My heart is pounding and my throat feels tight. “Dad, why are you screaming at me?”
Jasper glances over my way as he pulls into the gas station’s brightly lit, mostly empty parking lot. The only other car in sight is parked at the pumps. Jasper rolls past it, the gravel crunching under our tires, until he comes to a stop at the back of the lot. Like he wants to give me privacy. Except he’s still sitting right next to me. And I feel like I might cry as I stare at the wall of tall evergreens, glowing white in our headlights.
My dad takes a loud breath, like he’s trying to calm himself down. “I’m sorry, Wylie. I didn’t mean to yell.” At least he does sound like he feels bad. “But we’re worried about Cassie and now I’m worried about you, too. In your condition, I don’t think you should be—”
“Wait, my what?” He didn’t just say that, did he? “Condition,” like I am diseased. Defective. Is that what he thinks? My mom never would have talked to me like that. She never saw me that way. My eyes are burning as I grip the phone and stare hard at the trees. I can’t speak, can’t say another word. If I do, I will definitely start bawling.
“It’s too early for me to report you missing,” my dad goes on like that bomb he just lobbed didn’t obliterate the earth between us. “But Dr. Shepard can contact the police. And under the circumstances, I’m sure she will agree that’s a good idea, especially after I tell her about what you did to your ha—”
“You cannot be serious.” My cheeks are stinging with anger and shame.
“Of course I’m serious. If you won’t come home, what choice do I have? And if Dr. Shepard reports you as a danger to yourself or others, the police will come looking for you immediately, Wylie. And when they find you, which they will, they won’t bring you home. They’ll take you straight to a hospital. You know that as well as I do.”
Yes, I know that. And my dad knows that being committed is one of my greatest fears. My grandmother dying strapped down in a psychiatric ward has haunted me since I was a little kid. It was the whole reason I hadn’t wanted to start seeing a therapist in the first place, convinced it was step one down a slippery slope that would dead-end in a straitjacket.
“Dad!” I shout, because I can’t even think of where to start. But he has to stop. Wake up. Take it all back.
“Believe me, I don’t want to call Dr. Shepard, Wylie. It’s the last thing I want to do. Come home, tell us where Cassie is, so I don’t have to.”
He’ll do that—break my heart, betray me, shame me—just so he can get me to do what he wants? Suddenly, my brain is swimming, with rage.
“If you call Dr. Shepard, I will never come home,” I say. And I mean it. I will hate him forever. Maybe I already do. Because now all I want to do is hurt him, the way he just hurt me. “You know what else, Dad? You know what I really wish? That it had been you who went out for milk. That you had been driving the car that night.”
I tap the button on my phone, ending the call before he can respond, then stare down at it, trembling in my hand. I switch off the ringer and a second later it’s vibrating, Dad flashing on the screen. I wait until it says missed call, then buzzes with a voice mail. My dad calls back two more times, right in a row. I ignore both.
“That went well,” Jasper says after another minute of silence. He’s smiling a little, trying to make me feel better. I don’t.
“Yeah.” My voice sounds numb. And I feel hollow. Like someone cracked open my chest and scooped out my insides. “Awesome.”
“Do you want me to try to say something that might make you feel better?” Jasper offers halfheartedly. “Because I can if you want me to.”
I shake my head, then turn to look at him. “If you haven’t lied to me yet, don’t start now.”
Jasper nods as he puts the car in reverse, then pulls slowly toward the gas pumps. He parks across from the only other occupied car, a new-looking Subaru station wagon with New York plates. Black and shiny, it has carefully arranged lefty stickers on the back—Hillary for America, One Million Moms for Gun Control, Green and Mainstream—the kind my parents might have had, if my dad hadn’t always been too anal for stickers on even his old, crappy car.
“I think I’m going to go inside.” I motion toward the Freshmart. It’s a place to go, a destination. And I need air, movement. I need to get out of Jasper’s Jeep. “You want anything?”
Jasper shakes his head. “I’m good.”
My phone vibrates with another text as I’m getting out of the car. Not my dad, luckily. It’s Cassie.
Still trying to figure out where exactly I am. Where are you?
We got off at 39C like you said. We’re at a gas station on Route 203.
OK. Can you wait there for a minute? I’ll tell you where to go as soon as I can.
We’ll wait, I write back, trying to hint that we’re not going anywhere again without at least that. Who are the people you’re with?
Not who I thought they were.