No One But You

“Sure. That’d be great.” Finished with the cookies, he downed the rest of the milk and handed the dishes back to her. “Those were delicious.”

Perhaps it was a simple thing, but she was happy she’d managed to please him. “I’m glad.”

She was on her way to the house when he called out to her.

“How’d it go with your ex last night?”

She shaded her face as she turned back. “Better than expected. He knew he had no business coming over here, that I was angry with him for doing that, so he was trying to be charming.”

“Charming means he has hope.”

“Excuse me?”

“He’s still trying to win you back.”

“Yes.”

“Is that a possibility?”

“Not if I can help it. That’s why I’m here.”

He scratched up under his hat. “He didn’t give you any grief about working for me?”

From the moment she’d let him know about the appointment. But she couldn’t repeat most of what Sly had said. “A little. He asked me to go down to the police station with him so I could talk to the detective on your case.”

A muscle moved in Dawson’s jaw. “And? Did you agree?”

“No.”

“Because...”

“I already know what they’re going to say.”

* * *

Sadie wasn’t in the house. Dawson could smell dinner simmering in that old Crock-Pot she’d brought over, but she didn’t answer when he called her name. He found a receipt she’d left on the counter. Apparently, he owed her another $78.08 for supplies from the hardware store, so he left a $100 bill beside it. There was no note to indicate she’d left, though, nothing else.

He checked the front window to see if her El Camino was still in the drive. It was. And when he went to the laundry room off the back porch, he saw a stack of little boys’ clothes folded on top of the dryer he’d missed when he came in.

So where was she?

“Sadie?” He moved back toward the front of the house.

No answer.

While in the kitchen again, he removed the lid on the slow cooker to see what she’d made for dinner and found some giant meatballs bathed in tomato sauce. A bowl of plain pasta sat on the counter with tin foil over the top. Garlic bread that looked and smelled as if it’d just been pulled from the oven waited nearby.

He’d been served plenty of spaghetti in jail, but he could tell this meal wasn’t going to be anything like that tasteless mess.

He cut off a chunk of meatball so he could taste it. “Damn, that’s good,” he muttered.

Thinking she might’ve decided to clean his room or Angela’s, he went upstairs. She’d made great strides on the first floor. He liked the lemon smell of the furniture polish and the astringent scent of the disinfectant. But, from what he could see, the only thing she’d done upstairs was his laundry. His clothes, folded as neatly as her son’s, waited on the bed.

On the way back down, he paused in front of his parents’ bedroom. He doubted she’d go in there—hoped she wouldn’t—and was relieved when he tried the handle. Locked, as usual. She wasn’t in any of the bathrooms, either. She wasn’t anywhere in the house.

Had she gone outside, looking for him?

“Sadie?” He let the screen door slam as he went out back. “Sadie, where are you?”

“Here!”

At last, he got a response. He followed her voice around to the front, where he found her on the roof, painting over the graffiti on the house.

“How’d you get up there?” He squinted to see her clearly in the fading light.

She gestured to the far side of the porch. “I climbed.”

Using the railing and then the overhang. Whoever had defaced the house had probably gotten up the same way. He’d used that makeshift ladder to sneak out of the house when he was in high school, so he supposed he shouldn’t be too surprised. “You need to come down before you fall and break your leg or worse. The moss on those shingles can make them a lot slicker than you might expect.”

“I’m being careful.”

“I can cover that up myself. I just didn’t have the right paint.”

“This isn’t a perfect match, but I took a chip from the lintel of the back door when I left last night, so it’s not bad. Better than leaving it as it was.”

“I’ll finish up,” he insisted.

“Don’t make me stop in the middle. I’m almost done. Why don’t you go eat? Dinner’s in the kitchen. No need to let it get cold.”

Still a little nervous that she might come sliding off the porch and land on her back or head, he frowned as he watched. “I saw it, but I’m staying right here so I can help you down.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got it.”

“Trust me. Climbing up is a lot easier than coming down.” He’d almost broken his own neck on occasion—and that was before he’d arrived at whatever party he was heading out to, so he hadn’t been drinking. Some nights when he returned it was a miracle he’d been able to climb back up at all.

His parents had been through so much with him. He felt bad about his behavior now. But he’d had to test them, had to prove they were going to stick with him and love him no matter what. At least that was his mother’s interpretation. He wasn’t sure what had driven him to act out. Anger, he supposed. Youth, carelessness, selfishness. And yet they’d held fast. They’d stuck with Angela, even though she wasn’t perfect, and they’d stuck with him. Whoever killed them probably saw them as two insignificant old people, people who couldn’t adequately defend themselves or their belongings. But Dawson knew they were better than most people could ever hope to be. They’d made him whole, helped him find a little peace in the world, some direction—

“I guess having your help would make it easier to get the paint down without spilling it,” she conceded, interrupting his thoughts. “Hang on a minute.”

As he watched the crudely made letters disappear beneath her brush, an odd sense of relief grew inside him. Her simple act soothed some of the pain and anger that drove him like a cattle prod. But he would never forget what had started his rapid descent into hell. He’d find the person responsible for the brutal attack on his mom and dad and hold them accountable—even if it took the rest of his life to accomplish.

“How does it look?” Sadie asked when she was done. “Did I get it covered?”

He lifted his arms, in case she fell. “Whatever you do, don’t step back to see for yourself!”

She cast him a disgruntled look. “I’m not stupid. That’s why I asked you.”

“Tough to tell in this light. It’s too dark. I can always throw on another coat tomorrow morning. Come on. I’m starving.”