It’d been a month since I had heard from my dad. I worked at the shop every Sunday and left him dozens of voicemails, but he never called me back.
Late Thursday night, I paced back and forth in my room trying to get ahold of him. My first two calls had already gone to voicemail, but I resolved to try one last time.
When the call connected, I nearly dropped the phone.
“Dad?”
“Chase. Hey. Can you hear me?”
“Yeah. Is this a good time to talk?” I asked.
“Oh, sure…sure. How are you, bud?”
There was an edge to his voice, a slight slur, and I knew without a doubt that he'd been drinking.
“I'm good,” I offered, moving around my bedroom so that Harvey's gaze followed my trail. “How have things been over there?”
He coughed and I waited for him to answer me. When he didn't, I trudged on.
“I could come over for dinner or something soon.”
“Oh, no no. It’s not a good time for that. I’m real behind at the shop. Might have to close it up, with the economy and everything.”
I pinched my eyes closed. I couldn’t believe him.
“What are you going to do for money then?” I asked. An eighteen-year-old kid should never have to ask his father that question.
“Chase, don't start with that,” he grumbled. “I've got everything figured out and I don't need you breathing down my neck. You just worry about baseball. You doin' good? How are you playing this season?”
It was almost worse that he knew the season was happening. He had never missed a single game before my mom died; he'd only managed to attend one or two after her death.
“It's been a good season, Dad. Coach Calloway thinks we have a chance of going to state if we keep playing like we are.”
The unmistakable sound of glass shattering in the background served as the period to my sentence.
“Oh shoot. Dammit. Chase, I gotta go,” he said just before the line went dead. I pulled the phone away from my face and looked down at it in disbelief. The call was over. Just like that, my dad was gone again. My finger hovered over his name as I battled with the urge to call him back, but before I could hit send, a small knock sounded at my door.
“Chase?” Lilah called from the other side of the door.
“Hey, yeah. I'm in here,” I called out.
The thin door popped open and Lilah’s face peeked through. “Um, would it be okay if I took Harvey on a walk? Just a short one around the block?”
Harvey’s head jerked up at the sound of his favorite four-letter word and I knew there was no point in resisting. He’d already hopped off the bed and joined Lilah by the door before I’d even worked out my answer. Besides, he needed the exercise, especially if I was going to be away at the shop all night.
I nodded and grabbed my truck keys off my desk. “Yeah, go ahead. I’m going to head up to my dad’s shop.”
Lilah hesitated in the doorway and when I glanced up at her, she was frowning down at Harvey.
“What?”
Her bright eyes met mine. “Isn’t it kind of late for that?”
“Isn’t it kind of late for a walk?”
“I just want to clear my head,” she explained, standing her ground.
It was settled then. I tightened my grip around my keys and moved past her.
If I drove quick, I could finish up four or five repair jobs before I crashed. My dad needed a hell of a lot more help, but it was better than sitting and doing nothing. I was halfway down the stairs, lost in the stress of the shop, when Lilah called out after me.
“Chase.”
I turned back and caught sight of her at the top of the stairs, toying with the end of her long-sleeved shirt.
“Yeah?”
She hesitated and then nodded toward the front door.
“I’ll leave the light on for you.”
Chapter Forty-One
Lilah
On Friday afternoon, I went out back to inspect my garden, relieved to find tiny, fragile plants waiting for me. They’d sprouted up over night, dozens of nearly identical twins that would grow into a variety of plants over the next few weeks. I bent down in front of the first flowerbed and ran my finger across the new leaves. They were velvety soft and in desperate need of water. I turned on the hose and dragged it over to the first bed.
“Lilah.”
An unfamiliar voice carried over the grass and I turned to find Trent standing on the back porch, holding on to the wooden post with a nervous smile. I hadn't talked to him in weeks and suddenly, there he was in his leather jacket and faded black jeans. His messy hair and Doc Martens completed his misunderstood-teen look.
I motioned for him to give me a minute and finished watering the beds. When the soil was damp and dark brown, I turned off the hose and headed for the porch. I slipped out of my gardening shoes and left them on the porch to dry. Trent stood, watching me.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, eyeing the path he’d taken around the house.
He brushed his hand through his hair and shrugged. “I was driving around town, didn’t feel like going home. I figured I’d stop by and see if you were around.”