No One But You. Brenda Novak
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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.”
After handing down the paint and brush, she managed the descent quite nicely, for the most part. She was stronger and more agile than he’d given her credit for. Her problem was height. She was so short she had no choice but to swing freely until he guided her feet to the railing. That made him wonder what she would’ve done had he not been there, but he didn’t ask.
Although she probably would’ve been okay from there, she was close enough that he could grab her, so he set her on the ground, just to be safe. “Don’t go on the roof anymore,” he told her sternly.
She blinked at him with her wide hazel eyes. “I just wanted to get that...that ugly word off the front of the house. You could see it from the highway!”
“I’ll take care of that sort of thing in future.” He couldn’t let her get hurt. Everyone was so certain she wouldn’t be safe out here with him—especially her ex-husband.
“Then why didn’t you?” She picked up the paint and brush he’d set out of the way.
That she would come back at him, challenge him, took him by surprise. “I told you, I didn’t have the right paint.”
“It’s plain white, nothing exotic. You could’ve picked it up as easily as I did.”
He took the supplies from her. “And I planned to.”
“You just didn’t get around to it.”
“Not yet.”
“I’m not sure I can buy that.”
He said nothing, hoping she’d let the subject drop, but she didn’t.
“You’ve been back for two weeks.”
Again, he made no comment.
“You didn’t want to give anyone the pleasure of knowing it bothered you,” she said. “That’s the real answer, isn’t it? You were leaving it there to prove a point.”
“Oh yeah?” He spoke as he walked ahead of her, without turning back. “And what point would that be?”
He heard her slap her hands together as she dusted them off. “That you don’t care what people think of you. That you don’t need them to accept you, approve of you—or even like you.”
“You’re my employee, not my shrink,” he grumbled. “Don’t try to psychoanalyze me.”
“I’m not. I’ve just been wondering why you wouldn’t paint over that immediately. Having it up there had to be painful and embarrassing—a horrible thing to see every time you pulled into your own driveway. Then, after working with you for two days, I decided on the reason I think you left it. So...will you do me the favor of telling me if I’m right?”
“No,” he said. “Let’s eat.”
* * *
Dawson paced in the dining area while Sadie was at the stove, dishing up the food. He was restless. Something about what happened outside had agitated him, but she wasn’t sure what. He had to be relieved that she’d painted over that red-lettered indictment. Now he didn’t have to. Although she didn’t know him well, she was convinced she was right about his reasoning, even if he wouldn’t come out and admit it. He was a proud man who didn’t like to be pushed around—the kind who would sacrifice almost anything for an ideal. The way he’d reacted to Sly, that he’d refused to cave in, told her as much.
She put his plate on the table before eyeing him speculatively. “What’s wrong?”
He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans as he pivoted and came back toward her. “I’m not sure this is going to work out, Sadie.”
“This.” She could tell by his voice that he wasn’t talking about dinner. “You mean the job.”
He stretched his neck. “Yeah.”
“Why?” She would’ve been worried that he was about to fire her. She’d been worried last night. But this...this didn’t feel like someone who really wanted to get rid of her. He liked her, liked what she cooked and the improvements she’d made to the house. She could tell. She also knew he’d be loath to search for someone else; he didn’t want to be bothered with that. He wanted to work and put his life right. So...what was the problem?
“It’s complicated,” he said as he came over to the table and sat down.
She studied him, trying to read his body language. She saw regret, reluctance, maybe even a little indecision. “You mean because of Sly, my ex.”
He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Yeah. I guess.”
She brought her own plate over to the table and sat across from him. “Except that you’ve gotten beyond Sly’s opposition to my working here twice so far.”
He turned his fork over and over in his hand. “He could always come around again.”
“True. I warned you of that. And you texted me to be here at one.”
“Maybe I should’ve thought about it a little more carefully.”
“Because...”
He said nothing, just started shoveling spaghetti into his mouth.
“You’re upset that I covered up an ugly word some asshole painted on your house. Why?”
“You could’ve fallen off the roof.”
“But I didn’t. And now that it’s handled, I won’t go back up there. So...can we focus on the real problem?”
“This isn’t the best place for you, that’s all.”
He was wrestling with himself over something. “You told me I’d be safe.”
“You are safe. From me. Problem is...I can’t control anyone else.”
“Who do you need to control?”
He didn’t answer.
Pushing her plate away without touching her food, she waited as he polished off a meatball. “If I’m not around, how will you get your sister back?” she asked at length.
“I’ll have to hire someone else.”
“Then this is because I painted the front of the house.”
“No, it’s not. That’s ridiculous!”