Burn Before Reading(102)

He isn’t slumped. That’s a good sign.

“Mr. Cruz?” I call out. No response. It’s his outline, his shoulders, his hair color from what I can remember of that time I kidnapped Bee. “Mr. Cruz? Can you hear me?”

He looks over his shoulder, eyes weary and black-circled. “Oh. It’s you. The little punk on the motorcycle.”

He can recognize me. That’s another good sign. I straighten.

“Yeah. Wolf Blackthorn. I came here to –”

“To find me,” He finishes for me, and chuckles. “I know. Bee dragged you out here. I knew she’d remember eventually.”

“She’s worried about you,” I say.

“Constantly,” He agrees, then pats the ground beside him. “Come. Sit.”

I hesitate, and he sighs.

“I’m not going to kill myself. It’s okay. Just sit down.”

I do, nervously and slowly. Our legs dangle over the edge. Mr. Cruz is wearing a starched shirt and slacks. He looks almost put-together, a far cry from the man I saw at Bee’s house that day.

“She’s stubborn,” Mr. Cruz says. “She never gives up.”

“Tell me about it,” I groan. I raise my cellphone to call her, but Mr. Cruz stops me with his fingers around my wrist.

“Don’t. Not yet. Please. There are some things I want to say, without her here.”

I lower the phone and put it back in my jacket. “Alright.”

He takes a deep breath. “I haven’t been….a good father. Or a good person, lately. Sickness or not, I should’ve at least made the bare minimum of effort to be there for her. And her mother. But I wasn’t. And I don’t think I can, as long as I’m this sick.”

“We can get you help,” I say. “There are good therapists –”

He laughs. “Have you seen our house? We can barely afford my gauntlet of monthly pills, let alone a therapist.”

It’s then I notice the suitcase next to him. It’s small, but big enough for travelling.

“Mr. Cruz –”

“Bee is a smart, ambitious, driven girl,” He interrupts me. “She’s kind, and self-sacrificing to a fault. But she’s sacrificed too much for me. I realized that, the other day. I’m a fool for not seeing it sooner. If the illness beats me into the ground, I can take it. I’m fine with it. But it beat my little girl’s spirit into the ground along with it. And that’s something I can’t stand.”

He eyes my fingers, the silver rings gleaming in the sunlight.

“She got you that one,” He points at the wolf’s head ring. “For her birthday.”

“What?”

“She saw it in a pawn shop. I asked her what she wanted for her birthday. She said she wanted that ring. I had no idea she – ” He chuckles, shaking his head. “I had no idea she wanted to give it to you. I thought she just started liking jewelry all of a sudden.”

“She gave her birthday gift….to me?” I whisper. He laughs.

“I told you. Self-sacrificing to a fault.”

I’m quiet. I rub the ring slowly, feeling its every curve.

“I came out here,” Mr. Cruz starts. “To do some thinking. It’s hard, sometimes, to think when you’re trapped in a room. In a house. Seeing the sky always used to help me. So I figured I’d go where I could see a lot of it. And this little playground holds a lot of good memories. It helped me get clarity.”

“Clarity for what?” I ask. He turns to me, suddenly deadly serious.

“I’m going back to my sister’s. For a while. Until I can get a handle on this monster inside me. She knows someone who will work with me for a reduced price. And the distance – I think Bee’s mother and Bee have earned a break from me.”

“Mr. Cruz, I don’t think that –”

“You have to promise me,” He continues, eyes boring into mine. “You have to promise me you’ll see to it that Bee’s happy while I’m gone.”

“Sir –”

“Oh, it’s sir now?” He laughs. “You never bothered with that before.”

I’m quiet, struggling for words. He sighs.

“She likes you, you know.”

My head snaps up. “What?”

“I’m her father. I can see it plain as day. She used to only like boy bands. Fantasy book princes. She’d stare at these big old posters she had of them on her walls all the time with this goofy look on her face.” He chuckles. “I still remember the first concert I took her to. She lit up when they walked on stage.”

He pokes me in the chest. “But you? She looks at you, and she glows. Doesn’t light up all bright and ecstatic and off-the-wall. None of that obsession stuff. She just…looks more alive, when she sees you. She looks more like my little girl, the one who wasn’t so worried all the time. The one who used to smile like she meant it.”

“I –”

“Do you love her?” He asks. He uses words, but it feels like he just physically punched me in the chest. I struggle for air.

“Yes. Ever since – ever since I read her essay.”

“Essay?” He quirks a brow.

“She wrote one, to get into Lakecrest. I – I kept it. Read it over and over. She writes very well.”