Stephanie
I’m hardly aware of what I’m doing or where I’m going.
The last thing I concretely remember is shouting at Luca and then slamming the door of my car in his face.
I don’t remember the drive over here to my dad’s place, or storming my way inside and ignoring every question of his about what’s wrong or what’s going on.
One minute, I’m in the parking lot shouting at the man I’d given my heart to, and the next I’m standing here in my childhood bedroom, staring down at a duffel bag full of my things.
“Pumpkin, I’m sorry.”
I look up.
My dad is in the doorway, looking so beat-down and tired, and he’s got this expression on his face that parents sometimes get, where you’re sure beyond any doubt that they can tell exactly what is going on in your head.
“Dad, what are you sorry about?”
He chuckles a bit and his eyes gradually circle upward, taking in the ceiling before settling on me. “I think the better question is: what is there that I shouldn’t feel sorry about? And I think the answer to that is: that you turned out to be such an incredible daughter, despite all the mistakes I made.”
There’s a lump in my throat and it’s growing bigger by the second and it feels like I could choke on it.
He comes in from his spot on the doorway to stand next to me. There’s a small picture in his hand, from the time when I was six and he and my mom and I took a road trip south to Anaheim to visit Disneyland. In the picture, I’m wearing a pair of mouse-ears and the biggest, brightest smile a six year old can muster. My mom is laughing and my dad has this childish grin on his face because, with one hand he’s holding mom and with the other, he’s giving me bunny ears — which go along great with the mouse ears I’m already wearing.
I think that day was the happiest day I’ve ever had. Next to the times I woke up in Luca’s arms, feeling comfortable and safe and like the world might just have some hope in it after all.
He tosses the picture in my bag and zips it closed.
“What are you doing, dad?”
“You know, I was wrong to call you here.”
“You were scared, it’s understandable. Besides, we’re family, that’s what you do.”
“That’s no excuse. Being a dad is scary stuff. Every decision that I make has consequences for you, and it means that I have to do my best to make sure that you are taken care of and loved. But when it came to making this tough decision, I failed, and I wrapped you up in this giant mess.”
I forget about the bag that I’ve packed and I turn around and I hug him.
“I would’ve come here anyways. You’re my father. I have to be here for you. Just like you were there for me when mom died.”
“Not like this,” he says.
Then, he picks up my bag. I feel guilty now about packing, about leaving, and I can tell by looking at his face that he knows that’s how I feel. I made this decision without even talking to him. Even if it feels like it’s the right one, it was wrong not to tell him.
“You’re doing the right thing, pumpkin. I should’ve told you to get out of here a long time ago.”
Hearing that doesn’t make it any easier.
“I’m sorry. It’s just that, earlier today, Bryan and I found out some things about Luca, and, you were right about him. I need to get away from all this mess.”
He takes my hand with his free hand and leads me towards the door and down the stairs.
“You need to be somewhere where you’re not afraid. Get out of here. Get a long ways out of town. Don’t tell me where you’re going, don’t tell anyone.”
“You can come, too—” I start to say, but he just shakes his head.
“What I need to do is stay here. I made this mess, I need to deal with it and whatever consequences there are. I need to be your dad, for once, and keep this from getting back to you.”
He opens the door and sets the bag down to give me a hug.
“I love you, dad. I’ll call you when I’m somewhere safe.”
My dad pulls back a bit from the hug, keeping his hands clasped on my shoulders while looking me in the eye.
“Don’t call. Wait a long while, make sure you’re far, far away. The less I know about where you are, the less chance there is that anyone else could find out. I want you to stay safe.”
I give him one last kiss on the cheek and a big hug and pick up my things. My heart is aching as I settle back into the front seat of the car, but the rest of me feels numb, like I won’t feel happy until I’ve left this nightmare far behind me.
I pull out onto the main road.
It’s a bright morning. Sunny, clear skies, a gentle breeze. Perfect for starting over.
It’s miles before I realize I may have just said goodbye to my dad for the last time. I want to pull over, I even slow down and get onto the shoulder and hear the crunch of gravel under the tires and feel the pain of parting well up inside me. But I don’t stop. More than anything else, I need to leave town.
After five more minutes of driving, I’m close to main highway out of town. Once I get there, I decide I’ll head north and keep driving until Portland or maybe Seattle. There’s plenty of hospitals up there, plenty of chances to start over.
It’s just open road in front of me and only a mile or two to the highway.
I can do this. I can make it.
At a stoplight, where there’s no other cars around me, I think about running the red light. Every part of me is crying out to get out of here, to start over, and even the parts of me that are torn up and wounded about leaving behind my dad and Luca, are excited at the chance to finally know what it’s like to go a day without fearing for my life.
The light changes.
I start inching forward.
Motion draws my attention to my rear view mirror. An SUV and a beat-up black sedan settle in behind me, matching my pace as I drive down the road.
Slow, steady, I keep driving. Freedom is on the horizon and, though it’s miles away, I just need to keep going and I’ll get there.
The car flashes its headlights at me. Once, twice, three times, and I’m sure it’s no accident.
My heart hitches and I step on the gas.
If I can just get to the highway, where there’s more people around, maybe I’ll be ok.
Slowly, surely, the SUV pulls into the other lane and up alongside me. Calm, even, but relentless with menace.
One window rolls down.
An ugly, scarred face smiles back at me and a pistol takes aim.
There’s a crack and a puff of smoke and glass explodes in my face and the wheel jerks from my hands. Pain hits me everywhere, the world turns and flips and I feel things break inside me.
There’s a thud that vibrates through my bones and makes me scream in agony. Everything comes to a quiet stop.
All I hear is the sound of gravel crunching as a car pulls onto the shoulder of the road beside me.
My eyelids flicker open for a second and, between the blood and the shattered glass, there’s that same scarred face looking down at me.
He smiles.
“Going somewhere?”