She must have decided to give him the benefit of the doubt—more surfboard than scratched-out kid and potbellied tongs in real life.Ugh.
My phone vibrates in my back pocket.Not looking good for tonight, huh?
Will. I was supposed to have texted him hours ago.
Sorry. Something happened with my mom.
Is everything okay?
Not really. She’s missing.
Seriously?
Yeah. It’s bad. The police just left.
Holy shit. What happened?
No one knows. I’m kind of freaking out.
Do you want me to come?
Yes,that’s what I want to say.Come hold my hand.I don’t write that, though. Nothing with Will and me is that simple.
Not right now. I’m with my dad. But thank you.
Okay. Here if you need to talk.
“You find something?”
When I look up from my phone, my dad is in the doorway, looking like his usual warm and friendly, NPR-listening self—someone who definitely doesn’t troll for women on a disgusting sex app while pretending he’s some kind of monk. I slam the laptop shut.
“Where are your clothes?” I ask. No better defense than a good offense.
“What do you mean?” he asks, eyes wide and innocent.
I walk past him and open the drawers on his side of the bureau. “Your stuff is all gone.”
My dad scrunches his face as he stares at the drawers. “Oh,” he says, kind of dumbly.
“Please don’t lie to me, Dad. I really can’t—I need to know what the hell is going on here,” I say. My dad is the king of the white lie:Be right there … I’m about to do it … Of course I remember.Usually, it’s harmless, his way of keeping everybody happy. It’s my go-to tactic, also. And one thing I’ve always known for sure: We’ve got each other’s backs.
He shakes his head. “I told your mom this was a terrible idea.”
“Whatwas a terrible idea?”
“Not telling you.” He drops down onto the bed, right next to my mom’s incriminating laptop.
“Dad, what is going on? Where is Mom?”
“You thinkIknow, Cleo? And what, I’m keeping it to myself? Why would I do that?”
“I don’t know. But nothing here is making any sense.” I gesture toward the laptop and regret it immediately as I register his confused look. He doesn’t know.
“Wait, what did you find on here?” He reaches over to open her computer.
Be locked. Be locked.But then the screen lights right back up,and all of it is there—the little pictures of the men, the chats. My dad’s expression is unreadable. He closes the laptop and runs a hand over the top. He for sure does not look shocked.
“You knew?” Relief and anger collide in my chest.
