I looked at Daisy, who was chewing a bite of pizza, her eyes on the parking lot. “Don’t say I’m too hard on him,” I told her. “He needs to learn this stuff.”
“I’m not saying anything,” she said. I was never that fond of any of Daisy’s other boyfriends—a volleyball player, a guy who may or may not have been gay, a creative writing student at Weymar who wrote about nothing but aliens—mostly because I never thought any of them were good enough for her. Times like this, though, I would gladly have welcomed any or all back.
“Emaline.”
I turned to see my dad a few tables away, standing while the rest of his crew, Morris included, got settled with their slices and drinks. “Yes?”
“Got a minute?”
I nodded. “Sure.”
As I got up to follow him outside, I was braced for any number of conversational possibilities. There was my damp hair, and the fact that I might be busted, again. Also, there was Morris, who had provided yet another reason he should never have been hired. Both were uncomfortable topics, but at least Morris was secondary shame, so I knew which one I had my money on. Once we were face to face by the newspaper boxes, though, he broached neither, instead handing me a slip of paper with a phone number scrawled on it.
“What’s this?” I asked him, as that same moped whined past, going the other way.
“Your father’s number. He called again when I was just at the house.”
There was always a weird moment when he referred to anyone else as my father. Like we’d entered an alternate universe, or something. “I have his number.”
“That’s his cell. I was going to drop it by the office with your mom to give you on my way back to the job.” When I just looked at him, confused, he added, “He said it was important.”
Important. I had a flash of my graduation invitation, never responded to. It was like I hadn’t even sent it.
“Just call him, get it over with,” my dad said. “Okay?”
“Sure,” I said, as he pulled the door open. “I’ll do it right now.”
“Good girl. See you tonight.” I watched him go back inside and cross the restaurant, his walk slow, but not for the same reasons as Morris. Twenty-plus years of carpentry and roofing had taken a toll, although his body wasn’t as broken as some. At my age, he’d worked days framing, then played guitar in a bar band at night, one good enough to get close to a record deal. But close is just close, especially in Colby.
Inside, Daisy was looking at me, so I pulled out my phone and held it up so she’d know what I was doing. She pointed at my mostly empty plate. When I shook my head, she gathered it up, along with her own, and tossed both in the trash. I was just starting to dial the number when she came outside.
“Everything okay?” she asked, putting on her sunglasses.
“I’ll let you know in a minute.”
She nodded, then started walking back up to the salon, the bag with her mom’s lunch hanging from her hand. In my ear, the phone was now ringing. Once. Twice. Three times. I was expecting a voice-mail greeting, but then, suddenly, he was on the line.
“Hello?”
“Hi,” I said. “Um, it’s Emaline. My dad said you called?”
“Yes,” he replied. A pause. “You’re a hard girl to catch up with.”
“Sorry,” I said, then immediately regretted this easy, knee-jerk apology. “Is everything . . . okay?”
“Benji and I are headed your way,” he told me. “We just crossed into Virginia, should be there in . . . four hours? Five?”
“You’re coming here?”
“My aunt passed away a couple of months back. We’re cleaning out her place to get it ready to go on the market.”
“I’m sorry.” This time I meant it. I’d met her a few times. She was always nice to me.
“She’d been sick awhile. It was for the best.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, I figured it would be a great opportunity for a road trip. A pilgrimage of sorts, just us guys.”
“Leah isn’t with you?”
A beat. Then, “I figure we’ll be crossing over the bridge right around dinnertime, give or take whatever traffic holds us up. I know it’s short notice, but I was hoping you could meet us for a quick bite.”
I wanted to tell him no, make an excuse, then get off the phone. But it was one thing to be cold over distance, another entirely when they were in your same zip code. “Um . . . sure. Just call me when you get close.”
“Will do. See you soon, Emaline.”
And with that, he was gone, again. The great disappearing act, that was my father. No mention of school, plus he didn’t answer any of the questions I asked him. It made me think of Mrs. Ye and all the things she said that I couldn’t figure out. She and I at least spoke different languages, though. With my father, the words themselves were clear. I got every one. But somehow, I still didn’t understand.
* * *
News travels fast in a small town like Colby. Between my parents, though, it was more like warp speed.
“You need me to do a towel delivery?”
My mom glanced at me, then put down the pencil she was holding. “Oh, right . . . yes. Towels. I do.”
I just looked at her. It was not exactly a bad trait, but my mother was the worst liar ever. “Where?”
She swallowed, then pushed a few papers around on her desk, searching for a Post-it or piece of paper I was almost positive did not exist. “Let me see . . . I think it was over in Sandbar Cove. . . .”