“I ask again, am I being detained?”
“No.”
“Then...I’m free to go.”
“Except that you’re out of gas,” he pointed out. Again.
“Well, you’re free to go, then.”
He lifted a shoulder. “Yeah, I could. But I feel like it’s my mission to make sure you don’t get into any trouble. Or light anything on fire.”
“Okay, look, I didn’t light anything on fire on purpose. I knocked over a lantern.”
“Which is why arson wasn’t on the list of things you were arrested for.”
“Do you forget anything?” she asked.
“Public drunkenness. Disturbing the peace, resisting arrest. Not arson, though. And that’s not even mentioning the number of times we had to come and ask you and your friends to leave a store, or stop loitering where you didn’t belong.”
“Good lord, what a sad small life you must lead to remember my rap sheet. I barely even remember it.”
“As I said, you don’t forget your first.”
She screwed up her face. “That sounds possibly more sexual than I think you mean it to.”
“How does it sound sexual?”
She squinted. “Really?”
She waited for a full four seconds while it registered. She could see when it did because his humorless, impassive face had a slight shift before going back to being total granite. He still had his sunglasses on, so she couldn’t see his eyes, only her own reflection. Which looked flushed and flustered. And not from heat, that was for sure.
“Why are you here?” he asked.
“I didn’t say,” she said.
“I know. I tend to remember conversations that happened less than five minutes ago.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t see how that’s any of your business, since I’m not being detained for questioning.”
“For someone who hasn’t been arrested more than just the once, you have the lingo down perfectly.”
“I’m a therapist. I work with some troubled souls. I’ve seen more than one arrest.”
“Hmm,” he said. A noise halfway between a word and a grunt.
“What?”
“I’m surprised you became a therapist, is all.”
“Why?”
“Because.”
She knew what that because meant. Because you’re such a mess. That was what it meant. And she was not a mess. She wasn’t perfect, but she wasn’t a disaster, either. Anyway, thankfully, having your crap together was not a requirement for being able to help others get their crap together. So there. She didn’t say that last part, though. Because...well, gun. Badge. Handcuffs.
“I like to fix things,” she said. That was honest. “To fix people, actually. I don’t just arrest them and throw away the key. I try to make an impact on people’s lives.”
“Well, it takes both types, I guess,” he said.
“Yeah. So anyway, don’t you have some teenage miscreants to harass? I seem to recall that being your MO.”
As soon as she said it, an old red pickup truck eased into the space in front of her and an old man, one who looked familiar, got out, holding a gas can the same color as the truck.
“Well,” the other man said, a smile on his face, “if it isn’t Ms. Sadie Miller.”
Apparently she was wrong about not having anyone in town who still knew her. It was like these people had nothing better to do than remember every single soul who was born in this burg. For all eternity.
In fairness, though, she remembered Bud, too. She had no idea what his real name was. Or if he had one. Hell, that could be it. There was more than one Bubba in town, and they went by it completely un-ironically, so there really was no telling.
“Yes,” she said. “Yes, it’s me.”
“What brings you back to town?” he asked. “Your parents aren’t back, are they?”
“No,” she said. “They’re still down in Coos Bay.” Not that she spoke to them. For all she knew they could be somewhere else entirely by now, but she didn’t care. Not anymore.
She couldn’t watch their dynamic, not now that she had a choice. She’d moved away from her father’s rages. She wasn’t going to expose herself to them again.
And her mother wouldn’t leave. No matter how many times Sadie begged, her mother wouldn’t leave.
