Page 16 of Rejected Exile

A moment later her mouth curls up in a familiar, infectious smile, and she whoops. "Delilah! You're back!"

"I am."

"Oh, that's so—well." She moves towards me suddenly, sympathy crumpling her face inward. "I can't lie and say I'm not glad you're back in town, but I know it's for terrible reasons. I'm so sorry, Sweetie. Hug?"

"Of course."

She folds her arms around me gently and envelops me with her faded floral scent. It takes a moment for me to loosen my arms from the side and return the hug. Anxiety gnaws at me, threatening to turn my stomach inside out, clawing at my throat like a living thing.

Bea's hands stroke my back, her voice low and soothing. "You poor thing. Gone for so long—and through no fault of your own—only to have to return to bear a terrible burden. And to think, you had to grow up so quickly."

Something shakes loose inside me. I breathe out, and am shocked to have to blink back tears. The words that leave my mouth feel like they've been bubbling up for days—and they have.

"He died before he ever said he was sorry," I tell her, closing my eyes as she clutches me tight. "How is that fair?"

"It isn't."

"Now I'll never get to hear those words."

"And you deserved them, Dee." In her mouth I don't mind the childhood nickname. "I'm so sorry that things couldn't have been better for you. It's what you deserved."

"Thank you."

I take a deep breath, and for a moment, I just let her hold me. It's a long moment—too long, maybe—but not enough to soothe my soul. I have to force myself back before I lean on her too much, afraid that if I start letting more of the grief and anger out, I won't be able to stop it.

But I hold myself together and dash the tears from my eyes, reminding myself that I didn't come here to fall apart.

"This place is just like I remember it," I tell Bea, stepping over to a wide-mouthed barrel full of legos and toying idly with a few bright pieces. "It's like childhood never really ended."

She watches me for a moment, but wisely lets me change the subject. "I wanted it to be exactly that when I opened it. If you ask me, we expect kids to turn into adults too quickly. Everyone needs a little extra playtime—even, or maybe especially, adults."

"Here I thought I was going to get my version of adult playtime across the square at the liquor store," I joke.

"Oh, everyone needs a little of that, too." Bea winks at me. "I have a bottle of liquor in the back that I pull out after closing to play a little Grand Theft on my own. Your father used to join me from time to time."

"My father? Really?"

"He did. In fact, he was one of my favorite patrons." A sorrowful expression crosses her face. "When I moved here, I was in dire straights. Running from more than one shadow. I don't think I would've survived without his help. He's the one who convinced the bank to give me a loan—put up a bit of a collateral."

"Wow. I had no idea."

"Wouldn't have expected you to—it was before you were born." She shakes off the expression and reaches out to gently cup my elbow. "There are a lot of us around here who credit our survival to your dad. He collected strays like none other. We would've done anything for him—and we'd do anything for his daughter. If you need any little thing, just ask."

My throat feels raw with emotion, so I nod, because I can't seem to get any words out.

* * *

As I make my way through the square running various errands—a few frozen meals at the grocery store, some office supplies nearby, stamps and cardboard boxes—the story I get from various townies I pass is the same.

They all stop to talk to me. Giving me genuine, heartfelt apologies. And then they each tell their story of how my dad helped them when they first moved to Juniper.

One single mother got a gently used crib and cash to pay the deposit on her apartment.

A man struggling with addiction got a job, a second chance, and forgiveness.

There's a young man at the gas station who says my dad pulled him off a ledge—a literal one this time—and an elderly woman buying bingo cards inside who claims he went on extra hunts for her every winter so she'd have food in her cabin outside of town.

Story after story, accompanied by deep, genuine grief. They all felt a deep love for my father. I answer their words with whatever pithy remark gets me out of the interaction as quickly as possible, but as the day wears long and my errands pile up, anger starts to grow in my belly.

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