“I’m staying at West Hill Motel. I’ll tell you everything in person. It’s risky over the phone.”
“Fine,” I grunt, ending the call in the same abrupt way he always used to when I was a teen.
My father needs a taste of his own medicine. And since his bees are all dead, the best thing I have right now is to hang up before he’s done speaking.
“You’re not going there,” Caleb says as soon as I end the call.
“I’m nosy.”
“You don’t know what he could be hiding.”
“I haven’t seen him innineyears, Caleb.”
“Which proves my point exactly. He could be hiding all kinds of shit. And I especially don’t want you heading out of town when there’s a stalker on the loose. Not to mention the fact that you’ve got a sprained foot that’s still weeks away from healing. You might not be so lucky next time to have me come and save you.” He gives me a pointed look—fair point.
“What if the stalker and my father are intertwined?” I feel the cogs spinning in Caleb’s mind. “Ever thought about that one?”
“We’ll go first thing tomorrow as soon as we drop off the kids.” Caleb stands and heads into the kitchen to flick on the kettle. He already knows what kind of tea I want, coinciding with the time of day. “I’ll loiter in the parking lot while you go inside and find out what he wants.”
20
PIPER
The motel is even further awayfrom civilization than I thought, and not in Maple Crossing one bit.
We drive through trees the same way we used to do on the weekend. This morning, I don’t lose my shit the way I normally do every time I see a pine tree, because my shit has already been lost, courtesy of my father.
We arrive at the motel, and Caleb swerves into a makeshift parking lot and glances at me sidelong from the driver’s seat. The concern he has for me about this situation is heartwarming. Friends feel concern, but they don’t go silent all morning because of it.
“He’s my father and by the sounds of it, he needs my ass. He’s not gonna do anything.”
“Not yet.”
“He neverdiddo anything,” I remind him. “That’s the point. Unless something was wrong with the bees, he never gave a shit. He prioritized insects over his literal daughter.”
“And now he’s suddenly prioritizing you?” The concern settles deeper into Caleb’s face, making those fine lines more prominent again. “I’m right behind you if you need me. All you need to do is shout. Knock on the window. Those things don’t look double-glazed, so if you need to salvage an exit and smash the glass, it shouldn’t be too difficult.”
I undo my seat belt, letting it slide back into its hatch. “Don’t worry. I’ll let you know if I need some assistance.”
I’m kinda hoping I don’t. The amount of times Caleb has had to save me now is getting ridiculous.
I call my father to notify him that I’ve arrived. He hangs up instantly. A minute later, after waiting outside of the crusty reception area, the door opens, revealing my father, looking even more worse for wear than I remember.
Jesus. It’s been close to a decade since I last saw him. A lot can change in that time, but it never occurred to me that he could bebald.
The faded green eyes seem somewhat the same, but that’s about it. He’s lost weight around his mouth, and his eyes are more sunken into the sockets than they once were.
“Thank you for meeting me here, Piper.” He scurries back into the reception area, keeping a close eye on things outdoors. I watch him nervously scan the parking lot. Seeing Caleb in the driver’s seat of his truck, his head shoots up. “Who is that man?”
“Nothing to worry about. He’s my ride.” I glance at my father. He’s shorter than I remember him being. Age has made him lose not just weight, but height. Or is the latter just down to nerves? He cowers an awful lot, and the way he scuttles back indoors,away from the door, tells me that he’s treating every car and person out there like a possible threat.
I’m overcome by another thought—when was the last time he went outside?
His skin is white as anything, and he’s wearing a kind of nervousness that is making me catch on. There’s something out there he doesn’t like.
The motel is tiny—one floor only. It could use a new carpet. And a cleaner. Mold clings to everything in sight, the ceilings and walls even more fucked than the shell of a man hobbling in front of me.
I’ve been dealing with a sprained ankle for a week, and I’m still managing to walk better than him. Though he’s clearly too preoccupied to notice that I’m limping too.
