Unhinged (Splintered, #2)(57)

“Well. I didn’t exactly push her …” I want to say more but draw a complete blank.

A look of discernment crosses Dad’s face. “Wait. It was over the car, wasn’t it?”

“Huh?”

“The Mercedes that was in our driveway when I got home.”

“Uh …” I don’t know what to say. Mom’s apparently told him something, and I have to go along with her story.

“Your mom said you wouldn’t give her the keys when she asked for them.”

I glance over at the corner behind my door where Morpheus’s vest, shirt, and hat lay crumpled last night. They’re gone, along with his keys, and Mom just handed me my alibi on a silver platter. “Did she tell you she tried to take the keys from me and I wouldn’t let go?”

Dad’s gaze hardens. “No.”

“They slipped out of my hand and caught her off balance.”

“You mean that’s how she fell into the mirror?”

I nod, despising myself with every move of my head.

Jaw clenched, Dad stares into me. “Look, I agree with your mom. It’s generous of that exchange student to offer you his car until Gizmo’s tire is fixed, but you can’t drive it. If you were to get even a dent in it, he could turn around and sue us for more money than your college education is worth.”

“All right,” I whisper, relieved the explanation for the car is out of the way. But that’s the only relief I get because now Dad’s looking at me like I’m a stick of dynamite he needs to defuse. “Dad, I get it.”

“I don’t think you do,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m guessing you think your mom got overemotional about the car.”

“Like she does about everything,” I mumble.

“Well, this time she has a reason. When we were first dating, I had a wreck.” He glances down to where his toes wiggle inside his woolly socks. “It was in a sports car … not as nice as the one in our driveway but similar. I took a curve too fast and hit a tree. The car was destroyed. I was in a coma for months.”

My breaths become shallow. I can’t risk inhaling too deep and missing even a word. This is something sacred, a part of their history they’ve kept from me.

“I know you wish I’d talk more about my mom and pop,” Dad continues, though the change of subject throws me.

“No, Dad. I get why you don’t like to.”

“It’s because of the wreck, Allie.”

I stare dumbly at him, trying to connect the dots. “They were in the car with you?” He never told me that's how they died …

The dress bag crunches as he crosses his ankles. “Well, no. It’s because of the wreck that I don’t remember them. If it wasn’t for your mom, I wouldn’t remember anything about my childhood. She put a photo journal together for me so I would know my parents’ faces, since they had passed away before I met her. I couldn’t remember that I have no sisters or brothers, or cousins or relatives who were interested in knowing me. I didn’t even remember meeting your mom. That’s how bad the damage was. Is. My life before I crashed that car, before your mom … it’s just gone. As if I never lived it.”

There’s a prick in my heart, like a thorn piercing me from the inside out. “Dad, I’m sorry.” The apology feels inadequate. Memories are such precious and priceless things. It’s always made me sad to think about Jeb losing his from Wonderland. But this is so much worse. “You never told me.”

“You already had a messed-up childhood. I wasn’t going to add anything to that. You needed at least one parent who had a semi-normal past. Right?”

I shrug, though I don’t know if I agree. Maybe if we’d both been honest all along, we could’ve helped each other.

“So, do you see now?” he asks. “Why she doesn’t want you driving that car? It’s too easy, when you have unharnessed power at your fingertips, to forget you’re not invincible. To make rash decisions that can affect your whole future.”

His words are so perfectly cut for me, they could be the missing pieces of my own thoughts and fears.

“I want you to work things out with her before you go to school,” he says, in a final tone. “And I want you to make a better effort to get along with her. She’s been trying so hard with you.” His jaw clenches. “Make me proud, Alyssa.”

Alyssa. He hasn’t called me by my first name alone since the time I came home in ninth grade with a C in geometry. It’s worse than if he’d yelled at me.

“All right,” I mumble.

“You better get ready for school,” he says. He stands and drops his keys on my bed. “You can drive my truck. I’ll call someone to take me to Micah’s Tire Repair. They’re supposed to be done with Gizmo this morning. Oh, and I parked the Mercedes in the garage last night to keep it safe. Bring your friend home after school to pick it up. Okay?”

“Okay,” I say, though I have no idea how I’ll accomplish that.

Dad looks like he’s about to leave. Instead, he stops to lift the dress bag from my bed. “Is this what I think it is?”

At first I have no idea what he means—I’m not even sure I remember what’s in the bag. Then I nod.