Ghosted

“You don’t have to do this,” I say, looking at Jonathan. “Maddie will understand.”

He sighs. “It’s fine. I made this mess. I have to face it.”

“Yeah, but…”

“But…?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “Feels like there ought to be a but.”

Jonathan laughs under his breath as my father steps out onto the porch, wiping his hands on the grilling apron he wears.

“Hey, Dad,” I say. “Nice party.”

“It’s not a party,” he grumbles. “It’s just a little thing.”

More like a test, maybe. A welcoming committee, except not quite as friendly as one of those might be.

“Mr. Garfield, sir.” Jonathan clears his throat. “I appreciate the invitation.”

“It’s what my granddaughter wanted,” he says. “Whatever it takes to make her happy. I’m sure you get that.”

“Of course,” Jonathan says.

“Well, then, I should get back to my grill.” My father looks at me, eyes suspicious, as he says, “Join me, Cunningham. We can catch up.”

Jonathan offers me a small smile, trying to be reassuring, but I know without a shadow of a doubt that the world is about to be turned upside down.

Gravity, don’t fail me now.

I mingle, avoiding certain conversations, dodging questions, sticking to simple pleasantries with the neighbors. Maddie, she’s running around, telling anyone who will listen about her daddy. I try to steer her elsewhere, but she’s a kid. She doesn’t understand why it’s all such a big deal. She just wants to share her happiness, while I can’t shake my unsettling feeling.

It’s growing, deepening, like a bottomless pit.

It’s about to hit us like a storm.

Every time I see Jonathan, he’s near my father, the two of them talking, both men tense like they’re on edge from the conversation. But when my father announces that it’s time to eat, Jonathan’s missing.

I fix Maddie a hot dog, settling her into a chair on the back patio, telling her to stay there while I go on a hunt for her father. He’s not outside, so I head into the house, hearing his voice—quiet, so quiet, bordering on despondent.

He’s talking on the phone.

“Just do whatever you can,” he says. “Try to get ahead of this before it spins out of control.”

He’s standing at the front door, alone, looking out.

“I know, I hear you, but I just… I can't,” he says after a moment. “I get it, and you're right, but I can't do that, so do what you can to stop this.”

Sighing, he hangs up, slipping his phone into his pocket. I absorb those words, the sound of his voice, as I take a step closer. The creaky floor alerts him to my presence, and he glances over his shoulder, a flash of panic showing.

“Everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine,” he says. “Had to talk to Cliff.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Have PR put out a statement, asking for my privacy,” he says. “Not sure it’ll make a difference. Cliff thinks the only way to stop this from snowballing is if I leave, go make myself visible somewhere else to draw the attention away from here, so the story looks made up.”

“Are you going to?”

“No,” he says, hesitating. “Unless that's what you want.”

Before I have the chance to tell him what it is I want, he pulls me in front of him at the door, wrapping his arms around me, my back flush against his chest.

Leaning down, he whispers, “Look across the street.”

I do as he says. Everything seems quiet.

I’m not sure what he wants me to see.

The house directly across from us is old, and brick, with way too many potted plants surrounding the place. The couple who live there long ago retired. They’re currently in my father’s backyard, eating hot dogs with my daughter.

“What do you see?” he asks.

“A bunch of ugly plants.”

“Is that it?”

“Uh, a house, trees… there’s a mailbox and a flag and…” I trail off when movement catches my attention. Somebody’s lurking. “Who’s that?”

“He called himself a reporter.”

I glance back at Jonathan, surprised. “You talked to him?”

“No, but your father did. He knocked on his door this morning, wanting to talk to you.”

“Me?”

“Said he heard a girl might be around here that knows something about me,” he says. “Your father told him to get the hell off of his property, but then he spotted the guy lurking around the neighbors, so your father invited the neighbors over here.”

“Wow.” I’m not sure what to say. “Why my father’s house? Why not come to the apartment where I live?”

“I don’t know,” he says quietly, “but I'm sure they'll make it over that way eventually.”

The reporter slips out of sight, trying to go undetected.

“The food’s ready,” I say, still trying to process everything. “You should eat something.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“But still, you should eat,” I say, turning around to face Jonathan, patting his stomach playfully, trying not to dwell on the fact that our lives may be about to change. “Gotta keep your strength up, since I’m pretty sure the entertainment portion of this party is gonna be your interrogation.”