Chapter 8
EIGHT
Rowan
The sound of the fire alarm screaming through the house yanks me out of my sleep and I jolt out of bed, barreling full-speed down the hallway and into my sister’s room.
“Macie!” I shout over the alarm as I shake her, practically pulling her out of her bed. “Come on, kiddo, we have to get out!”
I grab her hand and yank, dragging her from the bed and running down the hall with her, carefully and quickly trailing down the stairs before I push her out the front door.
“Wait on the sidewalk, okay?”
I don’t wait for her response before I run back into the house, following the trail of thick, heavy smoke to find its source: a pan of what I think used to be scrambled eggs, now blackened char, sitting on the stove with the burner cranked to full heat.
I reach for the knob to turn the burner off and throw on a set of oven mitts before picking up the pan and taking it out to the back yard, tossing it into the snow, resulting in a loud hiss and a thick cloud of steam rising up from the ground.
Hands braced on my knees, I take a few deep breaths, trying to calm my nerves – and to douse the flame of rage that has bellowed up inside of me.
I walk through the house, opening windows as I go, until I make it out to the front where Macie is waiting for me.
Dad’s car is nowhere to be seen as I wrap my arms around my sister and hold her while she cries.
“It’s okay, kiddo,” I tell her, stroking her hair. “There’s no fire. I thought there was. I’m so sorry I scared you.”
“Where’s Daddy?”
Brushing a tear away from her eye, I slather saccharine sweetness into my voice to cover the sharp bitterness of my anger. “He’s not home. He just forgot to shut off the stove, it was a mistake. He’s safe.”
That last part might be a lie. If he was already drunk enough to forget about his breakfast, he’s drunk enough to kill someone, or himself, behind the wheel.
Christmas is in two days – if he’s dead in a ditch somewhere, I will bring him back to life just to kill him myself for doing that to my sister.
I pull her away from me by her shoulders and look into her tear-filled blue eyes. “Why don’t I call out of work today, huh? You can take the day off school, too. We’ll go get breakfast.”
“Daddy too?”
“No, his breakfast is waiting for him when he gets home. Just a sister day.”
He can eat his fucking charcoal if he’s hungry.
I send Macie upstairs to get changed while I find the switch for the smoke detector and turn off the horrible screeching sound it makes, before heading up to my room to get myself dressed.
I throw on a long sleeved shirt and an oversized sweater, then plop down onto the foot of my bed to pull on my compression stockings, tracing a finger over the scalloped edge of them.
It’s such a small detail, a silly frill, but it makes me feel good in them. They feel so much less…clinical.
Tossing a pair of jeans over them, I look in the mirror on top of my dresser and nod at the final outfit. I pull my hair over one shoulder and tie it into a quick braid, securing the end with a scrunchie that, thankfully, matches my sweater.
I’m so angry with my dad. He’s already broken my heart more times than I care to even think of over the past three years; the first time was when we buried our mother and he picked up a bottle instead of his crying daughters.
The second was the first time he started screaming at me.
The screaming hasn’t stopped, and the insults and harsh words have only gotten worse.
I think, after everything, I might actually hate him. I want to, at least.
Macie flies into my room, giving me a twirl to show off how well she dressed herself, and I plaster on a big smile for her.
“You did so good, Mace!” I tell her as I stand, moving to grab the handle of my cane.
·
“What do you think, kid, pancakes?” I ask, setting down my menu.
Macie shakes her head and shoves her kids menu toward me, pointing to an item on it. “What does that one say?”
I help her sound it out: buh-ell-jin wuh-ah-fulz. She twists her face up, thinking, then shakes her head. “What’s that one?”
We work our way down the menu, sounding out each item, until she finally settles on a stack of pancakes topped with whipped cream and a ‘super mega load’ of rainbow sprinkles.
I watch with pride as she orders her own food and drink, finding myself near tears, just because of the fact that she found such a simple joy after such a scary wake up call.
I would give anything to put the world on a platter in front of her and give her a normal, truly happy life. One day, kiddo. I promise.
Our drinks are delivered – a grown-up sized chocolate milk for Macie and a water for me – and we pull out the activity sheet that came with her menu and dive into a competitive game of tic-tac-toe.
“I think the Os are definitely going to win,” a smooth, deep voice says over my shoulder.
There’s no way.
I turn to face the source of the voice, taking in Colt Fowler as he stands over me, not in one of his typical suits, but wearing a thick pullover sweater and a pair of loose jeans instead. He looks so different, so much more comfortable than he usually does.
“Mr. Fowler…Colt,” I say, trying to keep the surprise from my voice. “Hi.”
A flush creeps to my cheeks, as if just standing next to me, he’ll be able to know what I did last night. What I thought about him doing to me. What I think I want him to do to me.
“Happy Wednesday, Rowan,” he says with a smile.
“Right. Happy Wednesday.”
“Hi!” Macie shouts, waving at him. Oh god, I forgot she was here.
“Hello,” Colt says, crouching down at her side. “What’s your name?”
“This is Macie,” I answer for her. Suddenly realizing what he must be thinking, I add, “My sister.”
He gives her a smile that squeezes at my insides. “It’s very nice to meet you, Macie.”
“You should join us,” I tell him, “Macie’s paying.”
Sliding into the seat at my side, he laughs and tells her, “Well, I suppose since you’ve taken my best employee for the day, I can take that offer.”
Best employee? I take phone calls, make copies and get him coffee. I’m hardly bringing in business and keeping his pockets lined. My job is simple, but I love it. And I kind of love that he’s flattering me, right now.
Macie leans across the table to me, whispering much more loudly than she thinks she is, “I don’t have any money.”
I laugh and pat her hand, scribbling down my last X on the board and watch as she claims the final spot with her O, winning the game. She looks at Colt with a wide grin and he answers with an exaggerated, playful wink.
“Are you not working today, either?” I ask him.
He shakes his head. “Other things require my attention, today. The office can wait until after the holiday.”
I don’t delude myself into thinking I’m one of the things that require his attention. I’m just some girl who works for him and called him a frog.
“Are you doing anything special for Christmas?” He asks.
“We’re gonna make some cookies for Santa tomorrow, and make his reindeer a nice little veggie tray,” I tell him.
With a wistful look in his eyes, he smiles, turning to Macie. “Did you write Santa Claus a letter to tell him what you want?”
She gives him a vigorous nod, answering, “Uh-huh! I even put a stamp on it.”
“Oh, well,” he says, “I’m sure he got it, then.”
When we’ve all finished our food, I swipe the check away before Colt is able to reach it and he narrows his eyes at me, like he wants to fight me on it.
It’s probably hard for him to let someone else treat him for a change.
Being as rich as he is sounds really nice, and would solve a lot of issues, but it has to come with its own downsides, like everyone expecting you to cover the bill when it comes.
I shake my head at him, silently telling him to not even try fighting me.
“This is my treat,” I insist.
“Then let me drive you home,” he counters.
“...Fine.”
·
I can feel my blood heat as we drive up to the house and I see Dad’s car back on the driveway.
Well, half on the driveway. The other half of it has ripped through the front yard in his piss-poor attempt to park.
I can feel Colt’s eyes on me and I know he sees it, too.
I know he’s taken note that both times he’s been here, that car has been parked terribly. I know what he’s thinking.
“Ro, Daddy’s home!” Macie shouts from the back.
I paste a smile to my face and answer, “Yep, he sure is.”
I can feel the energy in the car shift as Colt tenses next to me, but he doesn’t say anything.
He just steps out of the car and moves toward Macie’s door to let her out, taking her by the hand to help her down, then grabbing her booster seat and moving to my door to help me out the same way – minus the booster seat, of course.
My hand stays in his for just a half second too long, and when he doesn’t move to separate us, my stomach becomes so overflowing with butterflies, I feel like I might throw up.
His skin on mine feels the way glitter looks; shiny and sparkly and wonderful, and it could stay with me forever.
His eyes just lock onto mine, holding me in his gaze until I finally break away from him.
“Thank you,” I breathe, “for the ride.”
“Thank you for breakfast.”
“It was my pleasure.” I jerk my thumb over my shoulder, pointing to the house. “I should…”
“Of course. Merry Christmas, Rowan.”
“Merry Christmas, Colt.”
I watch as he saunters past the front of his car and moves for his door.
I keep my eyes on him until he drives away, one hand on the steering wheel, the other elbow propped against the window, hand under his chin, just like the last time he brought me home.
I let out a shaky breath and force myself to walk up the driveway and into the house.
My dad is on me the second I step into the house, waving around his plastic disposable cup filled with scotch. The smell coming off of him burns the inside of my nostrils, a mix of bottom shelf liquor, vomit and sweat.
“You threw away my fucking food?”
“You almost set the house on fire, so,” I say, trying to weave past him as he blocks my path.
“Disrespectful little shit,” he spits. “How would you feel if I went and destroyed your shit and threw away your food?”
I ignore him, angling my body to slide between him and the wall.
Don’t engage, I tell myself. Just go to your room.
“I’m fucking talking to you, Rowan! Helloooooo!” He bellows. I keep walking, reaching for the railing of the stairs to support me. He grabs onto my wrist with a death grip that sears into my skin. “Why did we even fucking have you. Waste of fuckin’ space.”
That one, I can’t ignore. As the words settle into my chest with a piercing, burning pain, I yank my hand away from him and throw my head over my shoulder, my voice breaking as I say, “If you find my dad in there, tell him I miss him.”
In less than a second, that plastic cup is airborne, missing me only by a few millimeters before it smacks into the wall, sending the liquor inside splashing everywhere.
Memories flood my mind as I trudge down the hallway and toward my bed: my dad and I at the park while he pushed me on the swing, giving me as many underdogs as I could possibly ask him for.
The year he tried to make my birthday cake, even though Mom wanted to buy it.
He just had to make me one, to see if he even could.
It was lumpy and way too wet, falling apart in some places, but it was the best birthday cake I’d ever had, because my daddy made it just for me.
Now, I’m faced with a man who hates me and is impossible to please. Who finds fault in every move that I make, everything I try to do. Nothing is good enough for him. I’m stuck grieving for someone who is still alive.
I curl my body around a pillow, hugging it tight to my body as I feed it my tears until the darkness and silence of sleep finally claim me.