Chapter 3
Jake
“Come on, Adele, you can’t skip school again.” I try to keep my voice calm, though I spend more time talking to the stubborn barrier of her bedroom door than to my daughter these days.
Tiger, Adele’s ginger cat, weaves uneasily between my legs, his plaintive meow adding to the growing tension. He knows something’s wrong—he always does.
“Leave me alone, Dad!” Her voice comes back sharp, angry.
I sigh, running a hand through my hair. Another morning, another battle I don’t know how to win. As much as I want to fix everything for her, there are some things beyond my expertise.
Tiger seems to decide his comfort is needed elsewhere, and trots off down the hall, tail held high and confident. I envy him that simple certainty. Left alone, I lean my forehead against the cool wood of Adele’s door.
The years peel back like old wallpaper, and I’m eight years old again, standing in our kitchen. My father, silent at the table, studies another bill—unpaid and unwelcome. Its white edges stand out against the scarred wood. My mother scrubs an already clean dish, her apron wet, trying not to let me see her cry.
That feeling—the helplessness, the gnawing fear that we were always on the edge of losing everything—clings to me, even now. I swore to myself that Adele would never feel that kind of fear, that I’d always give her everything she needed.
But here I am, standing outside her door, unable to reach her, facing a problem I can’t fix.
“Look, I’m going to call Mom,” I say, pushing off the door. “I’ll be back.”
I step down the hallway, where the soft morning light filters through the windows, golden and gentle, completely at odds with the tension coiling through our home. Tiger brushes past my leg again, flicking his tail with indifference.
I glance down the hallway toward Adele’s door, then pull out my phone and dial Jenny’s number before heading for the kitchen. Each ring stretches longer than the last until she finally answers.
“Jake?”
“Jen, it’s Adele.” I rub a hand over my face, pacing the narrow confines of the kitchen. “She won’t go to school again. I don’t know what to do. Nothing works with her. She won’t listen to me, and she’s always in her room or on her phone. If I’m too firm, she shuts me out. Too lenient, and she still doesn’t do what I ask.” There’s a heavy sigh on my end, and then finally, I add, “Tell me it’s not just my house.”
There’s a brief pause, and Jenny lets out a wry laugh. “Oh, trust me, it’s not. Bill and I get the same glorious treatment. All we see are closed doors and earbuds. Welcome to the wonderful world of teenagers.”
I shake my head, feeling a little lighter. “Well, I don’t envy you and Bill having to go through it with two more down the line.”
Jenny’s laugh eases some of the tension in my chest. “I told Bill the same thing. He was the one who wanted a big family, and I was all for it, until Adele reminded me how hard the teenage years are. We’ll stick to the plan, okay?”
“Right. I’ll let her have a mental health day today. Tomorrow, though, she has to go.”
“That’s all we can do.” Her voice softens. “She does great with her little brothers, though. There’s hope for these moody teens. We’ll get through it.”
“Something to look forward to,” I say, my voice quieter. I think about those words for a moment, letting them settle. Something to look forward to. It’s been a while since I’ve felt that, felt anything but this constant worry and the uphill climb of parenthood.
“So, let her stay home today,” she says. “We’ll talk to her together later, okay? Just make sure she promises to go tomorrow.”
I lean against the gray stone bench, the solidness of it grounding. “Yeah, okay. But I don’t like this. She’s going to miss out and fall behind.”
“Trust me, I’m as frustrated as you. We’ll sort this out. But she needs to know she’s got us in her corner.”
“You’re right. Thanks.” I end the call, pushing off from the bench and walking back to Adele’s room. Glancing at my watch—I should have left twenty minutes ago for work—I’ve got jobs waiting, people counting on me.
I’m a pretty handy guy. I know how to fix what’s broken, how to shore up foundations and fill in cracks. How to frame a house or build a table. But this? Raising a teenager? This is beyond me.
It used to be so easy when she was a little girl. Back then, all I had to do was scoop her up in my arms, and every scraped knee or bad dream could be fixed with a hug and a kiss. She used to crawl into my lap after long days, her head tucked under my chin, her giggles filling the house when we’d play tickle monster or when I’d give her airplane rides around the living room.
She used to look at me for all the answers, the hero who could make everything better. Back then, her problems were small, manageable.
But now? Now she barely looks at me. Her door stays shut more often than not, and when it’s open, there’s a wall between us I don’t know how to break through. Sometimes the same little girl who once wanted to hold my hand on every walk now barely tolerates being in the same room with me.
I knock softly on the door. “Alright, Adele. Your mom and I agreed you could stay home today, but you have to promise you’ll go tomorrow. We can’t keep doing this.”
Silence stretches from the other side of the door, my words hanging in the air, sinking into the quiet. “Just come out, okay?” The plea slips out before I can stop it.
There’s a pause, long enough that I wonder if she’ll answer at all. But then, the door creaks open, just a sliver at first, and there she is—Adele, with those big brown eyes that used to light up at the sight of me. Now, they just meet mine with weariness.
“Thanks, Dad.” She steps into the small space between us, her voice flat, almost resigned.
Without thinking, I pull her into a hug, hoping that maybe I can break through whatever wall she’s built up. But she stands stiff in my arms, her body rigid, her arms barely moving to return the embrace. There’s no warmth, no leaning into me like she used to, and it stings.
She’s taller now, her head brushing my shoulder, and it’s a punch to the gut how much has changed. Her hair smells of fruity shampoo, the kind grown women use—not the baby shampoo that used to fill the bathroom with its soft scent. A bittersweet reminder that time’s slipping faster than I can catch it.
Funny how scents can hit you. That fruity shampoo reminds me of something else, someone from a lifetime ago. Kelly . She drifts back into my mind, wildflowers on a breeze, impossible to ignore.
I hold on just a little longer before letting Adele go, watching her step back, but my thoughts linger on Kelly. I wonder if she ever thinks of me, or if I’m just a dusty memory on a shelf somewhere in her past. Sometimes I wonder what it would have been like if we’d stayed together, if we’d had more time before things got complicated. Before Adele.
My daughter leans against the doorframe and I study her face—those freckles sprinkled like constellations across her nose. I’ve mapped them out a hundred times, memorized every little detail.
“Why are you staring at me?” Her brow furrows.
I smile a little. “Just thinking about how lucky I am to have you as my daughter. We’ll get through this, Adele. I know we will.” The words come out easily, but they cover a deeper pain.
She rolls her eyes, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “Stop being weird.”
I laugh, resisting the urge to ruffle her hair like I used to when she was little. “Alright, alright. But I mean it—we’re in this together.”
“Yeah, okay.” She shakes her head, but wears the smallest hint of a smile, and for a second, the distance between us doesn’t feel quite so big.
“Look, I’ll call you in a couple of hours and see how you’re doing. And don’t forget. School tomorrow is not optional.”
She steps back into her room, and I hope tomorrow will be kinder to her.
I grab my keys and head out, closing the front door with a quiet click. The coastal air greets me—salty and fresh. Before I climb into my truck, I take a moment to let the silence wash over me, a brief pause before the day’s demands kick in.
Sometimes it’s hard to believe that, more than a decade later, the ache for Kelly still lingers.
With a last glance at the house, I start the engine and head down the quaint roads of Harbor’s Edge, my thoughts echoing a silent promise to fix this thing with my daughter, to figure it out, somehow.