by Roni Loren
“You keep saying that,” I teased, trying to lighten the impact of the words.
“I keep meaning it.” He gave me another quick peck, then grabbed his bag. “Come on, I’ll drive you home.”
“All right.” I went to grab my things but then realized I had no things. I’d basically gone out in my pajamas last night. No phone. No purse. Just my keys. Then the rest of that reality hit. “Shit.”
“What’s wrong?” he asked, pulling the door open.
“Remember how angry you got when I didn’t check the peephole?”
“Yeah,” he said cautiously.
“Well, that is going to look like a trip through the daisies compared to how livid my father is going to be when I get home.”
He wagged a finger at me. “Ooh, someone’s getting grounded.”
I swatted his arm and laughed. “Shut up.”
He put his arm around my shoulders. “See, at least when I punish you, you get some fun out of it.”
“I’ll add that into your pro column.”
He gave me a squeeze. “Good, I need all the help I can get.”
I leaned into him and sighed. Being there with his arm wrapped around me again was like finding my comfortable corner in the universe. Something inside me smoothed out when I was with him. He thought he was the one that needed help. But really, it was me who was in trouble.
Because if I followed my head, I had a feeling I’d never find anyone who made me feel this way again. And I would always wonder what could’ve been if I walked away from him.
But if I followed my heart, I was going to alienate the people who meant most to me in the world.
Either way, someone’s heart was getting broken.
—
Foster dropped me off with a promise to call me and to be back as soon as he could. I kept the good-bye brief and chaste, knowing that my parents were probably crowded up against the blinds in their house, spying on us.
But when I opened my front door, I realized the truth was even worse. My father was sitting on my living room couch, drinking a cup of coffee and staring out my front window. He’d at least changed out of his pajamas from last night into a pair of jeans and a Rangers T-shirt, but otherwise didn’t look like he’d slept or shaved. He didn’t look my way.
“Papá, what are you doing here?” I asked, too tired to even get angry that he had a key.
“Are you okay, Marcela?” he asked, still staring out the window. “Did he hurt you?”
I blew out a breath and dropped my keys onto the table by the door. “Of course not. Foster’s a friend and a good guy.”
“A friend who you take off with wearing next to nothing. A friend who doesn’t bring you home until morning.” The quiet anger rumbled beneath his words.
“Papá, I was dating Foster in Dallas. We were in a relationship. Maybe still are.”
He turned to look at me then, lines of strain around his eyes. In that moment, I felt bad that he carried that stress, that he felt the need to watch over me so closely. I saw the age there, the wear of years gone by while I’d been away. “Is he why you were delayed moving back home?”
I shifted on my feet, my gaze flitting away. “Yes.”
“And what are you going to do now, Marcela? Did he come here to try to bring you back?”
I hugged my elbows, folding in on myself, the fear of admitting the truth to my father making a shiver go through me. But what else could I do? I’d lived my whole life trying to land on the right squares of hopscotch so I wouldn’t get ejected from the game, wouldn’t disappoint my family. But if winning that game meant never taking a risk, never following my heart, then I guess I was finally prepared to lose. “I think I love him, Papá.”
A black cloud seemed to eclipse his expression, chilling the temperature in the room. He stood. “Go change clothes. We’re going for a ride.”
I straightened. “What?”
“If you still have any respect for me, you will do as I ask and come with me.”
I clenched my teeth together, wanting to tell him that I was tired and wasn’t in the mood to go anywhere, but a lifetime of good behavior was too deeply ingrained. I couldn’t disrespect my father. “I’ll be down in a few minutes.”
—
An hour later we were pulling up to a spot I hadn’t been to in years, with a sack full of breakfast tacos and tall cups of coffee. The view through the windshield made nostalgia wash through me, dragging me backward in time. I glanced at my dad, waiting for an explanation. He hadn’t said much of anything the entire drive out here.
He nodded at the grease-stained paper bag. “Get our breakfast. Let’s see if our spot is still there.”
I grabbed the bag and got out of the car, my tennis shoes hitting the packed dirt of the makeshift parking lot. In front of me stretched a line of trees that marked the entrance to the nature park. A Don’t Feed the Animals sign sat askew on a wooden post. I could still see myself at eight, carrying my backpack on my shoulder and walking past that sign, ponytail swinging. Back then, my dad had tirelessly fed me information and answered my endless questions while we traipsed along the trail. What kind of bird is that? How do raccoons always manage to break into the Dumpsters? Where do the squirrels hide all those acorns? Why do armadillos look like that?
This had been our no-one-else-allowed place. No Mom, no Luz, and no Andre. Not that any of them would’ve wanted to come anyway. Neither of my brothers nor my sister had ever shown a real interest in animals or my father’s job like I had. And Mom was about as outdoorsy as a houseplant. So this place had been sacred to me back when I thought my father was the best man in the world and time spent with him was a special privilege.
Sadness settled over me as I followed my dad down the path, passing the old sign. The place hadn’t changed. The trees had gotten bigger and the underbrush more tangled. But the scent of wildflowers and morning dew still hung in the air. The hum of life buzzed around us, as if the bees and dragonflies were excited that we’d finally returned. It was all so familiar. Comforting. But as I looked ahead at the back of my father, his gray hairs now more prominent than the inky black of all those years ago, his proud gait a little hunched, a sense of loss filled me. Everything has stayed the same except us.
Life had tarnished that dappled sunlit photograph of a doting father and the daughter that worshipped him. The long afternoons of discussing the wonders of nature and the animal world had shifted into butting heads and growing distant. I didn’t even know who those two people were anymore.
Papá stopped at the small clearing where two picnic tables had sat for as long as I could remember. He set down our coffees and bent over to check beneath the tables. A smile touched my lips. I didn’t have to ask what he was doing. Ever since the day I had a very unfortunate encounter with a pissed-off yellow jacket, my dad had always checked for nests before we sat down.
He stood and patted the top of the table. “All clear, mija.”
“Thanks.” I set the bag down in the center of the table and climbed onto the bench. “You want the brisket or the chorizo?”
“Give me one of each. I haven’t had them in a long time. Your mamá has me drinking smoothies in the morning. Green ones.”
I cocked an eyebrow at him, having a hard time imagining him drinking such a thing. “Do they have bacon in them?”
He laughed. “I wish. She puts kale. Have you ever heard of such a thing?”
“I think I’d rather eat a salad.” I unwrapped two tacos for each of us, spreading the paper out on the table.
We ate for a few minutes, the chirping birds providing the soundtrack, and I began to wonder if we were going to share the whole meal in silence. But as soon as my dad polished off the brisket taco, he took a long sip of a coffee, then pinned me with his patented don’t-lie-to-me look. “So you think yo
u’re in love.”
I picked at a piece of egg that had fallen onto the grease-speckled paper. “I think I may be.”
“But you were out with the Ruiz boy last night before Romeo showed up?”
I frowned. “His name is Foster. And yes, I was, but Michael and I are only friends. I was out with him . . . trying to forget about Foster.”
He balled up the wrapper from his first taco and tossed it in the bag, his thick brows low over his eyes. “I see.”
I huffed a breath and peered out toward the trees, not sure what to say to my dad to make him have any sort of understanding.
“You know,” he said, following my line of sight, “when we used to come out here, I’d break the rules and feed the animals.”
I turned to him. “What? No, you didn’t. You were always careful. You told me we couldn’t mess with their natural diet.”
He shook his head. “I would carry dried corn in my pocket to drop along the way so that you’d get to see the animals.” He smiled warmly, and I could tell he was looking back in time, seeing the past like I had a few minutes ago. “Your little face would light up anytime you saw the simplest thing—a squirrel, a robin. The few times we saw a deer, I thought you were going to explode with excitement. I couldn’t bear the thought of us making a trip out here and you not getting the chance to see anything.”
“Papá,” I said, the admission touching me. “I always thought that we were lucky, that the animals happened to like us.”
He looked at me then, his dark eyes a little glossy. “We were lucky, mija. We had a happy family then. I had kids who were on the way to making good lives for themselves. And I had you, who by some miracle, liked the same things I did and wanted to walk in my footsteps. I didn’t want anything to touch that bubble.”
I tucked my hands in my lap, food forgotten.
“But I let you all down,” he said, staring back out at the forest. “I was cocky to think nothing would change. I thought I’d done my job well and all would be fine. But as you all got older, everything changed so fast. All of a sudden, I didn’t know how to connect with you in the same way. I became someone to argue with instead of someone you came to with your problems. And I didn’t know how to handle that. I knew what dangers lurked out there in the world, the things that could derail good kids from their path. But even knowing it, I couldn’t seem to stop it. Luz had so much going for her, so much talent, and look how she tossed that away. For a boy. For so-called love.”
“She made a mistake,” I said gently.
“We both did, and it ruined everything,” he said, a bitter edge to his voice. “When I kicked her out, my happy family broke apart. Your mother has never truly forgiven me. She was already sad that Marco had decided to go into the military and was so far away. But losing Luz crushed her. She was never the same and neither were you kids. You began to see me as someone to fear, and Andre couldn’t move away fast enough. I went to Luz a few months afterward, wanting to make amends and help her, but she was too angry. She said she never wanted to see me again—that I was the coldest, most horrible father she could ever imagine.”
I blinked, the news a shock to me. Luz had never mentioned that he’d ever reached out to her again.
“I swore to myself then that I wouldn’t let anything like that happen again, that I would make sure you and Andre didn’t get off track.” He shook his head. “And here we are again. All my adult life, I’ve looked forward to the day when I could work side by side with one of my children, when I could pass on the family business to you. I know I’m tough on you, but the last few weeks have been some of the happiest I’ve had in years. To see you so confident, so professional. I swell with pride every time I see your name on the door next to mine.”
“Papá,” I whispered, tears getting caught in my throat.
He reached out and laid his hand over mine. “I want you to be happy, mija. But I also want you to be successful and follow the dream you’ve worked so hard for. No man is worth giving that up for. Don’t you think you can be happy here?”
I stared down at our joined hands, his big one swallowing my small one, and a desperate, aching regret pinged through me. No man was worth giving up my happiness for. Not even my dad. I slid my hand from beneath his and back into my lap. “Papá, I am so thankful for everything you’ve given me and all your guidance. I wouldn’t be where I am without you. You’ve been a good father and mentor to me. And you need to know that I would never give up my career. I love what I do.”
He nodded. “I’m glad to hear it.”
I lifted my gaze to his. “But I don’t know if I need to be doing it here.”
“Oh, Marcela.” He rubbed a hand over his forehead.
The anguish in his voice almost did me in. A big part of me just wanted to make it better, wanted to tell him what he hoped to hear. But I’d spent so long trying to be who he wanted me to be, and it wasn’t fair for either of us for me to keep doing that. I wanted a good relationship with my dad, wanted to recapture the bond we used to have. But I knew that probably wouldn’t be possible with our working together and living so close. He was who he was. Turning off that overbearing side would require a personality transplant. And the more he smothered me, the more I’d resent him.
And I could analyze to death my feelings for Foster and worry about the nature of our relationship and if it would last and on and on. But the truth of the matter was that I loved him. And maybe it would work. And maybe it wouldn’t. But I wasn’t going to spend my life playing what if. I wanted a life with passion and risk and not knowing what was around every corner. I wanted to be surprised.
And if I stayed here, maybe I could be content or even happy, but there would be no surprises. And there would be no Foster.
“I’m so sorry,” I said, silent tears escaping. “I love you so much, and I know I’m breaking my word. But I need to make my own way, Papá.”
His eyes held all the sadness and disappointment he’d never tell me in words. “I don’t approve.”
I nodded and let my gaze fall to the table, the words stinging.
“But I understand.”
I glanced up.
He reached over and brushed my tears away with a napkin. “You will always have a place to come back to if you need it. Your mother and I will never ever turn you away. I wouldn’t make that mistake again. I’ve lost one piece of my heart with Luz. I refuse to lose another.”
“Oh, Papá,” I said, a full-out weepy mess now.
“Also, you tell that boy that if he hurts you, the next time I’ll shoot first and ask questions later.”
I snorted some sort of half sob, half laugh, and took the napkin from him to wipe my nose. “Andre’s already threatened him, too. Dating me is turning out to be a very dangerous gig.”
“Is he a good man, mija? This Foster,” he asked, his serious face back in place.
“Yes,” I said, believing that down the depths of my being. “He’ll take good care of me.”
My dad smiled and got up to give me a hug. “That’s all I ask.”
I pressed my face into his shoulder, holding him tight, and let myself be that little girl again—the one who loved her father unconditionally and only saw the wonderful, spectacular parts of him.
For all his faults, my father had given me a good upbringing and a loving home. I would always love him, my family, and my hometown. They were part of the fabric of who I was. But now it was time for me to take those things and carry them forward.
Now it was my turn to live the life I wanted.
And that life started now.
THIRTY-NINE
Foster wasn’t positive when he knew for sure. Maybe it was when Bret had called so early, and his normally tell-it-like-it-is friend hadn’t been able to give him any information. Maybe it had been the guarded, too-high tone of her voice. Bu
t when she’d sent him a follow-up text telling him not to listen to news radio on his drive back to Dallas, he had no doubts left.
Either Neve’s kidnapper had been discovered or Neve had been found. And if Bret wasn’t talking, he knew that there was no happy news waiting at the end of this road. Not that he’d ever held out hope that Neve had made it through okay. Not after all this time. But he couldn’t deny that a small sliver of him had held on to the notion that maybe she’d been kidnapped by someone who’d wanted a child and that she had been cared for. It’d been a stupid, illogical hope, but it’d always been sitting there nestled deep in his mind. Now there’d be nothing there except the despair of knowing she was gone, really gone.
By the time he pulled up to the building Bret had given him directions to, he’d gone fully numb from the inside out. A news van was out front, which would explain why Bret had told him to pull around back. He parked the car, took a few breaths, and headed inside like a man on his way to his death sentence.
The fluorescent lights inside pushed against his already edgy senses, and he got the impression of walking into a morgue it was so quiet and cold. Before he could make his brain function and figure out where he was supposed to go, Bret was striding toward him, her face drawn and pale. He couldn’t remember ever seeing her without makeup. Dread so deep it took his breath moved through him, leaving icy trails in its wake.
“Hey, you,” she said gently, giving him a quick hug. “I don’t even want to know how fast you drove to get here.”
“Just tell me,” he said flatly.
In the distance, he saw an older couple huddled together on a bench in the hallway. The woman peered his way, a hollow look in her eyes. Eyes the same color as his. His mother seemed to look through him, then turned back to his father.
Bret put a hand on his shoulder. “We found the guy. We got him.”
Foster took in a ragged breath, absorbing that information. It didn’t feel nearly as good as he thought it would. He’d spent much of his life waiting to hear those words, but they didn’t offer any solace. Not when he sensed what was to follow.