside not to waken Aria or Denton. A police car was parked not far away.

Comfort, treasured comfort.

A few ideas had occurred to me about once more faking my death. But I had no time to ponder them now.

Back inside, Dad grated potatoes, and I placed bacon into a huge cast-iron skillet. Edie must have thought Denton’s cabin needed the skillet to cook for a dozen people. We used Mom’s recipe for scrambled eggs, adding sautéed mushrooms and whipped cream cheese.

Standing so close to Dad nearly brought on a gush of tears. “Thanks,” I whispered.

“You’re welcome. Thank you for letting me feel like a father again.”

I swallowed hard. “Are we able to move forward?”

“Hope so.” He stopped kneading biscuit dough. “Your mother had plenty to say to me before she died. Things that seemed ludicrous at the time but are making more and more sense.”

“I’m puzzled.”

He sniffed. “Ever hear knowledge is horizontal but wisdom is vertical?” I shook my head. “For three decades, I used knowledge to live my life. Your mother chased after wisdom.” He stared into my eyes, his gaze a torrent of pain and grief. “She believed you loved your sister enough to take the blame for Travis’s murder.”

My heart thudded loud enough to wake Mom and Travis from the grave. Doubt, worry, and the constant looking over my shoulder pressed on me. I would not put Dad through the agony of danger by admitting the truth.

“You’re pale, little girl, and there’s no need to say a word. Marissa’s history and her abandoning Aria speak loud and clear.”

“I confessed, remember?”

“Sacrifice always has a price. Can you forgive this old man for using knowledge and lies instead of wisdom to seek the truth?”

“Dad, we all have a journey to walk. I’ve never stopped loving you and forgiveness happened years ago. I shouldn’t have given up writing you in prison.”