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Most days, people couldn’t tell if Vernon Hamilton was a happy man or an angry one.

Like today, at Bush Airport in Houston, waiting at carousel number 4 in terminal C. The arrivals board confirmed his daughter’s family’s flight from LAX had landed right on time.

But Vernon’s thoughts were not evident under his thick silver mustache. They rarely were. Except for when the edges drooped in displeasure. For the times he might be happy, his eyes crinkled, like when the pentas in his late wife’s garden bloomed and drew the hummingbirds.

Concealing feelings had given Vernon a face as inscrutable as those on Mount Rushmore. An expression carved over time from all he’d seen. First with the Highway Patrol, then as a Texas Ranger, then as a county sheriff. It had also evolved as he’d been widowed and tasked with raising his daughter as a single father, helping her through the adversity she was coping with to this day.

When her mother had died suddenly, Carrie was devastated, leaving Vernon to believe, and hope, it was the worst thing she would ever face. But a few years later, Carrie was nearly killed in an attack in which two other teens from her high school were murdered.

Vernon winced internally because that was a painful time for Carrie and for him. He was glad he got her out of the county to live with Pearl. He wanted her to put Texas in her rearview mirror and build a good life. A solid life. And she did that with Luke and Emily.

He was of two minds that Carrie had made the decision to move back home. He was fearful about the risk of her conjuring up ghosts. Dangerous ones. Still, he had to admit, having her and her family with him in the time he had left, well, that suited him just fine.

Vernon looked around at the busy, expansive terminal with its polished floor, standing there in his boots, jeans and blue gingham shirt. He no longer had his silver star pinned on his chest, but he wore his white Stetson. Not everybody in Texas wore a cowboy hat, but Vernon did. He liked that it kept the sun out of his eyes, but he had to admit, wearing it might’ve been more of a throwback to his days as a Ranger and sheriff, a last grasp at authority.

“Oh, no!”

Vernon turned to the adjacent carousel where a woman was tussling with several bags while corralling two toddlers. She appeared to be alone, and her attempt to stack her bags on a cart was failing. He moved with surprising quickness for his sixty-seven years, offering to help.

“Oh, please,” she said.

He restacked the bags securely on her cart.

“Thank you, sir, you’re very kind.”

He touched the brim of his Stetson and nodded as a new stream of passengers flooded the area. Surveying faces, he found Carrie’s as she hurried to him ahead of Luke, who was holding Emily. Vernon opened his arms and Carrie rushed into them in a long, strong embrace.

“Oh, Daddy,” she said through tears before stepping back, giving her father a once-over and a shaky smile.

“And there’s our little angel,” Vernon said, looking to Emily as Luke passed the baby to him. Vernon’s eyes crinkled at the corners as his granddaughter reached for his hat.

He put it on her and she nearly disappeared under it. He tilted it so he could see her little face.

“Welcome home,” he said.

Minutes later, bags were dispensed onto the carousel. Luke loaded theirs onto a cart and they navigated their way to the terminal garage and Vernon’s Ford F-150 with the crew cab.

Vernon unlocked the doors and indicated the new baby car seat base in the back. “It’s the one you told me to get,” he said to Carrie’s delight.

After Carrie buckled Emily in, Luke got into the back with the baby, while Carrie rode up front with her father. As Vernon wheeled the Ford from the terminal along the parkway, they made small talk: the flight was smooth; Emily slept; she was a good flyer except for the descent, when she’d fussed a bit.

Passing the Sonic Drive-In and the Waffle House, Carrie gave an update on Pearl—she was well and might come for Thanksgiving after her cruise. The subject shifted to the new house in Cedar Breeze and logistics about the move. Their conversation was pleasant, but working through traffic, Vernon sensed that Carrie was assessing him. And by the time they got onto US 59 for the drive to Clear River, their conversation went beyond small talk.

“You look thinner, Dad.”

He nodded.

“So, how’re you feeling?” she asked. “I mean, really feeling?”

He lifted both hands slightly from the wheel, giving a casual shrug, then replaced them. “Fine.”

“No pain, discomfort?”

He shook his head slowly.

Several long seconds went by with Carrie processing his response, studying his face, his wrinkled neck and his age-spotted hands. Finally, she patted his shoulder.

Miles later, as they left greater Houston, Vernon found Luke looking at him in the rearview mirror. His son-in-law asked: “Vern, have you heard anything new through your channels on the woman found at the strip mall at the north end of town?”

“Like what?”

“Anything on cause?”

“Word is blunt trauma.”

“Really?”

“I’m hearing she was under the influence, could’ve been from falling, or from something else.” Vernon held Luke in his gaze for a moment, forcing Luke to look away. “Why you interested? It’s a city case.”

“We supported them. I canvassed.”

“Hmm. Well, I heard nothing more than that.” Luke nodded before Vernon added, “But my pals at the county tell me you’re doing a good job.”

Surprised by the compliment, Luke smiled. “Good to hear, Vern. I can’t thank you enough for putting in a good word and all.”

“Weren’t nothing. You were plenty qualified.”

“Yeah, but with my issue—” Luke gazed out the window.

Finding Luke’s doleful expression in his mirror, Vernon said: “Forget it, Luke. California’s in the past.” He turned to Carrie. “And what about you? How’re you feeling?” Then echoing her: “I mean, really feeling?”

She took in a long breath, then let it out.

“Anxious about moving back here because of—you know.”

“I do.”

“I can’t wait to see the house, though—it looks nice.”

“And your therapist, what did she say?”

“She said I could handle this, and I’ll continue sessions with her online.”

“So, after all this time, it still helps?”

“It does. She said by being back here, maybe I could remember more about what happened.”

“Maybe it’s just as well you don’t remember.”

“Why?”

“It was such a terrible thing you went through. I mean, do you really want to relive it?”

“Some days I want answers.”

“And other days?”

“I don’t know. Dr. Bernay said remembering could be traumatic. But also that I could get control of it by standing up to the past.”

After listening, Vernon was silent for the longest time, sorting through Carrie’s concern. Finally, he said, “You know, I appreciate what you two did, picking up your lives like this. You didn’t have to do this, and if you change your minds, that’s okay.”

“Dad, we want to do this.”

He looked at her, then in the mirror at his granddaughter, and the corners of his eyes crinkled.

“I’m glad you’re home.”

Carrie patted his arm and the cab went quiet but for the baby’s soft chatter.

Vernon leaned his elbow on the door frame, cupping his chin in his hand. Staring ahead at the road blurring under his wheels, he thought back to his doctor telling him his condition was terminal.

You won’t feel any pain , he’d said.

No, no pain.

Just the torture of the secret I’ve been carrying all these years.