She pulled the pillow into her lap again. “Okay?”
“There’s some money missing. And Dad is going to be mad about it. More than the amount we spent on stuff.” I wheeled my chair back a little bit. “I took seven thousand dollars of it. Then I accidentally threw it away with my old coat.”
“Oh my god.” She put her hand over her mouth. “Oh shit, Gem.”
“Just tell him it’s all my fault. Or I’ll tell him. He can come after me. Let him try.” I wasn’t scared. I felt like nothing could happen to me ever again that would scare me.
She dropped her hand. “You took it? You weren’t going to tell me?”
“It was, like, a backup plan.”
“That you weren’t going to tell me,” she repeated.
“I know. I’m sorry.”
A slow smile spread across her face. “That’s kinda badass of you. I didn’t think you could be that devious. Like me.” Her smile fell; she looked down. “I thought you were the good one. I’m the bad one, you’re the good one.”
I took in her face, remembered how sweetly she trusted me when I used to tell her we were going to Narnia, going to Mars. How she always wanted to make sure our picnic rations were fair. How, whenever she drew us, we were holding hands.
“I don’t think it works like that, Dixie.”
“Yeah,” she said. “Maybe not.”
26.
WE TRIED to get some sleep. We meant to stay right until checkout. But once we knew it was over, the idea of hanging out, ordering a pizza, watching more TV, didn’t seem so fun. Dixie kept asking me what I was going to do. I told her I didn’t know, specifically. I stayed vague. Our paths were going to diverge and whatever my plans were, her knowing them might not be the best thing for her or for me.
In the morning, while Dixie showered, I dug the burner phone out of the backpack and turned it on. It lit up with a message from Lia.
glad you’re ok xoxo
She must have called or texted Lia the night before while we were separated. I fooled around with the phone until I could figure out how to see recent calls and messages, to see if Dixie had contacted anyone else. Dad, or Mom, or anyone. But she’d only texted Lia.
I looked at the contact list we’d programmed in since we got the phone: mom
dad
lia
kip
I scrolled to Dad’s number. My thumb hovered there. He’d been so out of my reach for so long—barely writing or calling all the years after he left, and not talking to me during the years he was there. I mean, he talked to me, but he didn’t talk to me. He didn’t ask me about me or give me helpful advice or read to me or sing to me or walk me to school or tell me I was good, tell me I was smart, tell me I was somebody worth something. I guess he could tell a different story about how it was, he could tell a version where he did those things, was a fine dad, not perfect, but not a total failure. He might even think he had a little evidence to prove it, too. The recital when he said I could sing. Getting us a cat before he left.
But no matter what he did or didn’t do, he withheld himself. He withheld himself from me, my whole life. I wasn’t the needy one now. He was. He needed to believe Mom would always take him back, he needed to believe he was going to be a big deal, he needed to feel important. It wasn’t enough for him to just be there. Maybe that was the difference between me and Dixie, why I couldn’t go back. She was willing to make the trade-offs, say what he or Mom needed to hear. At least for now.
Now, I had something he wanted. I could make him listen. And there was his number, him on the other side of a tiny movement of my finger. A simple thing for most people, maybe.
I pushed the call button. I lifted the phone to my ear and listened to it ring from a spot on my bed where I could see out the window. It was only a few rings before Dad answered.
“Yeah?”
“It’s Gem.”
He was silent.
“Gem, your daughter.”
“Yeah, I know Gem, my daughter,” he said. “Is Dixie with you?”
“Where’d you get the money?” I asked him.
“Do you have the money? Where are you? I need that back, Gem.”
“Where did it come from?”
“It’s . . . it came . . . I got it for my business. I told you I was starting my business.”
“Did you steal it? Did you borrow it?”
He laughed. A kind of uncomfortable laugh that was more like holding himself back from yelling. “Sort of I borrowed it, I guess. That’s why I need it back, I need to make a return on this guy’s investment, you see? Where are you, sweetie?”
Sweetie.
“Don’t be mad at Dixie.”
He paused. “Okay.”
“Everything was my idea.”
“Just tell me where you are.”
“We needed you.” My voice shook. I swallowed and tried again. “We needed you. We really needed you to be better than you are.”
He didn’t say anything. I couldn’t even hear breathing.
“Are you there?” I asked.
“Yeah. Yep.”
“You can still try harder,” I said. “It won’t change anything for me. But maybe for Dixie. Maybe she’ll give you a chance to be better.”
I pressed the end button before he could say anything else, anything like sweetie or honey or Gem, baby. I turned the phone off and packed it away.
When we checked out, Dixie gave me the cash from the deposit—a hundred dollars. With what I’d had on me it added up to about two hundred eighty.
“How mad do you think Dad will be?” Dixie asked once we were outside and headed for the ferry. A thick blanket of fog made it so we could barely see down the block.
“Just keep remembering it’s his fault, keep asking him where it came from, and if he gets mad about the seven thousand dollars, just ask him if he wants to report it to the police. He won’t.” I took her arm. “Don’t let him push you around. You have to make yourself see through his bullshit.”
She nodded. “Okay.”
“And if anything gets worse or doesn’t get a little better, tell someone, like Mr. Bergstrom. Or me.”
She nodded again and hooked her thumbs through the backpack straps. I’d given her the phone, too. I didn’t want any calls from Mom or Dad. I’d get a new one once we were back in the city.
We got our ferry tickets and waited, while the fog dissipated little by little. I loved being by the water, the way all the boats lined up in the docks, the different colors and the names of them—Aurora’s Borealis, Fishin Expe’dishin, Lucille. I loved how the gulls soared in and out, and bobbed on the water not caring it was freezing cold. I loved the way the fog clung to just the very tops of the trees across the Sound, woven through the branches like cotton.
“I’m going to live on an island,” I told Dixie. “Someday. In the future.”
“Sounds boring,” she teased.
“I’ll have a little house. A little yard. A little dog.”
“I’ll visit,” she said, “but you know I have to live in the city.”