Something’s changed.

After our Skype session, Tristan and I’s conversations have moved beyond merely what I’m up to with the kids, to talking about things that have nothing to do with the job he hired me for. His texts come sporadically throughout the day, not just in the evenings like they did in the beginning. We always seem to be in constant communication with each other.

And he encourages me to get out and skate during the day. To take Ferguson with me while Darcy’s at school, make it an outing for the two of us. It’s something I hadn’t thought of, but I’m sure Ferguson would love it, even if he can’t skate on his own yet.

There’s something about talking to Tristan about my fears that always seems to ease them. I don’t feel afraid anymore, not the way I used to. I’d fortified those fears so much over the years that I’d somehow forgotten who I was, and how much I enjoyed being me. The skater. The hockey player. It’s as if I’d given up a part of me, and I didn’t realize it fully until that part had been given back.

Tristan’s awakened me, all of me. This feeling of contentment I have is his doing.

I’ve even had the guts to meet up with Sandy and her friends once, which wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. I still feel socially awkward in comparison, but we found a common ground—not just the kids, but hockey. They live and breathe the sport, too.

Sandy mentioned that there’s a local team that’s in need of a volunteer assistant coach. Tristan suggested I apply for the position, citing it would look good on my college application and will show I’ve been actively involved in the community. I thought it was a silly idea at first. I mean, I have a job. Not to mention the fact that I don’t live here permanently. But, I made the mistake of bringing it up when Tristan’s mom, Wendy, came over the other day, and she seemed keen to help me out.

“You’d want to watch the kids for an hour during the week and another on Saturday morning?” I asked her, surprised.

She smiled and said, “I thought you’d never ask.”

Well, that settled that, then.

So, I went for the interview. They said they would let me know in a few days. I don’t think I’ll hold my breath, but just the prospect is exciting to me.

After the interview, I head over to Wendy’s to pick up the kids. When my phone rings just as I’m about to pull out of the arena parking lot, I put the car back in park. It’s been over four weeks since I heard a peep from Dad. Seeing his name on the caller display makes a lump form in my throat.

“Dad?”

“Oh, Faith, I was hoping to catch you. How have you been?” He sounds cheerful.

“Fine. How about you?”

He pauses, and I can hear the change in tone before he even speaks again. “Faith, I’ve been trying to get a hold of you.”

That’s strange, because my phone is with me at all times, especially when Darcy is at school. And I wouldn’t want to miss a call or text from Tristan. Besides, there have been no missed calls showing up. “Oh?” I reply feebly, waiting for him to explain.

“Yeah, it’s about the money you sent me.” He sighs, but it’s muffled, and I can picture him running his hand over his face. “It isn’t enough. They’re still going to take the house. You told me how much you get paid each month, but you only sent half of it. So, you must’ve been paid again by now. Maybe you could send me another five thousand now and then—”

“It’s the store.”

“What?”

“The store,” I repeat. “You told me they were going to foreclose on the store last time. That’s why I sent the money you asked for.” My hands are shaking. I can’t even think straight.

“Yes, the store.” There’s an edge in his voice. “They’re still threatening to take it, too.”

That’s not what he said last time. “I thought you said the money I already sent would cover whatever’s in arrears on the store and the house, and would be enough to get you back on track?”

There’s a dead silence on the other end of the line.

“It was,” he exclaims, but he sounds unsure of himself. “For that month.”

I take a deep breath, letting it out painstakingly slowly so he won’t hear it. This man—my father—is flat-out lying to me. And it’s breaking my heart more and more with each word he spits out.

“It’s gone.” It’s a lie I feel compelled to tell him.

When this is all over, after I finish looking after Darcy and Ferguson, I have an apartment and a life to get back to. It’s not much of one, but I do have to have money available to get back on my feet. At this rate, there won’t be a penny left if I’m not careful.

“All of it?” He’s just as suspicious as I am. “You can’t have spent it.”

I follow it up with another lie. “I put it in an investment fund, Dad. I want to make sure that if I don’t get a scholarship, at least I can still go to college.”

He laughs shakily. “You had me worried. I thought you did something dumb like spend it on a car or something. That means that you can take it out of the fund.”

I shake my head. This can’t be happening. “No. It’s a locked-in investment. I did it that way so I wouldn’t be tempted to spend it.”

“I never in a million years thought you’d be so damn selfish,” Dad spits out. “You’re out living the life with that hockey player, and you don’t even have the decency to help out the man who raised you. I need that money, Faith. You’re not going to have a job to come back to if you keep this up.”

I hang up before he says another word.

Tears sting my eyelids. What the hell is going on? I’ve never known Dad to be like this.

Why would he lie? Better yet, what else is he lying about?

My minds begin to spin. The late nights Dad kept, that I never batted an eyelash about. The Sundays he insisted he had to go to the store, even though it wasn’t open.

I believed every word he ever said, always had. He’s my dad. And I’ve never had any reason to doubt him.

Until now. Which brings me back to my original question. Why lie?

Whatever the truth is, he’s been hiding it for a long time. He gambles, and he drinks. Hell, I’ve smelled it on his breath many times. All his friends do, too. It’s never occurred to me before to wonder if he does too much of it, though.

I know I’m grasping at straws. I don’t even know if it makes sense to come to such a conclusion. My hands are shaking as I turn the key in the ignition. I need to pull myself together. I need to go pick up the kids. Most of all, I need to dry the tears that won’t seem to stop falling.

There are only two things I know for sure I as pull the car out of the parking lot. The first is that no matter what Dad needs that money for, it’s not my problem. The second is that I have no intentions of going back home.