“I can handle them.” I’ll need to get a job to recoup the losses, preferably a decent paying one, but I always planned on finding work. I’ll just have to find it sooner rather than later now that my emergency fund is severely depleted.
“If you’re sure.”
I’m not sure. I’m not sure of anything. But taking money from Mel to fix my car seems somehow more intrusive than asking for a place to stay. I didn’t come here to be a charity case. I came here to reconnect and start the next phase of my life. The second I get my car back, the job hunt begins.
The black Audi, which I assume belongs to Landon, is gone when we return to the house. If Mel’s bothered by his disappearance, she does a good job at hiding it and makes no mention of his standoffish behavior or overall irritable nature.
Instead, she shows me to the upstairs guest room. Everything is white and spotless, from the walls to the furniture, and I almost feel bad setting my ratty duffel on the chair in the corner. The room has a stunning view overlooking the canal below, as well as its own private bath. It’s nearly four times bigger than my room at the old house, and I wonder how long it took Mel to get used to living like this. It’s a huge change from our childhood bedrooms and the tiny bathroom we used to share.
Mel leaves me to unpack, though I don’t have much to sort through. I stuff my clothes in the dresser, dump my toiletries on the bathroom sink, and plug my phone into the charger on the nightstand, holding my breath as the device takes ages to power back on. When the familiar glowing apple lights up the screen, I thank God I don’t have to spend money on yet another thing.
I have about twenty different texts from Dad, all in varying stages of panic, and that’s it. That’s the extent of the people who care that I’ve left town permanently. That’s the extent of the people who care about my well-being.
In order to quickly assure Dad that I wasn’t run off the road, killed, or kidnapped, I dial his number. He answers on the first ring.
“Vi?”
“Hey, Dad.”
“Jesus, Kiddo. I was starting to worry a bit there.”
“Sorry. I wanted to call, but my phone died. I finally got a charge.”
“So, you found her then?” he asks, and he sounds tired. Really tired.
“Yeah, I found her.”
Dad and I have a decent relationship. He’s not great at expressing his thoughts, feelings, or emotions, and I’m too good at expressing them, so we’ve found a balance over the last eight years. He’s the first to admit to being too absent, too distant, too preoccupied when Mom was at her worst—and in the months following her death before Mel left—but he made up for it eventually. It was never supposed to be just the two of us, though, and when it became very clear that would be the case, he did the best he could despite his grief at losing my mother and his regret at failing my sister.
“Well, good,” he says, and I can hear the disappointment in his voice.
“Yeah.”
Neither of us says what we’re thinking—who knows when we’ll see each other?I refuse to step foot in that town ever again, and he’s too set in his ways to leave. I don’t think either of us cares to compromise.
“The house okay?” he asks.
I want to tell him that it’sinsane. That it has two stories and a pool and freakingpalm treeson the front lawn, but those little details might make him feel worse that Mel never reached out. Well, worse than he already feels.
“Yeah, it’s decent,” I lie. “Mel’s doing pretty well for herself.”
“Good. Good.”
“Yeah, it is good.” I wait for him to say something else, but he doesn’t, so I ask about the woman he’s been seeing on and off. “How’s Becca?”
“Becca’s good. Coming over for dinner in a bit.”
“That’s great.” While I wasn’t thrilled with the idea of him being with anyone other than my mom, Becca’s alright. She’s kind, and I’m grateful for her because she makes him less lonely. Especially now that I’ve left. “Tell her I say hi.”
“I will.”
“Well, I should probably go, Dad. I think Mel’s getting dinner ready.”
“Alright. Well, take care, kiddo.”
“We’ll talk soon, Dad. Don’t worry.”
There’s a pause, and he asks, “Violet?”
