Page 56 of Right Number, Wrong Man
Sara Jean hugsme and I inhale the sweet, nutty smell of pecan pie clinging to her perfectly styled blond hair. It’s my favorite dessert when I visit the Walkers, and knowing her, I bet she made it especially for me.
“Hun, I’m so glad to see you again. It’s been too long,” Sara Jean says, her eyes misting up.
Tears burn the back of my nose. I sniffle.
Everyone is terribly nice to me today. First Colt gave me the signed DVD—the best gift ever—and now his mom is being her kind self.
She wears a bright pink blush on her cheeks and matching lipstick, but I can tell how exhausted she is beneath the façade. I’m not cut up about Mike’s death, but seeing what it’s done to her is a dagger to my heart.
Fuck, I was a self-absorbed bitch wallowing in my guilt instead of being there for her. Ignoring her calls makes me a total asshole.
I choke down a sob. The last thing I deserve is understanding and Sara Jean should be mad at me, but she’s not.
She tucks some hair behind my ear. “Oh my, you’re wearing the earrings I sent for your birthday! I knew the turquoise would look great on you.”
“I love t-them! You got my thank you card, didn’t you?” I stammer.
Sara Jean nods, smiling warmly. “I did.”
I stall, working up the courage to say the important stuff. “Sorry for not taking your calls or answering your texts. I’m not trying to make excuses, but it’s been… been?—”
My lips move, but the words lodge in my throat like a ball of razor wire.
I can’t tell the truth about the breakup. And I can’t say that I’ve been feeling guilty for not mourning more. For moving on with my life, because mentally, I moved on from my marriage long ago when Mike stopped paying attention to me beyond petty insults.
Sara Jean puts a kiss on my cheek and I let out a hitched sob.
“Hailey Grace, sweetheart, you don’t have to explain yourself. Everybody grieves their own way and you needed a little extra time for yourself. We’re just glad you’re back here with us now.” She leans in to whisper in my ear. “And if you ever need somebody to talk to, you can call me anytime, alright?”
All I manage is a choked-up nod before my gaze meets Colt’s. He’s standing behind his mother and his expression is soft. So soft, I can’t believe it’s real. I can’t believe it’s Colt. And then he smiles again. A small, understanding smile I thought he wasn’t capable of.
When his chin dips subtly in approval, my heart lifts. Normally, I don’t care what he thinks of me, but when it comes to his parents, it’s a different matter.
Sara Jean gently guides me toward the house, patting my hand. “Don’t be mad at Colton. It’s my fault he roped you into visiting tonight. He only did what his momma told him.” She winks over her shoulder and Colt grumbles.
Warmth radiates through my chest as we walk through the front door. This feels like coming home, but it’s not just because I grew up in this neighborhood. Most people from back then have moved away to bigger cities like Burtonville, anyway.
Until this moment, I didn’t realize how badly I missed this house and the people living in it.
The scent of roasted meat and vegetables fills my nose and my mouth waters. “That smells delicious,” I say.
“For the special occasion, I thawed a turkey from Colt’s spring hunting trip,” Sara Jean says, already halfway to the kitchen. “Y’all go and sit down, have a drink. I just finished setting the table.”
“Wait!” I cut in and she stops in the doorway. Her expectant expression has emotions swelling in my throat, but I force the words out. “First, I owe you and Earl a proper apology for not dropping by sooner and?—”
“In this house, you ain’t gotta apologize for nothin’, darlin’,” a gruff, deep voice booms out of the living room. Colt’s father Earl appears in the doorway, hat pressed to his chest and a pair of gardening gloves sticking out from his pocket.
Earl’s drawl is even thicker than Colt’s but I’ve gotten used to it. When I first heard Mike’s neutral newscaster accent, I couldn’t believe he grew up in the same house. Makes sense, though. Mike never wanted to be seen as part of his Southern family.
“We knew you’d come around in your own time,” Earl adds, running a hand over his short, grey hair.
My knees wobble with relief. The Walkers don’t blame me for Mike’s death, and they don’t expect me to grieve in any specific way.
A smile breaks across my face. “Hi, Earl. And uh… thank you.”
The mountain of a man puts his hat on a rack by the door before approaching me. He wraps me in a hug that smells of freshly mowed grass and sun warm soil, gently patting my back before letting go. Then he nods at Colt and holds out a hand. “Son.”
Colt takes off his hat before they shake. “Sir.”
