Free Faking Perfect by Rebecca Phillips

scrub brush into the water and turned toward me. “He’s back.”
    “Back?”
    “In Alton.” She placed her dripping hand on my forearm. “Josie said he moved back in January after his father—your grandfather—passed away and left him his backhoe company. Your father took over. He owns the business now.”
    All I could do was gape at her. My father . . . alive . . . living in Alton and running a backhoe company? This Josie woman had to be mistaken. “But”—I shifted away from the moist heat of her hand—“but the drugs. He’s a drug addict. How can he . . . ?” I couldn’t say what I wanted to say. How can he be back in Alton? How can he run a business? How can he be alive and thriving and still forget he has a daughter?
    “Josie says he’s sober as a judge now. And . . . “ She let out a sigh and my entire body tensed, bracing for more. “He didn’t come back alone. He’s got a wife and two kids. Josie said—”
    A roaring sound filled my ears, blocking out the rest of her words. I threw the dish towel down on the counter and brushed past her to the door. Her fingers skimmed my arm as I passed, trying to hold me there, but I dodged them and kept going. When I reached the doorway, I turned around to face her. “When did you find out about this?”
    Her hand, still dripping with dish water, returned to her side. “Josie called me shortly after he came back.”
    “You said he moved back in January. So you’ve known for two months ?” Acid stung the back of my throat as my dinner fought its way back up my esophagus. I swallowed it down again. “Why would you keep this from me?”
    Teresa blinked a few times and then dropped her gaze to the floor. “Because I knew it would hurt you. It wasn’t my place to tell you, Lexi. Your mother would be furious if she ever found out I spoke to you about this. As if she needed another reason to hate me.”
    “But it’s not about her. It’s about me . He’s my father, and I had a right to know.” My stomach gurgled and I inhaled deeply, willing its contents to stay put. “Why tell me now if it’s not your place?”
    “It’s been eating me up for weeks. I had to tell you.” Her eyes found mine again. “You’ll be eighteen in June. An adult. Old enough to contact whomever you want, and your mother can’t do a thing to stop you.” She walked over to the big oak cabinet that sat along the far wall in the kitchen, opened one of the drawers, and removed a small piece of paper. The kind people wrote grocery lists on. After a moment of hesitation, she handed it to me. “His information,” she said softly.
    I looked down at the paper. My father’s name was written there along with the words Davis Excavating Ltd. And a phone number. His phone number. As if I’d call him, this stranger who existed only in photographs stuck between the pages of Corn Snakes: An Owner’s Guide . As if I’d give him another opportunity to reject me.
    “Keep it.” I tossed the paper across the kitchen. It floated in the air for a few seconds and then landed, writing side up, under the table.
    “Lexi, sweetie, I’m sorry. I should have told you sooner. I just . . . “ She put a hand over her face and started to cry. Under normal circumstances, her tears would have immobilized me, but right then her betrayal was like a sharp poke between my shoulder blades, spurring me forward. I bolted out of the kitchen and ran smack into Nolan’s I SEE DUMB PEOPLE shirt.
    “What’s going on?” he asked.
    I ignored him and continued on to the front entryway. Gus shot ahead of me, whimpering to go outside. I ignored him too, grabbed my jacket, and got the hell out of there.
     
    Going home and facing my mother wasn’t an option, so I just started walking.
    “Lexi!”
    I heard Nolan’s voice behind me as I strode past Grace’s house at the end of the street. Their driveway was empty, and I vaguely remembered Grace mentioning something about going to visit her grandmother this