Luckily, my dad was too focused on getting me out of whatever toxic cloud he’d created to start in on me yet. Still, as he guided me over my threshold and down the hallway, I could hear him muttering.
“—specific point to make sure everyone was out of the house when the sealant was being applied,” he was saying as I finally hit the fresh air and sucked in a deep breath. With the mask on, he looked like a surgeon delivering bad news. “Did you not get your mother’s multiple messages?”
Now that I thought of it, I had seen a few texts on my phone. But then, the battery conked out. Theo’s camper, among its many charms, had exactly one working—albeit ancient—outlet, which he needed for his computer, so I’d been out of luck. And incommunicado. “Sorry,” I mumbled. “My battery died.”
He sighed, annoyed with both me and this excuse: my phone was a common scapegoat. “You might have, too, if I hadn’t heard you coughing.”
“Is it seriously that dangerous?” I said. I mean, I got his whole renovation obsession thing, but there had to be limits.
“No,” he grumbled. “But you don’t want to be breathing it in for hours on end. Here, drink something.”
He glanced around, then spotted a fountain drink, a straw sticking out, in my car console. As he opened the door to get it, it was like I could just see the next minute unfolding in front of me, and it was not going to be pretty. Quickly, I took it from him.
“Thanks,” I said, sucking down a big, watery gulp of what had once been soda. “Whew. Much better.”
And that was the exact moment that, despite my attempts to cover it with my hand, he saw the words on the side of the cup: CONROY PIER FISH/TACKLE. I’d told Theo this was not a safe place to go after dark—or really ever, as it was housed basically in a metal box beside the Sea View motel—but he’d insisted he was street smart and went for provisions anyway. “What could happen in Colby, really?” he’d asked, before disappearing into the dark. Now, I was pretty sure I was about to find out.
“Conroy,” my dad said, looking at the cup, then at me. He still had on the mask, but now looked like an angry surgeon, one you definitely didn’t want anywhere near you with a scalpel. “You were at the campground?”
I’d been hoping he’d ask if I’d been at the store itself. That way, I could answer honestly and say no. Just my luck. “Well,” I said. “Sort of.”
“Sort of,” he repeated. I heard a car engine, and we both looked over to see my mom pulling into the driveway. She waved cheerfully. Neither of us waved back. “Which means yes.”
“I was with Theo,” I said, like this was going to win me any arguments.
“Why was he there? I thought he lived in a mansion out on the Tip.”
“He did, with his boss. But his work and, um, living situation has changed.” My mom was getting out of the car now, carrying bags from my dad’s favorite breakfast place. Called Roy’s, it was known mostly for its sausage biscuit, which was so huge and greasy you needed a shower after eating one. “He’s just renting a place for the rest of the summer.”
“At the campground,” he said, as my mom approached. “And you were there, all last night.”
I nodded. He looked furious. On an unrelated note, now I could smell sausage.
“Good morning!” my mom said to me. “I didn’t expect to see you here for breakfast. I figured you were still asleep at Daisy’s.”
“Nope,” my dad said.
Just this single word, in this specific tone, clued her in that something was up. She looked at him, then at me. “What’s going on?”
Neither of us replied. My dad was still glaring at me. Finally, he said, “Emaline spent the night at the campground. Apparently.”
“What?” she demanded. My mom was a reactor: she could go from zero to seriously pissed in seconds. “Are you crazy?”
“Mom—”
“Do you even know what goes on there? It’s basically lawless!” She thrust the bag at my dad, then focused again on me. “Now, I know you’re about to leave for college and basically an adult. But I didn’t raise you to be stupid, no matter how old you are.”
Ouch. I knew better than to protest or defend myself, though. Like a storm, the best bet was to take whatever cover possible and wait for it to pass.
“She didn’t get your messages,” my dad added, taking out a biscuit, the paper covering it wet with grease. “I just found her in her bed, breathing in fumes.”
“I was coughing,” I pointed out, as if this, again, was going to somehow win me points.
“You were in the house?” Then she turned to face Dad. “I thought you double-checked everyone was out before you started.”
“I did. She came in after that.”
I just looked at him. It wasn’t like I’d expected him to break rank here—mostly because it had never happened that I could remember—but he was really not helping me. Unfazed, he pushed up his mask, meeting my gaze, then took a bite of his breakfast.
“Emaline,” my mom was saying now, “I sent you several messages about the sealant. You knew not to be here this morning.”
I waited for my dad to say I’d ignored her texts. Now, though, he was silent, leaving me to offer a lame, “My phone died.”
“At the campground. In the middle of the night,” my mom finished for me, not missing a beat. “What, do you have a death wish now, too?”