Three days later, Sarah knocked on the partially closed door separating her father’s room from hers at the Heartache B and B.
“Dad?” She shuffled her bare feet against the floral area rug that looked like it belonged in a grandmother’s room. Everything about the B and B was slightly worn and kitschy, but Sarah liked it here, far from Miami and the worries that dogged her constantly there.
“Come on in,” he called.
She pushed the door open the rest of the way. A suitcase lay open on his bed, a couple of shirts already folded in a stack beside it. An iron steamed on the folding board nearby, his blue dress shirt freshly pressed. “What’s going on?” She hesitated, a ball of cold dread knotting in her stomach. “We can’t leave yet. The clothing drive is today at The Strand. I told Erin I’d help.”
“We’ll be here for the drive.” He held up a big video camera, the kind she hadn’t seen him use in a long time. “I’m going to take some footage, in fact. But I did find a red-eye flight tonight so we can get back home and sort things out with school.”
“I thought you liked it here,” she blurted, folding her arms across her sleep tank top. She swished her ponytail, crushed and lopsided from bed. “Plus, we were going to do some work together so you could show me what being a producer is all about.”
“You can try out the video camera today.” He passed her the big Nikon and resumed packing. “And I likeHeartache just fine, Sarah, but we can’t hide out from whatever is going on back home. You can’t sacrifice your senior year. You’ve already missed a week of school.”
Her heart thudded hard in her chest and she weighed her approach carefully. She didn’t want to say the wrong thing. She took the camera and pretended to study it, not wanting her father to know how much it killed her inside to think about returning to Miami.
“But next week is spring break and we’ll be off anyway. And what about my car? How will I get it home if I take the flight with you?” She pressed a few buttons and saw some raw footage of other towns and antique shops that he’d recorded in the past.
“I’ll pay to have it transported. I can drive you to school until then or you can ride with Mathilda.” He emptied out the top drawer of the bureau and put the socks into the suitcase.
How could they leave? She hadn’t seen Lucas since Friday night. He hadn’t gone to the drive-in with the rest of his friends on Sunday. She’d texted him despite Mathilda warning her that would be giving him the upper hand in their new relationship. Lucas replied he needed to “take care of some other things” before they spent more time together.
Decoding that particular piece of Boy Speak had resulted in a three-hour phone call to Mathilda Monday night and they’d brainstormed a list of possibilities. At the top of her list was the wishful thought that he was breaking up with his girlfriend. But how long did that take? Surely, he would have had enough time between Friday night when they’d kissed and Sunday when she’d hoped to see him at the drive-in.
“Second semester of senior year doesn’t really matter.”Sarah set the camera on the bed, preparing her argument in her head. “Even the best students slack off near graduation, Dad. The colleges already have our grades on file. At this point, we’re either accepted or we’re not.”
He studied her for a long moment.
“Do you have acceptance letters you haven’t told me about?”
She could hear the cautious hopefulness in his voice, and it made her feel like total crap. And all the more committed not to go back home.
“Not yet.” Tough to be accepted when she hadn’t applied anywhere except UF, an application Mathilda had forced her to fill out.
The clock on the wall ticked off the seconds in the silence.
“You haven’t said much about where you applied.” He strapped on his watch, a gift her mother had helped Sarah choose for him as a wedding present.
He’d worn it every day since, even when his wedding band had finally stopped appearing on his ring finger last fall.
“Those months were mega-stressful.” She reached for the iron to turn it back on. “I’m going to use this since it’s all set up, okay?”
Darting out of the room, she rummaged in her closet through the few items of clothing.
“Sarah,” he called through the door. “If we can’t have productive conversations about your future, we’re going to end up back in the counselor’s office.”
Yanking a halter dress off the hanger, she marched back into his room.
“I’m going to have to talk to her anyway after I ditched the field trip.” Why couldn’t he just pull her outof school for the last eight weeks? What if Brandon—she refused to think of him as her father—knew where she attended classes?
Would he keep trying to send letters if she didn’t respond to the one in her purse?
“Wouldn’t it be simpler just to tell me what’s going on?” Dad moved his dress shirt off the ironing board so she’d have room to work.
His arm skimmed the top of her head as he pulled on the shirt.
“Close quarters,” she mumbled, sidestepping him enough to work at the ironing board shoved between the desk and the bed. “Remember when you first moved into that apartment where Mom and I lived?”
“It was small, but not this small.”
