And I turn.
And I draw myself up taller than I’ve ever been in my entire life, and I open my mouth, and—
“I don’t want to visit you anymore.”
And Junie takes all the wind out of my sails.
I turn and look at her, but she’s not in the chair.
She’s standing right behind me.
“That’s no way to speak to me, young lady,” Dean growls.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
The police officer takes two steps toward me, and the airport-security agent’s eyes flare in alarm.
Junie puts a hand on my shoulder before I can attempt to eviscerate her father once more. “The divorce agreement says I get to choose where I live and who I see and when. Go to hell, Dad. Good luck, Samantha. He’s a shitty father and a shitty husband, and I never want to see him again.”
I choke on my own tongue.
She’s sixteen. Caught in that age where she understands how the world works but isn’t allowed to participate fully as an adult. Strong but still so vulnerable.
“Can we go?” she asks the officer.
He looks at me, then Dean, then Junie. “You got that divorce agreement?” he asks me.
“Carry it with me everywhere I go.” I pull up the documents on my phone and hand it to him.
Junie grips my hand tight while he skims it.
“Mr.Spencer?” he says. “You got any proof otherwise?”
Dean glares at me.
“Take that as a no,” the officer says. “Smidge of paperwork in this office over here for you, Mrs.—Ms.Spencer, and then we’ll let you be on your way.”
An hour later, we’re at a hotel not far from the airport. Junie shoves me into the shower as soon as we’re checked in and takes my credit card to the gift shop to buy me clothes while I clean up.
I debate texting Flint but decide I shouldn’t.
I can’t see him anymore.
Not until Junie’s out of the house.
I can’t risk not being there if she needs me again.
I don’t even want to shower while I know she’s leaving the room, but I know I have to show her that I trust her.
And sure enough, when I’m all cleaned up, she’s there.
Waiting.
With brand-new sweatpants, thong underwear, a sports bra, and a tourist T-shirt. “I picked the least gaudy stuff I could find,” she tells me.
“I believe you.”
“I didn’t know your credit card wouldn’t work at the airport last night,” she says, and then she bursts into tears all over again. “I just wanted to go home, and I knew you’d understand, and he was so arrogant, thinking I’d be so thrilled to have a stepmother and a half-sibling whenhe doesn’t even call me. I don’t call anybody, and I have friends in Hell’s Bells that I’ve talked to more on the phone than I’ve talked tomy own father.”
