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I rose from the futon and righted my clothes, then turned to face my father. He stood in the doorway, his back ramrod straight and his gaze sharp as a dagger.
“Hey, Henry.” Maddox smiled, not looking guilty in the least. “Paige was just showing me your work in progress.”
“That so?” Judging from my father’s stance, I expected him to be furious, but the expression on his face was more ominous than outraged. “I’m sorry to cut the private viewing short, but there’s someone here who'd like to speak with my daughter.”
“Who is it?” I dried my eyes and mirrored his defensive stance.
My father stepped aside, making room for my mother to enter the studio.
Chapter Sixteen
I wish I could step through a doorway into the memory of the last time I saw my father before he left. I would use the opportunity to look for signs, clues, smoke signals. Anything that might’ve hinted at his decision to go. But when I try to comb through the details, the memories blend together until I’m not even sure if I’m remembering the right film we saw or the flavor of ice cream in my cone. To my twelve-year-old self, everything about that day had seemed normal.
What I do remember is the look of relief on my mother’s face when I walked in the door, as if she had half expected to never see me again. Knowing what I know now, I wonder if my father ever considered running away with me.
Sometimes I imagine how differently my life would’ve unfolded if he had. Would we have circled the globe ten times only to find ourselves at a similar crossroads between Maddox and my mother?
Part of me thinks this was all inevitable. Stolen from my mother or abandoned by my father, the outcome would’ve been the same: a life shrouded in secrets and lies; the frantic search for the disparate parts of myself.
All roads converging on this exact moment, six years later, in my father’s studio.
“Hello, Paige.” My mother clutched a shopping bag in front of her like a talisman, protection from some invisible harm. She caught sight of Maddox. “What is he doing here?”
Maddox rose from the futon and straightened his suit jacket. “Nice to see you, too, Charlotte.”
She looked to my father. “I said I wished to speak with my daughter alone.”
“You can talk out in the hall,” he said. “I’ll make sure no one disturbs you.”
“Is there some reason we can’t talk in here?”
My father’s gaze flickered to his work in progress. Thankfully, only the back of the canvas was visible from this side of the studio. “Maddox and I have a few things to discuss. In private.”
“That’s all right, Henry.” Maddox lobbed a smirk in my direction and strutted toward the door. “You and I can talk any old place. Let Paige show Charlotte what y’all have been working on.”
My mother stood ramrod-straight, forcing Maddox to walk around her on his way out. My own spine felt about as sturdy as dried spaghetti in comparison. My father lingered in the doorway, his expression guarded.
“I’ll be in the apartment if you need anything,” he said.
“You didn’t answer my question, Henry. What is Maddox doing here?”
He shrugged. “It’s a party. Everyone’s invited. Even you, apparently.”
“Right.” Her laughter fell flat. “I’m sure my invitation just got lost in the mail.”
My father glanced at me one last time and then left, shutting the door. My mother and I assessed each other in the resulting silence. She was wearing the pink scarf I’d given her last Mother’s Day over a striped dress that emphasized her waifish figure. Her eyes appeared sunken like she hadn’t slept in days. I wondered if she had stopped eating, and if I asked her, would she tell me the truth.
“Have you been crying, Paige?”
I sucked in a loud breath through my nose. “It’s nothing.”
“It doesn’t look like nothing.”
In truth, I was still reeling from the spanking Maddox had given me, confused as to how I felt about what he’d done versus what he’d asked me to let him do. Clearly, he and my father had some sort of arrangement with Kristin, an arrangement Maddox incorrectly assumed extended to me. However, now was hardly the time to unpack those feelings. My mother was watching; I needed to stay alert.
“What are you doing here, Mom?”
“You won’t return my calls, so I figured I’d come see you. Don’t worry, I won’t be staying long.” She looked me over with a small, sad smile. “Is that a new dress?”
