Page 52 of They Call Her Dirty Sally

She studied his face, wishing what he said could be true. But like most nice things Paul said, it was wishful thinking. “We both know neither of those things can happen.”

He picked at a weed and sighed. “Marriage isn’t exactly what I thought it would be, Sally.” He said it so quietly that she felt like an intruder in a private conversation. He blinked as though realizing he had said that private thing out loud. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. I love Sherry and all. I guess I just thought it would be…”

“Less work? Less drama? Less fighting?”

He tilted his head with a grimace. “You can hear that?”

“I think my papa can hear it from under that oak tree back there.” She pointed toward the back of her property, where her father was buried. “I thought I heard him yell at both of y’all to shut up a couple nights ago, but I could be wrong.”

At that, Paul laughed. “That’s a terrible thing to say.”

She smirked. “It was a terrible thing to hear. Dead fathers are not supposed to talk from the grave.”

“Sally!” Paul’s shoulders shook along with his head. After he settled, he looked at her. Looked through her. He knew her that well.

“Do you miss him?”

She thought about her answer. “Every day. But I miss a lot of things.” They both knew what she meant. Trying to pretend wouldn’t change that fact. The words hung between them like an unspoken wish, one you want to take back the moment it leaves your lips, but instead, you shrug because not saying it doesn’t take away the longing. Their friendship was her wish. His departure from it was the falling star.

They were locked in a quiet stare-down neither of them could break. One minute. Two minutes. Three went by before Paul finally cleared his throat.

“Well, I guess I should get home before the wife misses me.” He stood up to brush the dirt off the back of his pants but didn’t leave straight away. “It’s always good to talk to you, Sally. I’ll see you around soon.”

But she didn’t see Paul for a long time after that. Even though she still crept around in his greenhouse at night when the town was fast asleep, he never appeared. Sometimes she felt his eyes watching out for her, but when she looked over her shoulder, she never saw him standing there.

Desperate times makepeople do desperate things, as Sally found out firsthand over two years later. In her defense, she had barely seen Paul during those long months spent alone, and the people she did see were those who came and went from the hotel, not yet knowing that she was a person to avoid.

And when one didn’t, she took it as acceptance.

She had a long enough history with this town to know better.

They had a long enough history with her to hate her more than ever.

Funny how grasping for one moment of acceptance can lead you straight toward the one thing that changes your life forever, and not always for the better.

Regret’s evil twin is shame, and both share an unfortunate kinship with loss.

She lost her father.

She lost Jack.

She lost Paul.

She lost every friend she ever had.

But the worst loss of all was when she lost herself.

20

Thirty years ago, 1968

Sally

She was a week overdue when her water broke all over the green sofa. At first, she thought she’d gone to the bathroom on herself, it wouldn’t have been the first time that had happened in the past nine months. But when the peeing didn’t stop, she knew it was her waters for a few reasons. One, because the feeling of needing to go to the bathroom didn’t let up. Two, once she started going, she couldn’t stop. And three, she remembered hearing a distinct pop like someone had stuck a pin to her insides. Boom. Whoosh. Sounds she had never heard before.

When she stood up, the dam broke right along with her composure.

A baby. A child of her own. Fatherless, but not motherless. Created from a one-night stand in a motel bedroom. Sally didn’t even know the man’s last name. She found out afterward that he was married when his wife showed up as she was exiting his room. Apparently, his behavior was a regular occurrence, monthly rendezvous made under the guise of out-of-town business trips the man never made. His house was less than five minutes away. A wife, two kids, and a dog. Classic Americana on display in a Norman Rockwell painting. The woman called Sally every name in the book in the motel parking lot for everyone to hear. Not so wholesome, but Sally deserved it. Still, the words stung.

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