How (Not) to Fall in Love(76)

She sighed, with what I assumed was relief. “Well, when the time does come—”

“Bye, Mom,” I hollered as I shot up the basement stairs like a rocket. “We’ll finish this conversation in our next lives.”





Chapter Twenty-Nine


December 13


It was dark by the time Lucas and Mark drove away with the last load in my truck. Charlie drove the U-Haul, while Sal and Mom’s new recovery friends followed in their overflowing trucks and cars. We’d survived moving day, with the help of our new tribe.

Mom and I stayed behind to do one last sweep of the house to make sure we weren’t forgetting anything. We stood in the dining room, arms wrapped around each other, looking up at the chandelier no one had bought at the estate sale.

“I still feel like someone’s going to stab me whenever I look at it,” I said.

Mom laughed softly. “It wasn’t one of my better decisions.”

“But you like it,” I said. “That’s what matters. Are you bringing it with us?” I couldn’t see it in Mrs. Sandri’s cozy dining room.

Mom shook her head. “It stays with the house. It belongs here.”

I nodded. We both jumped when the doorbell rang, its chime echoing off the empty walls and floors. Toby ran to the door, skittering across the tile floors, his paws not used to the lack of rugs.

J.J. stood on the porch, his features harsh under the bright porch lights. I was shocked to see him. He was such a part of my old life that seeing him was like stepping back in time.

None of us spoke for several seconds.

“May I come in?” he asked.

Mom gestured him into the foyer.

“I know it’s a bad time,” he said, looking around at the empty rooms. He turned to Mom, his eyes full of sadness. “I’m so sorry, Marilyn. I never thought it would come to this.”

Mom nodded. “None of us did. But here we are.” She took a shaky breath and reached into her pocket, then held out a keychain. “I guess you’re here for these.”

He frowned. “That’s not why I’m here.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair, which was peppered with much more gray than a few months ago. “I wanted to warn you before you see tomorrow’s news.”

“Is it Dad?” I whispered. “Have you heard from him?” Mom reached out for my hand. We gripped each other’s fingers tightly.

J.J. shook his head. “No. It’s Harvest. We’re officially declaring bankruptcy. Everyone is being laid off. A trustee will take over what little funds are left.”

I looked at Mom, who stood as still as a statue.

“So you’ve given up,” Mom said. “All of you have.”

J.J. sighed. “Haven’t you, Marilyn?” He threw out his arms, encompassing the empty house with his gesture. “There’s nothing left to hope for.”

Mom dropped her head.

“That’s not true.” The anger in my voice surprised me. “We can’t give up hope. He’s going to come home. Someday.”

J.J. shook his head, his face haggard and drawn. “Even if he does, what’s left for him now?”

Mom’s head snapped up. “We are, damn it. We’re still here.”

“Don’t you think he would’ve come home by now, if that was enough?”

The cruelty of his words shocked me. How could Dad’s friend say something so awful? “You should leave,” I said. “Now.”

He held out his hand and Mom dropped the keys into his upturned palm. His fingers closed around the keys and I felt like he’d just slammed the door on all our history together. The shared family trips to our cabin, to the Harvest company ski condo, the hours of babysitting I’d logged with his kids. All of it meant nothing to him.

“I’ll have our secretary call you for your new address, in case we need to send any more legal documents.”

“You do that,” Mom said, her voice falling like ice chips.

We watched him get into his Jag and drive away. Mom sagged against me and I wrapped my arm around her shoulders.

“He’s scared,” I said. “And angry. He’s lashing out at the wrong people.” I’d heard that from the TV shrink reruns I still watched when I couldn’t sleep. I’d learned some things besides the Lancelot rescue-hero complex. Like the signs of depression. I was pretty sure we’d missed or ignored all of them with Dad.

“I know,” Mom said, “but what if he’s right? What if we’re not enough?” She turned to face me. “I know I dismissed your idea of Dad chasing Stonehenge, but I’ve been hoping you were right. Hoping he was on some bizarre quest that would lead him home. Eventually.”

“I wanted to talk to you about that,” I said. “About where I think he is, and where he might go next.”

Mom bit her lip. “You really think you know where he is?”

“I’m not sure, but I think I have a decent guess.”

She swallowed, her hand at her throat. “Maybe…maybe I can hire a private investigator to find him, if you’re sure. You can’t go, Darcy. You can’t.”

I frowned but didn’t argue. The only person going on a hunt for my dad was me. But now wasn’t the best time to plead my case with Mom.