“If this is your way of getting me to change my mind, it won’t work.” There’s as much heat in my voice as there is in the air. “I don’t have time. This-this-this is my whole plan. I have a daughter and-and bills, and Mom has a—”Nope.“Mole.”
His slow blink unnerves me.
As does the stretchy silence that hangs between us in this diabolical heat.
I take the four deepest breaths of my life and nearly ask to borrow his oxygen to get through them all. “I know you didn’t know about me—Mom told me. I don’t know if you think I’m some kind of-of estranged kid coming out of the woodwork who wants to take advantage of you, but I’m not. I’m here because I’m in trouble. I’m in big, huge trouble. And—” My voice cracks right in half and I pause to gather my thoughts. I haven’t cried about any of this yet, I refuse to start now with a half-mute stranger dad. “If you could just help, I will leave you alone. I will do anything you ask if you just tell me what to do.” I swallow. “I need this to work. Please.”
His ceaseless quiet is the most infuriating sound I’ve ever heard. He’s so quiet it makes the air hotter and my throat drier. If I didn’t need this money, I’d tell him to fuck the fuck off, but that isn’t an option.
He’s just looking at me.
In this heat.
After my kid forced me out of town.
While my bank account sits empty.
Like I didn’t just beg him.
I wipe my forehead.
Tug at the straps of my overalls.
Clear my throat.
This might be the part where I finally have a nervous breakdown.
“Excuse me,” I manage.
Quietly, I stand and march through the hatch. At the top of the boat, I look at the sky, reeling.
This is a great plan, yet it isn’t working.
This is myonlyplan, yet it isn’t working.
I’m shaking.
I’m sweating.
I’m failing.
I squeeze my eyes shut and try to breathe, but Cap’s unwillingness to help combined with this godforsaken heat has me flying toward the cliff edge of my sanity. When I think I’m about to cry, a scream erupts out of my mouth and I let it fly. Fists clenched at my sides on the top of this strange man’s boat, I scream as loud and as long as I can. I scream until I’m out of air. And though it does nothing to improve my situation, it helps. Like it’s been building up in my throat since Jeane Dixon’s crystal ball rolled into town and started knocking down the pins of my life.
Quietly, I return to my seat in the galley and look at Cap like nothing happened.
“You always do that?” he asks, unalarmed by my tantrum.
“Only when I’m having a one-sided conversation in the midst of my life burning to the ground, actually.”
For the first time, he makes a sound that could be interpreted as a laugh.
“Your mom told you I didn’t know about you?” he asks in the friendliest tone he’s used.
“She did.”
“What else did she say?” he prods. “About me.”
I eye him—he cares about her.
