“But you can’t outrun it. Can’t drink it away. Can’t ride far enough. It’s always there.”
“Earl, that was forty years ago. It wasn’t your fault.”
He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.
“Six months ago, I was riding past this house and I saw the fence. Saw how broken down it was. Saw you had little ones playing in the yard.”
He looked at me directly.
“And I thought, what if it happens again? What if some other little girl wanders through a gap because someone didn’t fix what needed fixing?”
“So you started repairing it.”
“I know it doesn’t make sense. I know I can’t change what happened. Can’t bring Charlotte back. Can’t fix my marriage or my life.” He picked up a board and positioned it against the fence. “But I can fix this fence. I can make sure no other child wanders into the street from this yard. I can do the one thing I should have done forty-two years ago.”
I sat there in silence. Everything I’d thought about this man—dangerous, creepy, obsessive—shattered into a million pieces.
“Earl, you’ve been paying for lumber and supplies this whole time. That must have cost hundreds of dollars.”
“It matters to me. I can’t afford to pay you back.”
He shook his head. “I don’t want your money. I just want to finish the job.”
I watched him work for a while. His movements were slow, methodical. Practiced over decades of guilt.
“Earl? Would you like to stay for dinner tonight? My kids would love to meet you.”
He stopped mid-swing. Looked at me with surprise.
“Ma’am, you don’t have to—”
“I know I don’t have to. I want to. You’ve spent months working on my house. The least I can do is feed you a hot meal.”
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