CHAPTER 15
FALLON
My father’s house had been fairly empty when I arrived two weeks ago. That was exactly what I’d been looking for. While some people craved distraction and noise, I craved quiet country roads and no one talking to me. The seventy-five-hundred-square-foot brick estate sat in a private cul-de-sac and was another example of a rich shit spending his money on something he rarely used.
Okay, my dad wasn’t really a rich shit. Well, kind of. But I still loved him.
The house went for three million dollars, and when I questioned him about why he got a house when he could have gotten an apartment in the city, he gave me a geography lesson on why America is so well positioned from the rest of the world.
“Before the invention of rockets and nuclear weapons that could fly long distances,” he’d said, “it was very hard for any nation to attack this country. We’re strategically positioned between two oceans with friendly allies to the north and south. And let’s face it”—he lowered his voice to a whisper—“even if they weren’t friendly, we’re not really scared of Canada or Mexico anyway. Everywhere else, you have possible enemies surrounding you. Europe is a war strategist’s nightmare. Enemies can invade at any time, or threaten your buffer states. To attack America, one would have to sail over an ocean or fly a long distance. That’s why the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor. They wouldn’t have had the fuel to get to the mainland. So . . .” He set the Shirley Temple he’d made down in front of me. “I pay to put a nice big buffer of land around my family and me, so I can see my enemies coming before they’re at my door.”
By that point I knew what my father did for a living, and while I knew it was wrong, I never hated him for it. I hated that he made me stay with my mother so much, and I hated that there were long periods when I didn’t see him, but he trusted me and always spoke to me like an adult. He always used big words and never held my hand crossing streets. He taught me things and expected the best from me.
To my thinking, when someone gave out their compliments and good opinions rarely, they meant more. My father was the only person on the planet whose respect and regard I cared about protecting.
“So did you get what you want?” He strolled into the kitchen as I sat at the granite-top island working on my laptop.
No “hi” or “how are you,” but I was used to it. I hadn’t seen him in a month, and he’d just arrived in town today.
“Yes, I did,” I replied, not looking up from my work as he went to the refrigerator.
“And your mother?” He plucked a frosted glass out of the freezer and went to the Guinness tap.
“Still AWOL. But she’ll show up soon enough to contest the divorce, I’m sure.”
I didn’t know why he was asking me about this. I had sent him an e-mail, letting him know everything was on schedule. He’d never been totally on board with my plan for a little revenge against those who had betrayed me, but he’d let me make my own choices and done what he could to help.
“You’ll get caught in the cross fire,” he pointed out.
I wiggled my fingers against the keys, forgetting what I had been writing. “Of course.”
“Madoc?” he pressed, and I let out a silent breath, aggravated that he was asking so many questions.
I knew what he wanted to know, though.
“I changed my mind,” I explained. “I didn’t want him hit with this, after all.”
“Good.” He surprised me, and I looked up, meeting his eyes. “He was just a kid, too, I guess,” he offered.
I had returned to Shelburne Falls with the intention of releasing the media package once I’d proved that I had moved past Madoc, that he no longer had my heart or my head. Nothing went according to plan, though. Instead of humiliating Madoc, his father, and my mother, I’d taken the path of least resistance.
I didn’t want Madoc hurt, because he didn’t deserve it. I had been hurt at sixteen when I’d stolen one of my dad’s cars and driven back to Shelburne Falls only to find Madoc with someone else. But as adult as our actions were back then, we were only kids. I couldn’t hate Madoc for making mistakes any more than I could blame our unborn child for being created.
Madoc never loved me, but I knew he never wanted to hurt me, either.
So I changed the plan. I got what I wanted, but I did it quietly without any embarrassment to him or his dad.
I lowered my hands to my lap and picked at my cuticles. Nervous habit. I knew my dad didn’t like it. He and Mr. Caruthers were alike in many ways.
I lightened my voice. “Ted should make parole.”
“Fallon.” He shook his head in aggravation. “I told you not to involve yourself with that.”
“He’s your uncle. Which means he’s my family.”
“That’s not—”
“When someone you love needs you,” I interrupted, “you suck it up.”
I smiled at Tate’s words coming out of my mouth. I wished I’d gotten to know her more.
I returned my gaze to the computer and started typing again, signaling that the conversation was over. He stood there for several seconds, taking sips of his beer every so often and watching me. I refused to look at him or let him see my shaking fingers. There were things I would never tell my father, no matter how much I loved him.
He wouldn’t know that I’d lost five pounds in the past two weeks or that I’d had dreams every night that made me never want to wake up.
I clenched my teeth and blinked away the burn in my eyes, typing nonsense just so I could look like I had my shit together in front of my dad.
“Nothing that happens on the surface of the sea can alter the calm of its depths,” my father would say, quoting Andrew Harvey.
But the depths weren’t calm. A black hole had opened up in the center of my stomach from seeing Madoc again and it was sucking me in little by little. The sky got blacker every day, and my heart beat slower and slower.
“You’re going to ruin me, Fallon.”
I punched the keys harder. I had no idea what I was writing for the summer course I’d picked up to keep busy.
My father walked toward the doorway but stopped to look at me before leaving. “Do you feel better now?”
I swallowed the ache. At least I tried to. But I tipped my chin up anyway and looked at him head-on. “I never expected to feel better. I just wanted them to feel worse.”
He stood there in silence for a moment and then walked out.
? ? ?
A week later, I came out of the shower to see that I had missed calls from my mother and Tate.
I clenched the phone in my hand, wanting to talk to one of them but knowing I shouldn’t and knowing I should talk to the other but not wanting to. Neither had left messages, but Tate had texted after the call.