I place the jam back in the fridge and carry my now-cold toast out into the dining room, Jacob trailing behind me.
My father barely looks up when we enter, his head down, eyes glued to his phone.
“Any news?” Jacob asks, and my father shakes his head.
“No,” he says, but he doesn’t sound down about it. He’s still as upbeat as before.
I return to my seat and lift my toast to my mouth, taking a bite of it.
My dad looks over at me, and his lips dip into a frown. “That’s all you’re having?”
I chew for a second, my mouth full. “Yeah,” I say. “I’m not too big on breakfast.”
My dad blinks, and for the first time today, something besides excitement creeps into his expression. “Took a long time to make just that one piece of toast,” he says. His eyes flit to Jacob, then back to me.
I nearly choke.
“Toaster was broken,” Jacob cuts in smoothly. “Took a while, but we were able to fix it.”
And just like that, the cloud lifts, my father’s haze of happiness returning. His phone pings, and he looks back down at it, not noticing the way Jacob looks at me. Or the way he scoots his chair just the tiniest bit closer to mine.
20
We’re only an hour away from Skye, and even though it’s overcast today, the view is beautiful.
Mist hangs over the mountains, and it’s all so haunting. Ethereal. Like we’ve stepped into some other land, another time, a movie set for some high-fantasy film.
My father offered to drive, so he’s behind the wheel, and though I told Jacob he could take the front seat, he refused, saying he’d be fine in the back.
And so, for the first time on this journey, it’s my father and I sitting together in the front. And about fifteen minutes in, it’s Jacob who’s fallen asleep.
I suppose that makes sense. My face heats as I remember how little sleep the two of us got last night.
My father’s humming under his breath, slightly off-tune from the song on the radio. It’s strange to see him like this. His entire posture is different, his shoulders relaxed and his face open.
But then he catches me watching him, and a shutter falls over his eyes, his spine growing stiff.
He looks back at the road, and the air between us feels thick.
After stewing in it for a moment, my father clears his throat. “I wanted to thank you,” he says. “For yesterday.”
I wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t continue. “For what?”
“For…for including me. Asking me to come with you. And Jacob.”
“Oh,” I say. “It wasn’t—” I’m about to brush it off, say something likeI was just being polite,but it would be a lie. “We wanted to spend time with you,” I say instead. “Iwanted to spend time with you.”
His head turns, his gaze snapping to mine, then away.
“I…I wasn’t great company yesterday.”
My throat grows tight, and I cough, trying to force the sensation away. “I know,” I say. “That’s partly why…I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
He blinks, but doesn’t offer any other reaction, and I feel a familiar pang of disappointment.
“But you seem great today,” I say lightly. “Excited to see Maggie?”
The tension in his jaw softens. “Yes,” he says. “I am.”
