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His stiff demeanor shifted a little, his expression softening. He cleared his throat the way he always did when he was trying not to show too much emotion, then he lifted one hand to the glass.
“There’s nothing that you need to be doing other than keeping yourself out of trouble, Cordelia,” he said quietly, his voice rumbling in my ear. “That’s all I need from you.”
“I’m trying.” Tentatively, I reached out to press my palm against the glass where his was.
“I know.”
His shoulders dropped, and for a moment, I was looking at my father the way I remembered him in my fondest memories. The man who had put business calls on hold to lift me onto his knee when I was little, who had looked down at me with such love and pride that I felt like the most special daughter in the world.
“Cordelia, I am trying.” He sighed and withdrew his hand, adjusting his collar again. “I did not commit the fraud I’ve been accused of, but I will admit that my time here has given me time to consider how I’ve run my business. And you’re right. Perhaps I’ve prioritized some things too highly over others. Once I get this mess straightened out, once I get our lives back on track, I’ll take a closer look at things like that clinic.”
“You will?”
I bit my lip, a swell of emotion rising inside me. It was hard to be grateful that my father had ended up in prison, but maybe this time had been good for him. Maybe it had given him a chance to consider the plight of those he had dismissed before.
“Yes, I will.” He nodded solemnly. “I know your mother is struggling. And I know you are too. But I promise you, I will do everything I can to fix this. To fix all of it.”
Thoughts of Mom flashed through my head again, and I thought about telling him everything that’d been going on around the house—how strange and unpredictable she’d been all semester. But if I opened that floodgate, I was worried what kinds of truths would come out. Dad didn’t know about the Lost Boys, the deal I’d struck with them, or anything about Nathaniel Ward.
It was better that he didn’t.
“Someone set me up.” Dad dipped his head slightly to meet my gaze, his expression serious and intent. “Someone targeted me. I’ve dealt with plenty of ruthless people in my business, but whoever did this crossed a line too far. I want to get out of here, Cordelia, so I can make things right.”
I nodded, my chest aching. This was only the second time I’d seen my father since Mom and I had moved out of our old mansion, and it was like getting a glimpse into a world I barely remembered.
I had missed my dad. We had never been exceptionally close, but I believed him when he said he’d dedicated his life to taking care of me and Mom.
And I wanted to take care of him too, in this moment when he needed help the most.
My fingertips brushed the glass again, and I gave him a small smile, pulling in a deep breath. “I love you, Dad. I believe you.”
Seven
The ride home was quiet. The bus wasn’t crowded, so I ended up in a row of seats in the back all by myself, gazing out the window as the streets of Baltimore slid by outside.
I was grateful for the peace. It allowed me to think.
What Bishop had told me likely wasn’t a lie. And yet, I couldn’t help but think that my father hadn’t intended to ruin people’s lives like he had—that he’d truly believed his actions were right at the time. My father was a good man. I couldn’t recall a time that he had ever done or said anything malicious about someone that was less than us, that came from less than us.
The heavy tone in his voice and the look in his eyes when he spoke about wanting to make changes if he ever got out of prison... they seemed to come from a genuine place.
And why shouldn’t they?
Since moving to our new neighborhood and starting school at Slateview, I had changed more than I could even begin to comprehend. I was nowhere near the same girl who had showed up on the first day of school. So was it really a stretch to imagine that my dad’s time in prison had made him reflect on how he had conducted his business?
I wanted to believe in him. I wanted to give him a second chance.
Which was why I was more resolved than ever to get to the bottom of things.
I knew the Lost Boys wouldn’t approve. Especially not after Flint. Bish had been quietly furious when I had admitted why I’d risked my life to meet with the lecherous, violent man. Only his relief at the fact that I was still alive had kept him from flying off the handle, but I had seen the frustration and fury in his eyes. He didn’t think my dad was worth a drop of effort, and certainly not worth risking my life for.
But this time, I wouldn’t risk my life.
I would be smarter and more subtle.
Flint may not have known who framed my father, if anyone had, but he had known the name Abraham Shaw. He had referenced that name in the same sentence he’d said Nathaniel’s name, which meant that Abraham was somehow connected to Nathaniel—or to someone else in Baltimore’s underground.
When I finally got off the bus and made the long walk home from the bus stop, mom wasn’t there. I didn’t know where she was, and I almost didn’t care. Wherever she was, whatever she was doing, I found myself less impressed with the idea that she was finally piecing herself together and more irritated that her piecing herself together seemed to come at the expense of her family. Did she even care?
