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~ from the diary of Elizabeth Sara Thorne (age 17)
The road distorts in front of me. If it were raining outside—instead of in my eyes—the windshield wipers would take care of the blur. But I can’t swipe my tears fast enough to keep a clear view on the cars ahead of me, and my damp fingers keep slipping off the steering wheel.
When I finally make it home, it’s to Dad scalping our front hedge with a pair of rusty shears. Speeding into the garage, I slide past thestop heretennis ball he hung the day I got my permit, bumping the steel shelves hard enough to make a dent. Cans of paint fall off and roll under the SUV.
He doesn’t give me a chance to back up before he tugs open my door. Wiping his sweaty forehead on his shirt, he leans inside.
Without waiting for him to dress me down, I shove the keys at him and duck under his arm and into the house.
“What happened with your mom?” He catches up with me by the breakfast nook, pulling a clean shirt over his head.
I rub my eyes until I can stem my tears enough to talk. “I didn’t—”
“I tracked you.” He tugs his phone from his pocket and flashes the find-your-family app. “What happened with your mom,” he asks again. Only he’s not really asking.
“You said you told her to leave the day she pushed me down the stairs. But it wasn’t you. It was her. She walked out.” And didn’t look back, not even to see if I was okay. The spikes of her rejection shift under my skin. “You lied about the restraining order.”
“I thought I was doing the right thing.” He stills in front of me. “She’d hurt you enough.”
“It would’ve been nice to know she didn’t want me before I stood on her porch in my pajamas”—I gesture wildly toward my pants—“and begged her to come back.” I’m breathing so heavy, it hurts to gulp in air.
He sets awkward hands on my shoulders, reminding me it’s been years since we’ve touched. “I’m sorry.”
“Like that’s supposed to make everything okay?” I shove his hands away. “It doesn’t. Nothing’s okay.” Nothing makes sense anymore. The diary, our lives, it’s just a huge puzzle missing the most important pieces. “You were supposed to be T.” I point to his chest. “Youmet in high school,youwere on the football team,youjoined the military.” I back away with each accusation.
“You know about Ty.”
“You should’ve told me. You readHaunted. You knew I read the diary.”
“I didn’t know you thoughtIwas T.”
“It doesn’t matter anymore.” I wipe my face with my sleeve. “In a few months, I’ll graduate, move to college, and no one will be stuck with me.”
Confusion covers his face. “What are you talking about?”
“Mom doesn’t want me. You don’t want me. I’m not stupid.” But I am. Stupid for going to see her. Stupid for crying over her. Stupidstupidstupid for wanting someone who doesn’t want me. I push past him and sprint into the great room.
But Dad’s fast. “You’re wrong.” He blocks my way with his wide barrel chest and his big, booming voice. “I’ve always wanted you. Since I knew there was going to be a you.”
“That’s another lie. You don’t talk to me. You don’t listen to me. You barely look at me.” My eyes sting. “Because you see her.” I try to dodge him, but he won’t let me.
“I don’t.” He puts his hands out like I’m a wild animal he’s trying to calm. “I see my failures. My mistakes.”
“Yeah, me.” Pressure builds inside me until I ache. “I’m your biggest mistake.”
“Oh, Jess, no.” Dad pulls me into his chest, his arms hesitant as they come around me, then firm. “No. No. No.”
I shove against him, but he doesn’t let go. That sting in my eyes moves to my chest and burns like it’s on fire. I shove him again. And again. And again. And again. And he just holds me tighter until I wear myself out sobbing against his chest.
Loosening his grip, he sets his head on my chin, and rubs circles over my back like he used to when I was five and freaked out by thunderstorms. When I calm down enough to listen, he starts talking. “All I’ve ever been to your mom was a substitute for Ty. I wanted to join the Marines. Ty wanted to play ball for UT. I pushed him into enlisting. Your mom didn’t want him to go. And she was right. I came home and... Ty didn’t.” Guilt drags his voice in a way I’ve never heard. “He was my best friend, and I got him killed. I tried to make it up to your mom, but all I did was mess her up. She wanted me to be him. And I wasn’t.”
T’s best friend. Pieces of the puzzle fall into place. “You’re Sarge in the diary,” I mumble against his shirt.
He nods, his chin moving on my head. “I should’ve stepped in a long time ago with your mom. I didn’t want to believe she was so out of control that she’d drink at work. Who knows if she’d been driving you to school like that? She could’ve killed you then, and when she pushed you down those stairs. And it would’ve been my fault.” His big booming voice is back, only this time fractured and cracked. “I ignored what was going on. For God’s sake, I’m a marine. I spent years protecting my country, and I couldn’t protect my daughter?” A single, broken sob rips from his throat.
I slide my hands around his waist and finally hug him back.
“I’m so sorry I let you down. I love you, Jess. I love you so much.” He’s crying now, his massive shoulders shaking.
