Free Out with the In Crowd by Stephanie Morrill Page B

“You have a second to talk?”
    I nodded, my mouth dry, and followed him through the kitchen into his office. He pulled the French doors closed behind us.
    “I can’t get ahold of your mother,” he said, turning to face me.
    I crossed my arms and leaned against the door frame. “This is news?”
    “I wanted to give her the weekend to cool off.” Dad ran his hands through his hair. “I didn’t even try calling her until today.”
    “Maybe she needs a little more time. Maybe it’ll take her more than a weekend to get over what you did.”
    When he didn’t reprimand me for my lack of respect, I knew he was really worried. “Her cell phone isn’t working. The recording says it’s been disconnected.”
    “She called me from it yesterday.”
    Had she possibly already left for Hawaii? She wouldn’t do that, right? She wanted Abbie and me with her. At the very least, she’d have said good-bye.
    Dad perched on the edge of his desk and said in a matter-of-fact way, “I need to know what she said to you over coffee.”
    I squirmed. I wanted out of there. “Why?”
    “Because I’m trying to put a family back together”—his voice rose with each word—“and I need to know how to reach your mother.”
    I looked away from him, at a grade-school picture of Abbie’s. She had braided pigtails and missing teeth. Why hadn’t Dad updated his pictures? Did he prefer to think of us at that age, as little girls who argued with him only when he insisted we go to bed?
    “She said I was an accident,” I whispered. Mom had said a lot of things. Why choose to tell him that one?
    Dad’s face paled. “Oh, Skylar, honey. You came along earlier than we planned, but I promise, the moment you were born, neither of us saw you as an accident. When I saw you that first time—”
    “It’s okay.” I was so not in the mood to hear him say anything that might make me like him again. “I don’t care. Honestly.” Dad’s mouth pressed into a firm line. “Did she say anything else?”
    I shook my head. “Can I go start on my homework?”
    I shook my head.
    He nodded.
    I’d nearly closed the door, nearly escaped, when Dad called, “Skylar?”
    I hesitated—could he tell I’d held back information?
    “Would you . . .” He fiddled with his tie. Even on days he worked from home, he usually wore ties. “When she calls you again, would you please say whatever you can to get her back home?”
    I nodded. “Sure.”
    How exhausting, to know before my father that he’d be getting divorced. It’s supposed to be a surprise to the kids. Alexis once described her parents’ divorce as the shock of a lifetime. My parents, however, seemed eager to consult me with every step.
    Jogging up the stairs, I murmured, “Please, God, forgive me for lying.” I had no intentions of sweet-talking Mom back home. Why bother? She’d settle in, make fancy dinners for a couple weeks, and then leave again at the next bump in the road. I couldn’t keep suffering the pain of losing her. Well, I could, but Abbie was a different story. She needed Mom.
    Abbie poked her head into my room, wearing a sleeveless shirt despite the frigid January temperatures. “Everything okay?”
    She must’ve heard Dad ask to speak to me in private. “Yeah.” I forced a smile. “I think Dad just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
    She rolled her eyes. “I’m gonna take a nap.”
    She rolled her eyes. “ “Okay, sleep well.”
    When she left, I collapsed onto my bed. I closed my eyes and tried to remember what life had been like in the little house, when we all shared one and a half baths and two teeny bedrooms. How painful to know those days weren’t what I’d thought. If I were Mom, could I forgive Dad for what he’d done? It was hard enough just being his daughter.
    My phone rang. Connor.
    My phone “Hello?”
    “You sound tired.”
    “Because I’m lying down.” I propped myself up. “Better?”
    “Much. You miss me on the drive home?”
    I chuckled.