Never Let You Go(45)

“Hey,” he calls out. “I need to talk to you.”

I shake my head. I’m not going to look at him. He pulls over in front of me, blocking part of the sidewalk. I can see him through his open passenger window. The back end of the truck is sticking out. Cars drive around him, one honks and the driver makes a gesture out the window.

“You shouldn’t stop on the shoulder like that,” I say. Is he going to grab me and force me to go somewhere with him? I take a couple of steps back.

“Why don’t you get in the truck? You’re getting soaking wet.”

“I have to go home.”

“Why are you avoiding me?” He’s leaning across the front seat so he can see me through the window. More cars are driving past, but no one is stopping. No one is asking if I’m okay. I could be getting abducted right now and no one would give a crap.

“I have to go,” I say again. “I’ll miss the bus.”

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

“You came into our house!” I yell over the noise of all the cars. I’m shocked at the anger coming out of my body. “I told you to stay away from her.”

His face is blank, and then it’s like all his features rearrange slowly like he’s understanding something. “So that’s why the cops are looking for me.”

“You were supposed to go to court today. Mom’s getting a restraining order.”

“I haven’t been near your place.”

How would he know what was near or not? He must know where we live.

“You went through Mom’s things. You read her e-mails.”

He’s not saying anything, but he doesn’t look surprised anymore. It’s like he’s pulled inside himself and is just thinking. The traffic is whipping past. I wonder if someone will recognize me. I want to turn around and walk away, but I also want to hear what he says next.

“Sophie, I’ve been in Victoria all week—packing my stuff. I wouldn’t scare you or your mom like that. What the hell would be the point? I’m trying to start over.”

“I know you were in our house.”

“Let’s go for a coffee and talk about it. I’ll tell you everything I did all week—every single day, hour by hour. And you can tell me why you’re so sure it was me, okay?”

He sounds sincere, like he really doesn’t understand what I’m talking about. I look at the road, the piles of snow starting to settle on the center line. I’d have to run to catch the bus, and if I miss it, the next one isn’t for thirty minutes. Maybe it would be good to hear what he has to say. If it was him who broke in, I can scare him about getting caught and he’ll stay away from Mom.

“If you take me anywhere else, I’ll call the cops—I have my phone in my pocket.”

He holds his hands up. “Okay.”

I take one last look down the road, then climb inside.



We’re quiet in the truck. He turns the heat up and I glance around, notice the big container of gum in the ashtray. I’m stabbed with another memory, the beer he used to drink at the job site, then he’d pop gum into his mouth before we drove home. He sees me looking.

“Want a piece?”

“It doesn’t work, you know. Cops can still tell.”

He glances at me and I think he’s going to be mad, but he sounds calm as he says, “I’m not drinking, Sophie. I’m never touching a drop again. I missed it at first, but I don’t think about it anymore. I was just using it as a way to cope with my emotions. I don’t want you to worry.”

“Doesn’t matter to me.” I turn away and stare out the window, see my reflection, my wet hair. I think about Mom and how angry she would be at me right now. I have to hear his explanation. She doesn’t think I can see through him, but if he’s lying, I’ll figure it out.

The Muddy Bean is full and noisy, the air smells of damp clothes and coffee, and freshly buttered toast that makes my stomach growl. I order a cheese scone and coffee at the counter and pull out my wallet, but he insists on paying. It’s strange, feeling him standing beside me, his arm brushing against mine. It seems like such a dad thing to do, paying for my lunch, but it also reminds me of how Mom was broke for so long. We rarely got to do things like going out for lunch together, unless you count a hot dog in the food court at the mall.

We sit down and I tear off a piece of my scone, shove it into my mouth. Partly from hunger, partly to buy myself some time before I have to speak.

“Good?” he says.

I nod. He’s fiddling with the handle of his mug and leaning forward in his chair. He keeps looking at my face, waiting for me to talk.

“Why did you break into our house?” I say.

“If I did something stupid like that I could go back to prison.” He leans forward even farther, his upper body almost on the table. “I spent ten years in there, Sophie. I know you can’t imagine what that’s like, but it’s hell, okay? The prisons you see on TV and in movies? That Lockup show or whatever. Those are country clubs compared with the place I came from.”

His explanation makes sense. Why would he risk his freedom? But who else would have broken in and not taken anything? “You were really angry Mom divorced you.”

“I was pissed off for a long time, but I understand why she didn’t want to be with me anymore. I was mostly mad at myself. I screwed things up, I told you that. But I’m not going to walk out of jail and start messing things up again. Are you sure anyone broke in?”