“Kids, if you see this, please come home. I miss you.”
As he stares at us unknowingly through the TV, my eyes are glued to his, emotion rising to the surface.
“Should we call him?” James whispers, the two of us unmoving.
“I don’t know… Maribel warned us,” I remind him, and his shoulders slump.
Maribel and my dad had a secret wedding in Vegas, a month after meeting. It is the most reckless thing he’s ever done. James and I knew nothing about her until we saw it all play out in the media. Afterward, I laughed, thinking it was a joke.
Turns out, it wasn’t. That’s when things really started going downhill.
“I miss him. The old him.” My brother looks at me, sadness in his gaze reflecting mine.
“Me too.” Looking back at the TV, I search for anything more of my father. Of the man who used to laugh and joke and smile. The one who used to bring me peanut butter cups every Friday after work. That all stopped when Mom died and got worse when Maribel arrived on the scene.
Maribel wanted our father to hate us. Blaming us for anything and everything, and it worked. I thought it was jealousy. Some women are just insecure; they want their man to focus solely on them, one hundred percent of the time. I’m sure us kids were an inconvenience.
But it was more than that. She wanted his money, and the longer she was around, the more I came to see it. A lot of our family money is tied up in the business, in trusts, in banks. But mostly, in inheritance, left to James and me. And she knew that.
So she wanted us gone. Out of the picture. Wanted Dad and his money all to herself. Well, she got her wish.
“Do we need to move again?” James looks torn as he asks the dreaded question. We both love it here. We’re literally in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by kind people who allow us to just be. James gets to continue his education, and I can work a cash job and bring in some money, all the while spending time on little side projects that I love. I have no endgame; I’m just taking it day by day.
“No. We’re safe. No one is looking for us here.”
He nods as I feel my heart break. My younger brother with black dye in his hair, living life like no ten-year-old should.
But he’s safe from the hands of Maribel, and that’s all that matters.
With the cottage quiet, my brother sound asleep, and the smell of hair dye still faint in my nose, I sit in the darkness of my room, my phone heavy in my hands. I’ve been sitting here, rolling it in my palm since I came to bed. The vision of Dad hasn’t left my mind since the news came on earlier.
I miss him. We both do. Seeing him not look himself, his shoulders slumped, dark circles under his eyes—broken—it shattered something inside me that I’ve been trying to hold together. Hearing that he’s started an environmental team gives me hope. Hope that he can change his views, that maybe, just maybe, I was the catalyst for it.
I swallow roughly, and with my heart pounding, I dial his number. The ringing in my ear is thunderously loud as I wait for him to pick up. I feel like I’m about to break out of my skin.
“Hello?” I hear a voice and end the call immediately. I’m breathless, even though I haven’t moved.
“Stupid,” I hiss at myself, then look at the time. Almost midnight. I thought it was late enough. I thought it was safe. It wasn’t. The voice at the other end wasn’t my father’s. It was Maribel’s.
“Straight home?” James asks as we grab our bikes where they’re parked at the library. We spent some time here, researching for his project, and I scoured the non-fiction area to read up on apple trees. I’ve decided to propagate the lonely apple tree in our yard. I’ve never grafted a tree before, and while it will take a while to grow, what a great way to sustainably harvest our own food right on our doorstep. Now the late morning is warmer, and I don’t want to go straight home. I look at my brother, knowing what I’m about to say might surprise him.
“Should we go watch the school baseball team?”
His face lights up immediately. It’s unusual for us. We keep a low profile, don’t go out much, but he needs to cement his friendships. Seeing the kids outside of school is one of the ways in which he can do that.
“Are you sure?” His voice is high with anticipation. He’s never done it before. Here in Whispers or back at home.
Smiling, I shrug. “Sure, we’ll ride around the back, park the bikes, and watch for a little bit. Then we can cut through the forest and ride home.”
“Yes. Let’s do it.” He almost jumps in excitement.
It’s a nice ride in the sun and takes us no time to get to the school grounds, where we pull up and park our bikes before walking down toward the pitch.
“We’re batting!” he says eagerly, and I look around. There’s a small group of parents huddled together, watching the game, and then a playground where other kids are playing. Something catches my eye as I’m turning back to the game. I see a man standing back away from the crowd, underneath some tall pines, his stature familiar.
“Is that Sutton?” James asks, and as we get closer, I spot the familiar hat.
“Why don’t you go hang in the playground and watch, and I’ll go say hi,” I suggest, knowing he needs a bit of freedom, and without needing any more encouragement, he races off.
