Page 64 of They Call Her Dirty Sally

When his arms tighten around me, I sink into his silent agreement. Remembering. We both are. The day is ripe for it, an unfolding of all the days and months and years leading up to it. Time that could have gone differently. So much differently had he—had I and nearly everyone involved—held onto our pride. Had we all clung to the way things had been forever, refusing to admit individual wrongdoing and forging headlong into making it right.

I’ll never forget that day.

As he’s told me a million times before…he won’t either.

27

October 1998

Finn

Paul Ford opens the front door, and I blink, thrown off guard that anyone other than Sally is here. “We haven’t spoken in more than seven years,” he’d told me about their relationship, but now I’m left wondering if that was a hypothetical statement. Or an outright lie.

“You haven’t had all your questions answered yet?” he asks. It isn’t a hostile statement, but I don’t like his tone. And I don’t appreciate the human barricade that appears to be Paul Ford standing in my way.

“Sally here?” I sidestep his question altogether.

“She is, but she’s taking a nap. I’ll tell her you stopped by.”

I nearly laugh. It’s cute that he thinks he can get rid of me that easily. I’m a reporter by profession, and it isn’t because of my willingness to back down. I push my way through the door and take a step inside.

“I think I’ll wait for her to wake up.” As though I belong here, as though this shack of a home is half mine, I lower myself onto that old sofa and sit back, trying not to think of mice or poisonous spiders tucked inside the cushions. A distraction, that’s what I need. I look up at Paul. “I thought you said you two never talk. How does that work when you’re standing here inside her home?”

His eyebrows push together like he doesn’t want to answer. Yep, he lied. I’m certain of it now. What parts of his story did he keep from me, or worse, change altogether?

“We hadn’t. But after I talked to you, I realized how foolish not talking to each other was, so I came here to clear the air. It’s still a little smoky, but we’re both starting to see better now. Sally is opening up to me, and I’m going to stick around until she does completely. Even if I have to move in here to make it happen. I’m stubborn like that.”

I open my mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. He made the decision after our talk? After I—

“No one’s moving into my house, not you or anyone else. So, get that out of your head right now, or I’ll kick you out myself.” Sally shuffles her way into the room, trying her darndest to look annoyed. But I see it, a smile tilting one corner of her mouth. A barely-there smile accompanied by a flush on her cheeks. Sally Gertie—the scariest and angriest woman I’ve ever encountered in my life—is blushing. On this side of a BB gun, she’s just a flesh and blood woman embarrassed by the attention of a man. I’m speechless for the first time in my life.

“What are you doing here?” she says when she spots me, the ever-present scowl firmly returned to its position. “Thought you would be long gone by now. You forget the way back to Houston?”

There’s no way I have anything in common with this harsh woman, least of all blood. But I made my decision already, and I’m seeing it through.

“You told me if I wanted to pursue the truth, I would know where to find you. So, I’m here, finding you.” Her scowl doesn’t falter, but I see her slow swallow. I catch her sidelong glance at Paul, asking for help, begging for interference. To his credit, the man stays quiet. To my detriment, he reaches for her hand and gives it a squeeze. Two against one. I’m not used to being the odd man out. “Are you saying I should leave?”

“Did I say anything yet? Kids these days, impatient every one of them.” She glances at Paul again, and he nods. I breathe easier, certain that even if she asks me to leave, Sally won’t be alone. Not now. Hopefully, never again. “What else do you want to know?” There’s a wobble in her voice like she’s afraid of my answer. I’m a bit afraid of it, too.

“For now, I’d just like to know more about you. Talk more. See if our stories mesh or not. Anything else can be decided later.”

“So, you aren’t asking for a blood test or locks of my hair to give to a detective?”

She’s so straightforward it leaves me reeling. Is this what I’m asking for? I know the answer before I say it. “No. Maybe it’ll come to that, maybe it won’t. But you knew my dad. And my mother, I suppose. For now, just hearing your stories is enough. Can we see how it goes and take it from there?”

“Didn’t like your mother none, just so you know.”

A statement like that might normally make my temper flash.No one talks about my mother like that.But now I find myself laughing. Sally’s straightforward, but something tells me I’ll never have to question her sincerity.

“I can live with that,” I say. And I mean it.

She smiles. “Then I suppose we can be friends. How do you take your tea? I’m partial to peppermint.” She and Paul share a look like there’s a secret inside it. Maybe someday I’ll find out what it is.

“Then I’ll learn to be partial to peppermint too.” There’s no hiding the delight she finds in those words. With what can only be described as a contented sigh, she makes her way toward the stove.

As for Paul, he reaches down to pat me on the shoulder. It’s a fatherly gesture, a nod of support tangled with a warning to stay out of trouble. Maybe trouble is what I’m headed for. Or maybe trouble is what I’m running from. All I know is that if you sit with trouble, it becomes a comfortable best friend. A way of life when you could have just shrugged it off and aimed for something better.

I’m aiming for something better.

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