“Hey, buddy, hang on,” Dad said to the security guard who was writing down his plate number. “There was nowhere else to park.”
Or was she just smiling at me in a nice way?
“You’re obstructing the pedestrian walkway.”
“Come on, man. Don’t write me a ticket.” He threw my suitcase into the back of the truck. He rooted in the glove box until he found an old five-dollar bill. “Here, take it.” The security guard just shook his head and kept writing. “Asshole,” Dad muttered when the guard tucked the ticket under his windshield wiper.
“I’ve been waiting over an hour, Dad.”
“Shit.” He grabbed the ticket, crumpled it up, and threw it in the general direction of the security guard.
“I thought you were dead.”
“Seriously? An hour?” He opened the driver’s-side door. “I thought your bus pulled in five minutes ago. Sure you don’t want to drive?”
“The last time I drove, I almost hit a deer.”
“But you didn’t, right? Deena said you handled it like a pro.”
“She didn’t say that.”
“Okay, no, she didn’t.” He shrugged. “Still, why not give it another try? Horse, fall, remount.”
“I have never ridden a horse in my entire life,” I said. “Did you know that almost eighty thousand people end up at the hospital every single year because of horse accidents?”
“It’s just an expression.”
“Still,” I said, “it’s not helpful. My bus pulled in an hour ago, Dad. An hour that I have spent worried sick.” I got in on the passenger side. I did up my seat belt and crossed my arms. “And just so we’re clear, I absolutely do not want to drive in the city. Ever.”
He started the truck and bumped off the sidewalk, joining the traffic waiting to get out of the tiny parking lot.
“You didn’t answer your phone. A bunch of times.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“How come?” He’d grown a goatee since I’d visited at spring break. It looked good on him. He was wearing sunglasses, even though it was completely dark now. His black hair was artfully shaggy and had a blue streak at the front. He looked like a rock star, except for the paint-splattered jeans and hoodie and boots. “I thought you were lying unconscious in a hospital bed, Dad. Or dead.”
“None of the above. All good.” He turned up the music. “Jimmie Vaughan. I love this one. Keith Ferguson on the bass. Sure you don’t want to drive? Last chance. We can switch places while we wait for these taxis to get out of the way.”
“I do not want to drive! I want to know why you—”
“You still a lesbian?”
“What?” I was caught off guard. “As far as I know. Why? Why the hell are you even asking? I want to know why you were so late. AA? NA? Got caught up with a painting and totally zoned out?”
“Easy, beast. Oh, hey, some guy at work asked me if you had a boyfriend, because his kid just moved in with him too and he wondered about setting you up on a blind date. And I told him that you liked girls. But then I figured you might’ve changed your mind after, you know, after what’s-her-name moved away.”
Jessica.
Jessica Elena Elliston-Haywood.
“Which is totally okay, by the way—keep us posted. I just thought that chick might’ve been a one-time thing, you know?”
“Not chick. Jessica.”
“Jessica, right.”
“I still like girls,” I said. “It wasn’t Jessica-specific. As far as I know.”
“Duly noted.” He patted my knee. “And how’s Ruthie? Still awkward and smart?”
Oh, Ruthie. Of course she was still awkward and smart. And so stupid, too.
“She’s fine. Stop changing the subject.” I glared at him. “What was so important that you were an hour late?”
“Look, here I am now. Not dead.” He rolled down his window, pulled a cigarette from a pack of American Spirits on the dash, and lit it. “It’s all good, kiddo.”
“You said you were going to quit smoking before the baby comes.”
“Go figure, no baby yet. You’ll be the first to know.”
“Smoking kills almost half a million people every year. And secondhand smoke kills fifty thousand people a year. Dad, that’s almost five times the population of Port Townsend.”
“The baby is due in September.” He took two deep pulls on the cigarette before flicking it out the window. He honked as a taxi driver in front of us got out to help with his customer’s luggage. “I’ll quit by then, boss.”
His ears were turning red, which always happened just before he lost his temper. I figured that out when he was driving me to a friend’s sixth birthday party. I wouldn’t stop pestering him for driving the ten blocks without his seat belt on. I just would not shut up. I kept begging and he kept not doing up his seat belt until we were both screaming at each other, and then he hauled off and slapped me across the face.
His ears were that same color now. Which was why I was not going to tell him about the risk of fires started by tossed cigarettes.
“In the meantime,” he said, “don’t nag me about it. I get that enough from the twins.”
“September isn’t that far away.” I did the math. “You have eighty-one days.”
His ears were fiery red now.
“I know the due date, kiddo. Even if I’m not the one who’s pregnant.” He turned up the music. Conversation over.
“Babies come early all the time,” I murmured, but he didn’t hear me. Or he was ignoring me.
The last time I’d visited, Corbin had flushed Dad’s cigarettes down the toilet. I’d thought it was hilarious, but Dad did not find it funny at all. He yelled at both boys and took eight bucks out of their piggy banks and stormed out in a huff to buy another pack. His ears were pretty red that time too.
“I can hear you thinking.” One more taxi in front of us and then we could finally turn out of the lot. “I’m a big boy, Maeve. I’ll handle it. Now leave it alone.” He pushed his shades up and grinned at me. “It’s good to see you. I missed you, kiddo.” He pulled me into a headlock and planted a noisy kiss on my forehead. When he let go, I saw her again. The girl with the violin. She was looking at me, her violin in one hand, the bow in her other. She was looking right at me. I smiled, and she smiled back. And then we were driving away. She got smaller and smaller, until I couldn’t see her anymore and she was just another girl I would never get to know.