On the Fence(54)

On the way down the hall, I poked my head into my dad’s room. He was out cold. I resisted the urge to wake him up, make him talk. But I was already late. It would have to wait a little longer. It had waited years, apparently; what was a few more hours?



“Charlie. Welcome back.” Linda gave me a hug. “Did you have fun?”

“It was nice.”

“You look like you got some sun.”

“Beach running.”

“Ah. If only I could be in as good shape as you are.”

“What are you talking about, Linda? You could kick my trash any day of the week.”

Linda laughed and swatted her hand through the air.

“I’m going to change.”

In the back room, I slipped into my work clothes. They felt comfortable now, even normal. Maybe it was my body I was more comfortable with. My body that I’d been trying to hide behind baggy clothes for years. I was bigger than other girls—taller, stronger—but that wasn’t a bad thing.

I came back out and didn’t see him at first, standing in the corner. Not until Linda nodded her head to the side. I looked at Evan. He checked the price tag of a necklace on a mannequin.

“Hey, Evan.”

He turned and smiled, his eyes lighting up. “You’re back and you didn’t even call me.”

“I was so tired yesterday. Sorry.” I looked at Linda and she nodded, seeming to read my mind. “Do you want to talk in the back for a minute?”

“Sure.”

I led him to the stockroom. “Do you want something to drink? There’s water.”

“No. I’m good.” He shoved his hands in his pockets.

“We need to talk,” we both said at the same time.

He laughed. “Go ahead.”

“No, you go first.”

“Okay.” He looked at the ground then back up at me. I suddenly remembered what he had tried to talk about before I left for basketball camp: our relationship. He opened his mouth.

“I better go first,” I blurted out.

He laughed. “Sure.”

“I’m . . .” Wow, this was hard. I’d never done this before, and I felt bad. I didn’t want to hurt him, but at the same time, I knew I couldn’t be with him. My heart just wasn’t in it, and that wasn’t fair to him. Between the supposedly huge secret I needed to pry out of my dad and my feelings for Braden, I couldn’t string Evan along like this. “I’m in a weird place.”

He seemed to sense what was happening and his entire demeanor changed. His eyes became guarded. “Are you breaking up with me?” He seemed shocked. Like this had never happened to him before.

“I . . .” Had we been together? “Yes. I’m sorry. I need to figure things out. Maybe in a few months, when I’m in a better place . . .”

A booming voice sounded from the main room and Evan turned around. “What was that?”

“I don’t know.” I listened and the voice came back, angry. “Oh no. It’s my dad.”

“Your dad?”

I ran down the hall but paused right before the sales floor, wanting to know what he was upset about before barreling in there.

“She’s sixteen years old,” he said.

I couldn’t hear Linda’s response.

“I did not give her permission to do this! You should not have let her.”

Nathan must’ve told him about my makeup sessions. I needed to get out there and smooth things over. Only when I entered the room, still unnoticed by either my dad or Linda, I saw how my dad really found out. He held—and was angrily waving—the ad from the bridal store in Linda’s face. Oh no.

And now I could finally hear her. “This is not my ad, sir. You’re going to have to ask your daughter about this.”

“But she did this makeup stuff for you, too.”

“Yes. She got permission from your wife.”

I tried to open my mouth to interject, but before I could, my dad spit out, “My wife is dead.”

I gasped, and both he and Linda turned toward me.

“Charlie, we are leaving. Now,” he growled, then marched out the door.

I could feel Evan over my left shoulder, breathing. He was probably glad he was on his way out of my life after that.

In front of me, Linda just stared. She looked hurt and angry. I guess I wouldn’t have to quit now. Linda would ask me to leave.

“I’m so sorry,” I said, my voice quieter than I intended.

She looked to the door, where my dad had left. “You’d better go.”

I nodded, unable to find any excuse to make this better, and I followed after my dad.

He paced in front of his police car. I headed for the car I’d driven.

“No,” he said, and pointed to the passenger side.

“But . . .”

He pointed again, more forcefully, so I climbed in. The police radio was in the middle of a broadcast, and he turned it down and started the car. “We need to talk.”

“I’m sorry. She asked me about Mom, and I didn’t want to tell another person that she was dead. I didn’t want her feeling sorry for me. I wasn’t thinking. It was stupid.”

He backed out of the parking spot and started to drive.