If Theo was here he’d tell me it was applause. And maybe my dad would’ve said the same thing, just differently. Stay. Fight. Show up.
So I don’t send the text. I don’t have to.
I already know the answer.
CHAPTER 29
JULIETTE
Ismooth my hands over the edge of the table like that might smooth out my nerves, too.
Across from me, the woman in charge of handing out the grants—thewoman—sets her tote neatly at her feet and offers me a warm, professional smile. Clipboard. Pen. Calm energy. The kind of person who decides futures before lunch.
“Shall we?” she says.
“Yes,” I say, already sitting straighter. “Absolutely.”
And that’s when my phone rings. Because of course it does.
I glance at the screen and my stomach drops. David. The timing is so on-the-nose it almost feels intentional. Did I manage to talk to him yesterday? No, he texted to tell me he’d “explain later.” I waited all day and later never came. Then first thing Monday morning, I tried again and nope. No contact. My last text message I fired off to him late last night was along the lines of “you’d better show up for your son tomorrow or I will unalive you.”
I guess I’m about to find out if unaliving is going to happen.
“I’m so sorry,” I say quickly, already standing. “I—this is my son’s father. I need to take this.”
She nods, gracious. “Of course.”
I step a few feet away, inhale once, and answer.
“What?” I say. Not hello. Not pleasant. Justwhat.
“Juliette,” David says, breathless, like I should be impressed. “I’m sorry. I know I messed up.”
“You didn’t mess up,” I say quietly. “You disappeared. Are you at the school?”
“I had to leave,” he says immediately, ignoring my question. “I wasn’t going to get the job. My headhunter found me another opportunity, but it was last-minute. Alaska.”
I close my eyes.
“Alaska,” I repeat. “You’re going to Alaska.”
He’s quiet. Deadly quiet. Unbelievably so quiet. “I’m not goingtoAlaska…”
“So you are at the school?”
“I’minAlaska.”
I pull the phone away and stare at it before putting it back to my ear. “I’m sorry, David, our connection is terrible. I would have thought you just told me you’re in Alaska?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t have time to call,” he says. “Everything happened fast.”
“No,” I say, my voice tightening. “You didn’tmaketime to call. His birthday was three days ago. Three. Then I tried to reach you all day Sunday and yesterday. You say you’re going to call me but don't. You don’t deserve to be able to even have children. You should be castrated.”
“That’s not fair?—”
“What’s not fair,” I cut in, “is telling a ten-year-old you’ll be somewhere and then vanishing without a word. What’s not fair is me standing in front of him trying to explain why his dad didn’t show upagain.”
There’s a beat of silence on the line.
