Page 110 of Fortune's Control
Sarah Jane inspected her deep red nails, checking for any cracks or chips. That hurt, yet it also gave me an odd sort of power. It was a pretense; she wanted to appear unaffected. She likely believed I’d kick her out or disown her, and it’s not an unreasonable concern. I could, and maybe doing so was the wiser path.
“Who is my father?”
She glanced at Evelyn, whose pursed lips told me she knew the answer. “Hank Mayberry. I left this town without knowing I was pregnant, and insisted he marry me when I found out. Hank had no talent, goals, or ambition, which I ignored because he had one important skill: flattering me, and I was naïve enough to fall for it. We crashed on friends’ couches until you were a couple of months old, and I found him with another woman. I took you to Atlanta for a fresh start, and he died in prison. Think what you will of me, but I learned my lesson with him.”
How strange. I should feel a connection to that name, but it’s like asking an opinion on a long-dead historical figure. How should I feel about it? Sarah Jane learned a lesson, and in a way, she did. A string of beaus, but she never brought one into our lives and kept that part of herself separate. Despite all that, she never gave up searching. How much of it wasa desire to replace her missing father? Evelyn said her light dimmed after his death, after all.
I wanted to ask why we never visited my grandmother, or why she kept that part of her life hidden, but the questions dried in my mouth, because I knew the answer. Sarah Jane learned her lessons, and coming home meant revisiting them. Pride kept her moving, and unprocessed grief kept her from Fortune’s Creek. Admitting this to me meant owning up to her mistakes, and Sarah Jane never did that.
My future mattered more to me than dwelling on her past. I married a stranger who found my grandmother, and I helped a town because the people helped me. For the first time, almost everything I ever dreamed of was nearby, all save Emma, my best friend, who lent me her family when I needed it.
“I’m creating a new career for myself here. Would you like to know about it?” I asked.
She blinked in surprise. And relief. “I would love to hear more.”
“I’m pursuing my CPA license.”
“Numbers. You get that from me,” Sarah Jane said with a note of pride.
Numbers aren’t messy. “I also spoke to our mayor about a potential job if our grant proposal is approved.”
“Oh, like a non-profit? You enjoyed that work.”
She listened that much?
“It’ll be approved,” Shane announced from the doorway. “Your tea is ready.” He passed it over so I could take my first needed sip. “Overly sweet iced coffee in the morning, and unsweet, hot herbal tea in the evening.”
Sarah Jane watched him, curious. “Do you mind if I ask how you lost your leg?”
Shane took his familiar spot next to me. “I didn’t. It’s atranstibial amputation, which means only the part below the knee. It’s from a training accident two months before my enlistment ended.” His jaw tightened, but otherwise, Shane gave no sign that the question bothered him.
“Does it prevent you from…” Sarah Jane glanced at me. “Are you able to…”
My eyes widened with horror. Was she asking that question now?
Shane’s features sharpened as he drew the same conclusion before relaxing. “You want to know if I can protect her?” He leaned back and put an arm over my shoulder.
“Well, forgive me for asking the obvious question.” Sarah Jane’s quick defensiveness returned, and for once, I didn’t mind. “A man posed as a detective and then ransacked your sister’s home. Also, he’s driving around like a drunken madman.”
“We have cameras,” I said. It was true, but it did not address her concerns.
“She’s safer here than she ever was in Atlanta,” Shane said.
I heard the unsaid part: I was safer here than in Atlanta with my mother.
“Then keep it that way,” she said.
My mother came to Fortune’s Creek because she was worried about me. I have entered the upside-down, and if I’m honest, I liked it here.
38-Shane
I pulled off the dirt road, and the first cabin came into view.
“Shane.” She gripped the dashboard.
“What’s wrong?”
“When you said wood cabin, I pictured a run-down shack, with an old car up on concrete blocks. This is an actual wood cabin.”
