Sweet Liar (Candy #2)(12)

Jonah didn’t wait for a response before he walked out, closing the door gently behind him.

The ice in my heart wanted to thaw at his words, but the wounds beneath that ice were too raw. If it even cracked a little, I was afraid blood would come spilling out everywhere.

***





What would my father do?

I kept asking myself that as I paced the living room aimlessly. My father wouldn’t cry, obviously, the way I wanted to. It would be so easy to curl up under the covers and drown in self-pity, but I could already see the disappointment filling his dark blue eyes if he heard I’d done that.

He wouldn’t trust anyone; I knew that much. He relied only on himself, and he’d prepared for the worst by quietly taking care of me. He’d given me our house. I still couldn’t comprehend it, but I couldn’t help the anger burning inside me at all the secrets he’d kept.

Jonah was right about one thing. My father should have prepared me for this possibility. He should have talked to me, but even as I thought that, I knew how out of character it would have been for him. There was something different inside him, something broken that made him the way he was. Just like my mother had, I understood the broken parts of my father. I didn’t like them, but I loved him and so I accepted them.

Now that the first light of morning was brightening the sky, I didn’t want my thoughts to be derailed by the overwhelming fact that this was my house. The papers were still sitting on the coffee table by the couch. The car in the garage was mine too. My father had arranged it all and had never said a word to me.

That meant I had to find things out on my own in order to help him. I had to figure something out because the thought of him never coming home again was inconceivable. I simply wouldn’t believe it. I would see him again.

If we’d only left last night instead of putting it off until this morning, we’d be on the road to somewhere else right now, on our way to making a fresh start. Why had he decided to wait until morning when he knew how much trouble he was in? Why did he do anything the way he had?

Frustrated, I flopped onto the couch and picked up the manila folder. Needing answers, I began sifting through the papers. This time I looked for a date, and found one typed at the top. It read November of last year. My father had done this just over a year ago. He had so much time to run. Why hadn’t he? All he had to do was say the word, and I would have gone with him whenever and wherever he asked.

Even as I thought that, I knew he would never have asked me if I hadn’t moved back and gotten involved in his mess. He might have run, but he wouldn’t have taken me with him. He probably believed I wouldn’t want to go, or he wouldn’t want me to make the sacrifice.

It wouldn’t have been a sacrifice, though. Not for me.

Once done looking through the papers again, I lay down on my side on the couch. Pulling my knees against my chest, I closed my eyes, intending to rest only for a moment. I had no idea how my brain could be running a marathon while my body was ready to collapse.

I thought of how my father called me “little one,” and the way I’d hugged him and told him it was going to be okay last night. He’d only smiled at me, but I had no idea what I was talking about at the time. I wished he’d said something, anything about the trouble he was in.

My eyes were heavy and I gave in, letting them close.





The next thing I knew, my back ached and bright sunlight was streaming in through the window. Sitting up, I glanced at the clock in the living room and saw it was already one in the afternoon. I’d managed to sleep away the entire morning and had missed school today, but that was the last thing on my mind right now.

My mouth was dry and my stomach rumbled. I could probably use a shower too. Even though it felt as if the world should stop, it kept moving forward, and so would I.

As I pushed myself up, I took stock of my back and head, noting they still felt sore from the fall I’d taken. When I got to the bathroom, I found the bottle of ibuprofen in the medicine cabinet, and swallowed a couple of pills after sticking my mouth underneath the running faucet. Then I stripped off my clothes and stepped into the shower.

Going through my usual morning routine calmed me a little, and once I was dressed, I picked up my phone for the first time since yesterday to find texts from Lea and Theo. I looked at Theo’s twice to make sure I hadn’t imagined it.

My heart knocked a little harder. I hadn’t heard from him in weeks.





Theo: Sorry I’ve been MIA. Got your messages. What’s up?





Rather than texting back, I called his number. When it reached the third ring, I knew he wasn’t going to answer. Muttering in frustration, I pulled up his message again to text him back.





Me: Where have you been? I tried you and your parents. No one responded. You had me worried.





When he texted back right away, I knew he hadn’t answered his phone on purpose.





Theo: We went off the grid. My folks think I spend more time with technology than them. But after lots of together time, they’ve decided they prefer to share me with my many devices.





I snickered, but I didn’t believe him. As far as excuses went, it was a seriously lame one.





Me: So you’re good then, now that you’ve been reunited with your phone and all?