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“I was two,” I say. “How could I have looked strong?”
He glances over at me. “Your eyes. You have the soul of a fighter, Lani Hunt, and I have never—not once—ever doubted that you were sent to us by God above. The Father gave us a daughter that day. And while I wish you had never suffered as you did, I can’t help but thank Him for bringing you to us.”
Tears burn in my eyes. “Dad.”
“It’s true.” He pulls into the sheriff’s station and parks beside Gibson’s truck. Then he turns to me and takes my hands in his. “I need you to remember that now and in the coming days. You may be a little scuffed, just as you were back then. But you werenotbroken then, and you’re not broken now. You, my beautiful daughter, are a fighter, and there’s nothing you can’t overcome.”
Tears slip freely down his wrinkled cheeks, and when he pulls me in for a hug, I feel just as I imagine I did back then.
Relieved because I’d found the safety I’d been deprived of.
“Thank you, Daddy.”
“I love you so much, Lani. For the rest of my days, my heart beats for you, your mother, and your brothers.” He pulls back. “Now, go give your sheriff some food. I’ll head back, and you can call me when you’re ready to come home.”
The fact that he knows I don’t just want to dump and run means the world to me. “Thank you, Dad.”
“Anytime, darling girl.”
I smile at him as I retrieve the to-go bag of food and climb out of the truck. He stays where he is and waits until I’m in the precinct. As soon as I step inside the door and wave at him, he waves back and leaves.
The place is nearly empty, with just the receptionist and two officers working in the main room. Across from the entrance is the sheriff’s office. And through the glass window overlooking the rest of the office, I can see Gibson staring at a glass board with a bunch of pictures and writing taped to it.
Here we go.
I move all the way into the office and the receptionist, Jenny, looks up and waves at me over the top of a fresh vase of wildflowers.Flowers.
“Hey, are you okay?” she asks.
“Huh?”
“You look a little pale.”
“Just tired,” I say, forcing a smile. “Are you doing okay?”
“Not too shabby. Marcus and I are taking a vacation next week. We’re headed to Jamaica.” She and her husband have been married for four years. They were members of the same 4-H group as my brothers and I were when we’d been growing up.
“That sounds awesome,” I tell her. “I could use a vacation myself.”
“I bet you could.” Her expression softens in sympathy.
And before she can offer me any of that, I force my smile to widen and wave. “I’ll see you around.”
“You too, Lani. He’s in his office. Though now that I say that, I realize you can see it.” She laughs and shakes her head. “I am glad you brought him food though. I was about to force-feed him a granola bar. He’s been at it nonstop since you—well—you know.”
I turn to face his office, noting the way he’s pacing back and forth as he stares down at a yellow notepad. He’s looked exhausted every time I’ve seen him. Is he even sleeping? “I’ll make sure he eats.”
“And I appreciate that. I’m out for the night, so he’ll have to unlock the doors to let you out.”
“Sounds good, thanks.”
“See you around, girl.” After gathering her purse and sweater, she heads out the front glass doors, locking them behind her.
The quiet of the empty sheriff’s office surrounds me. I don’t see any of the deputies, which means they’re either at home or out patrolling. For the first time all night, a bit of joy sneaks through the dark cloud surrounding me.
I’ve made it about halfway through the room before Gibson turns toward the glass and sees me. He stops in his tracks and stares back at me. A moment passes between us where no words are spoken, but more is said than either of us expected.
He crosses toward the door and pulls it open. “Hey, what are you doing here?”