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I stand there for a few seconds, collecting my thoughts.
It doesn’t make any sense. I don’t know why our father would do this.
If he did it, why now?
She’s his daughter, and she’s been dead for months.
She asked me to make sure the cops found her body so they would tell him she was gone.
Why would she do that if he’s like me? She could have gone and told him herself.
Unless she couldn’t handle that, or she knew he couldn’t.
Fuck. I don’t like this.I’ll like it even less when I arrive on his doorstep.
I curse out a breath and force myself to head back home. Danny could be working. He might not see my text for a while, and when he does, he might have questions before he agrees to disclose the information.
I keep my phone in my hand, but I don’t get a reply.
I need that address. I start thinking about walking to the station.
I don’t know that Danny will be there but waiting for him to reply is going to drive me insane.
I’m almost home when I decide to chance it. Two steps in the police station’s direction, and my phone buzzes in my hand. He sent a reply. I stop to check it, expecting to have to tell him more.
His response is the address.
It’s not that far away.
A five-minute walk.
Fuck. That’s so messed up. He lives so close I could have fucking walked past his house a million times when I was a kid. It’s in the direction of the high school. There’s no way in hell he never caught sight of me once or twice during my childhood. I might even have seen him. He would have been a stranger to me then. I wouldn’t have seen myself in him.
But he knew who I was, according to Sara.
He knew, and he never tried to see me.
Why?The question roars through my head, repeating on a loop.
I walk through the streets, marching in the direction of his house.
I already know his answer won’t be good enough. It doesn’t matter what it is.
My muscles are tensed by the time I get to the house. My hands curled into fists once I put my phone back in my pocket. My nails bite the skin of my palms as I look at the house.
It’s exactly like all the others in the street.
The small, fenced off front yard is tidy and sparse. The path to the front door is short.
Just a few more seconds, and I could be face to face with my father.
I force myself to open the gate. Take one step at a time toward the door.
Knocking hard, my heart starts to hammer.
I wait, not sure what I’m going to say or do when he answers.
Leaning forward, I listen. My enhanced hearing doesn’t pick up anything from inside.
