Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
“She’s working,” I remind Greta while I season a pan of homemade fries. “You know how it is.”
“But she said she’d call.” Her voice has an edge of desperation that has my senses on high alert.
“She would if she could,” I reply in a steady tone, then tuck the fries into the oven.
As a flight attendant, Meg’s forced to endure the same delays as travelers. I lived through a crash once. It’s not that. She’s just unavailable. If anyone should understand, it’s me.
“How am I supposed to get ready for tryouts without her?”
I shrug. “I can watch you rehearse.”
“You don’t know anything about cheerleading.”
“Then teach me.”
She gives a frustrated huff. “She’s the only one who knows the choreo.”
I pull the package of burger meat from the fridge and the cutting board from under the counter. “Looks like I’m all you’ve got right now. ”
“Well, it’s not enough!” She races upstairs, a sob escaping her lips, then her door slams.
I release a full breath, puffing my cheeks. Then I wash my hands, and head upstairs.
When I knock on her door, she gives a soft sniffle. “Yeah?”
“I may suck at cheerleading, but I’m a pretty good listener.” I stand outside her door, waiting.
Seconds pass, then finally, “Okay. Come in.”
When I open her door, she’s sitting in the middle of the bed, her arms wrapped around Petey, her giant lion stuffed animal. I sit on the side of the bed, facing her, and wait.
“I’m sorry.” She hugs Petey tighter.
I acknowledge this with a nod. “You sounded angry.”
She nods. “When Meg said she’d call, I just thought…” She sniffs and her lip quivers. “I mean, she’s so cool, you know? That she wanted to spend time with me…” She shrugs. “It felt really good. Like…I was important.”
“So when she didn’t call, it made you feel…”
She gives another heavy sigh. “Like she doesn’t care.”
“Do you think that’s true?” I prompt.
Another sigh. “No.” She finger-brushes Petey’s scraggly mane. “Cedar made fun of me.”
Ah. So here’s the real issue. “For the cheer thing?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s tough. You’ve supported him through a lot.” With the grace of someone beyond her years. It definitely taught me a few things.
“I know,” she says, her tone sullen.
“I’m sorry.”
I scoot closer to her and offer a space next to me. She crawls from her spot and ducks under my arm. I kiss her temple.
“What if I screw up tomorrow?” she asks .
“Then you screw up. You think it’s never happened in the history of cheerleading tryouts?”
She groans. “What if I don’t make it?”
“Then you can try again next year. Or not.”
“What if my friends stop talking to me?”
“Is making new friends out of the question?”
“What if I don’t have anyone to sit with at lunch this year?”
Of all the challenges a teen faces, this one is by far the most damaging on the psyche.
“You look for opportunities. They’re there.
You just have to be open to them.” She leans a little closer, and I shift her tighter against me.
“Whatever happens, you know that I’ll always be your biggest cheerleader. ”
“I love you, Dad.”
I stroke down her hair and press another kiss to her temple. “Love you back.”
“You think Meg’s okay?”
“I do.”
She leans back and looks up at me. “That bracelet you bought at the farmer’s market. It was for her, wasn’t it?”
Should I be surprised she noticed? “Yeah.”
She shoots me a calculating look. “Wait, are you simping on her?”
“Uh, can you try that in English?”
“Ohmigawd you totally are!” Her mouth drops open in shock. “Dad, you’re too old for her.”
“Easy,” I warn, faking a wince.
She gives an exasperated splutter. “It’s true,” she insists, then her eyes tense. “Just…whatever you do, don’t make her mad again, ‘kay?”
“I’ll give it my best,” I say, though a part of me will always enjoy pushing her buttons. Especially the ones that turn her into a needy, desperate mess. “How about you come show me your routine while I finish cooking dinner?”
“If you got married, do you think you’d have more kids?”
“Greta,” I scold while a shock wave overtakes me. Married? Babies? Meg with a baby belly? The idea of it should not get my heart thumping into my throat.
Greta crosses her arms. “I have a right to know.”
“We might disagree on that.”
With a groan, she lets me pull her to her feet.
That night, after Greta’s asleep, I check my phone, but there’s no notification from Meg. I break my vow to stay off the news and google “Leap Airlines” and “crash” then wish I didn’t. But at least I eliminate her plane going down in the Alaska wilderness from the list of possibilities.
I think about sending her a message.
WORLD’S WORST NEIGHBOR:
I type and erase:
Greta was bummed you didn’t call
How was your day?
I can’t stop thinking about you
How do you feel about tacos?
The sunset tonight had all your favorite colors
Bill Withers’ “Aint No Sunshine” drifts through my thoughts. Is that why it feels so gloomy when she’s not here? Because she’s the light, and when she’s not around, I’m trapped in darkness?
I type out a few more:
Do you ever get airsick?
There’s a meteor shower next weekend I want you to see
Kody misses you
Let me know you’re okay
…but erase each one.
Nothing looks right on the screen.
What’s the protocol for texting a woman you’re not even dating but can’t stop thinking about? A woman so far out of your league who deserves so much more than what you can give her yet you’re a selfish bastard and you want her anyway?
WORLD’S WORST NEIGHBOR:
Hey
I hit send.
Then I barely restrain myself from chucking my phone against the wall. I’m a fucking moron.
The next morning, I make Greta her favorite egg scramble. She’s been in the bathroom for an hour and comes down wearing makeup, her hair in soft curls, partially pinned back with a giant, royal blue bow.
It’s a departure from her usual, but I keep my face impassive. The last thing she needs is to feel like I care, because I don’t. No matter how she wears her hair or chooses to dress or spends her free time, she’s still my amazing kid. As long as her mental health is aiming for the boards, I’m good.
“Does the bow look okay?” She settles onto the stool. “It’s not crooked, right? ”
“Nope.”
On the way to the high school, Greta gives me a sheepish glance. “Meg left me a message. I didn’t get it until this morning. She was in some Podunk town and the internet was bad and…” She shrugs. “She wished me luck today.”
I study her face for a second, but the hurt from last night is gone. Or it’s underneath the anxiety about this tryout. “How’s that feel?”
“Like maybe I like her too much.” She steals a glance at me. “Like maybe I like her with you too much.”
I use the turn into the high school to unscramble my words, but Greta jumps down and hurries into the gym before I can formulate a reply.
Too much rattles around in my mind. Underneath that sentiment is fear. Like my daughter is afraid to start liking someone in my life who may not stick around.
Fuck.
When I return home to start packing for our climbing trip, Annaleise Bell is standing next to a black Honda Element in my driveway.
“You blocked my number,” she says when I step down from my truck.
Ignoring her, I unlock my gear shed, hoping she’ll get the hint, but she follows me to the side of the driveway.
“You and your brother escaped from the same cult that Trina did.”
From the top shelf I grab the folded-up tarp, then spread it over a section of the driveway.
“That fire was no accident,” she continues. “Someone wanted her dead.”
I go back to the bins and search for the ones with the hardware .
“This morning, someone threw a rock through my office window.”
I spin around. “What?”
She crosses her arms. “Was it you?”
“You’re fucking kidding me, right?”
“I think someone doesn’t want me finding out the truth about what happened to Trina.”
“And the logical suspect is me?” I scoff. “Did you call the police?”
“Yeah.”
“Were you hurt?”
She shakes her head. “Someone at the party caught you and Trina on video. Looks like it got pretty heated.”
I carry the quickdraw bin to the tarp and open the flaps, then unfold the list I made from my pocket. Once I have the climbing gear ready, I’ll move onto the minimalist camping gear for our bivvy.
“Tell me what you talked about, and I won’t post the video.”
The only sound is the click of carabiners and the rustle of the tarp beneath my knees.
“You never filed any charges against Sons of Eden. Why?”
From the first bin, I lift out the rope and flake it onto the tarp.
“Does Meg know you were raised in a cult?”
“I wasn’t—” I bite my tongue. Engaging with her about this leads straight to hell and I am not taking this bait—not with her, not when I know exactly how she plans to use it.
I finish with the rope and squat down to check it off my list.
“Does your daughter?”
I jump to my feet but stop myself from moving any closer. Annaleise takes a step back, her eyes brightening with a look of triumph.
We stare each other down.
“Time for you to go,” I say .
“Someone needs to put a stop to Sons of Eden. I think Trina tried to. Did she ask for your help? Is that it?”
I go back to ignoring her, even though what I want is to warn her. She even said it herself. Someone doesn’t want me to discover the truth about what happened to Trina.
I think she’s right. Someone was supposed to meet Trina that night of the fire. It had to be a ploy to get her to that house.
“A story like yours could inspire others to come forward. It could lead to real change.”