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I drop my head into my hands and try to gain some composure before straightening to look at him.
“Tom, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have taken out my frustration on you. None of this is your fault.”
His expression softens. “Apology accepted. What are we talking about here? Is it your dad?”
Like an ice-cold shower, his question causes all my muscles to clench. I can’t talk to him about my disaster of a family. How humiliating would it be to have to tell him my father doesn’t deem me worthy or important enough to call me?
I rub at my temple. “It’s nothing. I need to talk to my father, but he’s getting on a plane.”
“Back to LA?”
“Yes. Something like that. Look, I need some down time. Forget what I said about getting to Toronto in three days. Can we take the day off from the car and get back at it tomorrow?”
He slowly nods, and his gaze never wavers from mine. “Okay. Get some rest, and if you need anything, text or call. I’m here.”
I nod, and as if sensing that I am barely holding it together—solitude is all I want—he saunters out of the room and down the hallway.
Finally, I’m alone, and it takes several minutes for me to calm down. Then I open my messages. If I can’t get my father to talk to me, I’ll reach him through the only person he’ll listen to. My mother.
Me: I’m going to take my time coming home. I’ll be back for TIFF. You pick my dress. You have final say anyway.
I almost add “thank you” but think better of it. My father’s machine, of which my mom is a part of, controls what I wear and how my nails and hair are done, so what’s the point of even stressing about it or rushing home to get bossed around.
My phone rings. It’s her. I punch mute and then the red button to ignore the call. As expected, her text arrives seconds later.
Margot: Leighton, your father says this is unacceptable. Call me now.
I don’t and don’t intend to. Not now anyway.
The mini bar beckons me. The bottles of alcohol promise to numb the piercing sting of rejection and how much of a monster I was to Tom.
It would be so easy to lose myself, follow in Margot’s footsteps. But I won’t. Instead I call the spa and decide to spend a lot of my daddy’s money.
7
TOM
“This is taking too long.” Leighton’s whine jabs at the tension at the base of my skull.
Through the rearview mirror, I watch her raise her sunglasses to the top of her head, then frown at me and jut out her chin. My driving companion isn’t happy, and I practice a breathing technique Claire uses to not react to her or let her foul mood infect me.
In fairness to Leighton, she has reasons to be upset and maybe even hurt. From the little I’ve seen, her father is ignoring her on top of bailing on this road trip, and her mother seems to be giving her a hard time. The call at the Marmont was intense, and now Leighton seems to twitch every time her mother texts her though I’m not sure why.
But worst of all, yesterday, was the anguished look in her eyes when she learned that her father was flying back to LA. It was like someone just ran over her favorite toy. Something is going on there.
She cuts through my thoughts with another childish refrain. “How much longer till we get there?”
Chuckling, I drop my eyes to the speedometer and realize I’m a little over the limit. “I’m going as fast as I can. We’ll get there when we get there.”
My foot lets up on the accelerator, and she drops her shades back onto the bridge of her nose. “Ugh, I hate this.”
“I’m totally confused. I thought you wanted to take your time on the drive back to Toronto?” If our late departure from Las Vegas was any indication, I’d say that’s the point. “Now you want me to speed. Did I miss something? Do you have an appointment in Vail or someplace you have to be by a certain time?”
My outlandish suggestion causes my stomach muscles to clench. We only left Vegas a little over an hour ago. With stops, there is no way we’re making Vail any earlier than late tonight.
“I just want to get there, okay? I hate road trips.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask once more why she didn’t fly, but I hold back. The way she blanched at the suggestion yesterday causes another prickly sensation at the back of my neck. I don’t understand her response but feel awful for bringing it up.
