Waiting For You

“You’re sure you’re okay?”

“Are we doing a feelings thing?” I sniped sarcastically. “Should I go see if Nan’s Diner has any Pumpkin Spice lattes?”

“Asshole,” he laughed.

“Back atcha. See you later.”

He gave me a chin lift and moved away from my car. It didn’t escape my notice that he stood on the curb watching me speculatively while I pulled out, not going toward his shop until I turned onto the street.

Christ, I needed to be more careful. Just a month and I’d be housed in my condo and I could put a whole lot of crap behind me. Problem was, crap always followed you unless you dealt with it. I just wasn’t sure exactly how.

The drive across Cherish Cove and up Mansion Hill—which wasn’t much of a hill and more of an easy slope—took me mere minutes. All too soon, I pulled through the brick and iron gate and navigated the long driveway to the house. Pulling into my spot in the huge eight-stall garage, I saw both my mother and my uncle’s cars were gone. I sighed with relief.

I beelined directly to my dad’s office, wanting to talk with him then escape to my room before the status of the mansion’s occupancy changed.

With a quick rap on his door, I let myself in. He never cared if I just entered without invitation. He was on the phone and motioned for me to take one of the chairs. My brow furrowed as I took in the bruises on the left side of his face, as well as the inch-long cut that ran horizontal to his eye.

While he talked to whoever it was on the phone, I pretended to play with my cell and covertly took a picture. I didn’t know if it would ever do any good, but I had loads and loads of timestamped evidence.

“Marshall,” he greeted me with a tight smile after he hung up. The movement pulled at the cut and he quickly let it drop. Closing his eyes momentarily, he settled back into his chair. “What brings you?” he asked.

“Just wanted to give you an update on my place. Looks like I’ll move in the middle of August.”

“Good! That’s wonderful! I knew letting Barrett have that place was a great move.” He didn’t mention being sad to see me move out. I knew he’d be relieved to see me go—for my own good.

I gave a single nod, still eying his face.

“Don’t,” he warned quietly.

“What happened?”

“Oh…you know. Fell. You know how clumsy I am.”

“Fell…? Onto what?” I touched my cheek, mirroring the position of his cut. My face twisted in disbelief. “A broken glass?”

“Marshall. Leave it,” he said wearily.

“Dad…”

He shook his head.

“How long are you going to just let it happen?”

“I don’t just let anything happen,” he half growled. “I need to make another call.” He reached for the receiver, dismissing me, and I knew, as I’d already known before speaking, that my questions were useless.