“I’ll send him a text later. Give him the heads-up.”
For a moment I thought Mom was going to force the issue. Her lips thinned, and if she kept frowning like that, she was going to have perma lines between her eyes.
“You’re sure?” she asked.
“I am.”
“Okay, I’ll leave some cash for groceries, and there’s always your dad’s debit card.” She worried her bottom lip and attempted a smile. “It will be good for you and your father to spend some time together.”
I snorted.
Her frown deepened. “He’s your father, Everly. When all is said and done, there is still that, and he deserves your respect.”
I wanted to shout at her. To scream and tear out my hair. I wanted to tell her that respect is earned. That just because you’re an adult doesn’t mean you get to break the rules and get away with it. That being a liar and a cheat isn’t something to look up to.
I got what she was saying. But love and respect are two different things. I would always love my dad, but right now, the respect thing was more than a little iffy. It was pretty much nonexistent.
“Okay.” She pushed away from the counter. “I think it will be good for you and him to have some alone time.”
“Sure.”
Not a chance in hell, but I wasn’t about to tell her that. I had plans for the weekend, but they sure as heck didn’t involve my dad. In fact, I was contemplating doing something so out of character that I was surprised Mom didn’t see it plastered all over my face.
I let her hug me. Kiss the top of my head. I said my good-byes to Isaac, who looked confused as ever, the poor kid.
“You’re not coming?” he sniffed into my neck.
“Buddy, I’m too old for Bible camp.”
“I don’t mean camp.”
I knew what he meant. When had Mom ever gone away without all of us?
“Not this time.”
“Dad’s not either,” he whispered.
I hugged him. Hard. “I know, but you’ll have a blast at camp, and just think of all the fun you’ll have with your cousins.”
He wrinkled his nose. “They’re all girls.”
“I know.” I gave him one more kiss. “You won’t have time to miss me, and I’ll see you before you know it, okay?”
I watched them load bags into her car, and after one last hug, they drove down the street and disappeared from sight.
And then I dug out my cell, scrolled past my dad’s name, and called Trevor. He answered on the first ring.
“Hey,” he said, all husky scruff that told me he’d just rolled out of bed.
“It’s Friday,” I replied.
A pause.
“Yeah. I think you’re right about that.”
I smiled at the teasing note in his voice.
“Friday, July 3.”