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He immediately started texting back, but I set my phone to airplane mode. I wasn’t letting him talk me out of this, and I was too mortified to explain what was going on until I had some real answers. If my father had actually done this—actually stolen from me and Hale—I wasn’t sure what I would do. But I knew, before anyone else, Elara and Hale would always come first.
Avoidance is in my DNA
My leg bounced the entire drive from New York to Pennsylvania. Martel had been surprised to hear from me, but he arrived right away when I asked him to drive me to my father’s.
Hale had texted me several times asking what was going on, but I couldn’t find the words to tell him. Not until I knew for sure what the reality of the situation actually was, so I just kept responding that I’d explain later, which was not a satisfactory response in his opinion.
I could only handle so much. I felt like the earth was crumbling beneath my feet. I was also dealing with severe stomach issues because all of my drama always landed there.
I’d texted my dad several times but received no reply.
It didn’t take me long to find his address now that I knew what town he lived in, and once I spotted the old Chevy truck I knew we arrived.
“That’s it. Just pull over here.”
“I’ll find a place to park?—”
“Don’t bother. I won’t be long.”
“This neighborhood isn’t?—”
“This neighborhood’s fine.” This wasn’t up for debate. I was getting out of this car and I was handling this on my own. “I’ll only be a few minutes.” I opened the car door as soon as we stopped moving.
The houses were wedged together and covered with mildew, faux brick, or weathered metal siding. Several were in disrepair and the yards were mostly dirt and grass that wouldn’t grow.
I looked for the house number that matched the address I found online, then spotted where the worn off numbers once hung, enough of a shadow for me to make out the twenty-five.
I lifted the metal latch of the chain link gate and followed the cracked path to the door. Boxes were piled on the chipped porch and an ashtray overflowed with cigarette butts, several of the sun-bleached filters piled on cement around the leg of a broken chair.
I rang the bell, but it didn’t work, so I knocked on the storm door and waited. A moment later, the latch flipped and a woman appeared. “Who are you?”
“Are you Laura?”
“Who’s asking?”
“Is Ray here?”
She frowned at me. “How do you know Ray?”
“I’m Rayne.”
“Who?”
My brain buffered. She didn’t know. He lied. Again. He never told her he had another daughter. “Is he home?”
She eyed me suspiciously, never fully looking away as she yelled over her shoulder. “Ray, someone’s at the door for you!”
The interior door opened and she stepped back, tightening the lapels of her ragged housecoat.
“Rayne?” He appeared shocked to see me at his home. Maybe if he would have answered my text we could have handled this differently.
“I need to talk to you.”
His wife scowled at him. “What’s this about?”
“Laura, go inside.”
“Not until I find out what this woman’s standing on my porch for.” She slid a long cigarette out of a pack and proceeded to light it as if she had all the time in the world. “You pregnant?”
