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Authors: Rebecca Phillips
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hair was sticking up and he wore torn sweatpants and a black T-shirt that claimed I SEE DUMB PEOPLE. He attempted to shove the carton of milk in the fridge and leave, Malcolm-style, but I ordered him to stay and help me with the veggies. I was slowly training him to be well-rounded husband material for the future Mrs. Nolan Bruce.
An hour later, the five us were seated around the kitchen table, plates loaded with turkey and all the trimmings. Hugo wove his fat body around our chair legs, hoping for scraps, while Malcolm and his youngest son discussed the upcoming NHL playoffs, Nolan yawned into his mashed potatoes, and I enjoyed the first peaceful moments I’d had all week. Usually, during Sunday sit-down dinners, Teresa would spend the entire time asking me questions about school and my life in general, but she seemed distracted. In fact, she barely even looked at me, focusing instead on her food and glass of chardonnay. I had the distinct feeling I was missing something.
After dinner, Malcolm and Landon took their dishes to the sink and retreated to the family room to watch a game. Nolan looked like he wanted to escape, too, but fearing my wrath, he helped load the dishwasher.
When it was full, Teresa shooed him out of the kitchen. “Lexi and I will finish up.”
Nolan shrugged and went off to draw something.
Teresa filled the sink with soapy water and submerged one of the pots that hadn’t made it into the dishwasher. Feeling so stuffed I could barely move, I stood next to her with a dry dish towel. We worked in silence for a few minutes, her washing and me drying, the lemony scent of the dish detergent rising up between us.
“Lexi,” Teresa said as she rinsed the turkey roaster under cold water and then passed it to me. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
Going by the weightiness of her expression, it wasn’t going to be good. A nervous jolt shot through my stomach. “Okay.”
She dunked another pot and attacked it with the scrubber like she was trying to scour the stainless steel coating right off. When she looked at me, I saw something similar to fear in her eyes. “I have this friend named Josie,” she said, focusing again on the pot. “We went to high school together and she still lives in Alton, where your mom and I grew up.” She paused for a moment and glanced at me.
I nodded to show I was listening, even though I had no clue what her friend Josie had to do with me.
“Anyway, Josie and I have kept in touch all these years. We talk on the phone once a month or so and she keeps me updated about the goings on in Alton. Not that anything exciting ever happens in that boring little town, mind you. Still, I like to hear about what my old friends are up to and who died and who—”
“Um.” I gently cut her off. “Is that what you needed to tell me?”
She studied me for a moment, her mouth slightly open as if she hoped the right words might tumble out on their own. “Sweetie, it’s about your father.”
Ice water surged through my veins. “Is he dead?” The question came out on a whoosh of breath.
“Dead?” Teresa asked, surprised.
“Well, Mom said . . . “ My voice cracked like an adolescent boy’s. I cleared my throat and tried again. “Mom said he probably was by now. Dead. From the drugs and stuff.”
Surprise flickered in Teresa’s eyes. “No, sweetie. After you and your mom . . . after you came here, he stayed in Alton for a couple months and then moved away. No one seemed to know where he went, but rumors were going around that he was staying in a rehab center in Vancouver.”
I nodded; she’d mentioned that before, years ago, back when I’d been curious enough to pester her for information. My father had made it to rehab, apparently, but the rumors stopped there. It was as if he’d disappeared off the face of the earth. I’d always assumed the stories were either false or he’d relapsed after rehab.
“Your father isn’t dead, Lexi.” Teresa dropped the
An hour later, the five us were seated around the kitchen table, plates loaded with turkey and all the trimmings. Hugo wove his fat body around our chair legs, hoping for scraps, while Malcolm and his youngest son discussed the upcoming NHL playoffs, Nolan yawned into his mashed potatoes, and I enjoyed the first peaceful moments I’d had all week. Usually, during Sunday sit-down dinners, Teresa would spend the entire time asking me questions about school and my life in general, but she seemed distracted. In fact, she barely even looked at me, focusing instead on her food and glass of chardonnay. I had the distinct feeling I was missing something.
After dinner, Malcolm and Landon took their dishes to the sink and retreated to the family room to watch a game. Nolan looked like he wanted to escape, too, but fearing my wrath, he helped load the dishwasher.
When it was full, Teresa shooed him out of the kitchen. “Lexi and I will finish up.”
Nolan shrugged and went off to draw something.
Teresa filled the sink with soapy water and submerged one of the pots that hadn’t made it into the dishwasher. Feeling so stuffed I could barely move, I stood next to her with a dry dish towel. We worked in silence for a few minutes, her washing and me drying, the lemony scent of the dish detergent rising up between us.
“Lexi,” Teresa said as she rinsed the turkey roaster under cold water and then passed it to me. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
Going by the weightiness of her expression, it wasn’t going to be good. A nervous jolt shot through my stomach. “Okay.”
She dunked another pot and attacked it with the scrubber like she was trying to scour the stainless steel coating right off. When she looked at me, I saw something similar to fear in her eyes. “I have this friend named Josie,” she said, focusing again on the pot. “We went to high school together and she still lives in Alton, where your mom and I grew up.” She paused for a moment and glanced at me.
I nodded to show I was listening, even though I had no clue what her friend Josie had to do with me.
“Anyway, Josie and I have kept in touch all these years. We talk on the phone once a month or so and she keeps me updated about the goings on in Alton. Not that anything exciting ever happens in that boring little town, mind you. Still, I like to hear about what my old friends are up to and who died and who—”
“Um.” I gently cut her off. “Is that what you needed to tell me?”
She studied me for a moment, her mouth slightly open as if she hoped the right words might tumble out on their own. “Sweetie, it’s about your father.”
Ice water surged through my veins. “Is he dead?” The question came out on a whoosh of breath.
“Dead?” Teresa asked, surprised.
“Well, Mom said . . . “ My voice cracked like an adolescent boy’s. I cleared my throat and tried again. “Mom said he probably was by now. Dead. From the drugs and stuff.”
Surprise flickered in Teresa’s eyes. “No, sweetie. After you and your mom . . . after you came here, he stayed in Alton for a couple months and then moved away. No one seemed to know where he went, but rumors were going around that he was staying in a rehab center in Vancouver.”
I nodded; she’d mentioned that before, years ago, back when I’d been curious enough to pester her for information. My father had made it to rehab, apparently, but the rumors stopped there. It was as if he’d disappeared off the face of the earth. I’d always assumed the stories were either false or he’d relapsed after rehab.
“Your father isn’t dead, Lexi.” Teresa dropped the
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