Read Online The Disappearing Girl by Heather Topham Wood - Free Book Online
Authors: Heather Topham Wood
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the scene.
I never permitted myself the time to dwell on that day and what I had seen. My objective had been to focus on only the happy memories of my father. His death was too painful, the reason I couldn’t bring myself to visit the cemetery since the funeral. He was in his early fifties when he died, and I’d mistakenly believed we would have decades together. He was supposed to give me away at my wedding and be a doting grandfather to my kids.
“Hey, it’s okay,” Cameron said and scooted over to me. He intertwined his fingers with mine. I studied our hands and waited for the tumultuous feelings inside me to pass.
“I’m sorry. It’s hard to talk about my dad. We were close and his death still feels raw. He was so young.” I sniffed as the tears continued to threaten to spill over.
Since his death, my father had grown to mythic proportions in my mind. Everything was better before he died. My mother’s narcissistic tendencies and obsession with beauty were kept in check. My father treated her like the queen she imagined herself to be and limited the criticism from her Lila and I were forced to endure. She’d never been the affectionate type with us, but my father more than made up for it.
“I can’t imagine what that must’ve been like,” he said kindly. I shyly peered up at him and found myself mesmerized by his eyes. They held me in place, and I wanted to disappear inside of them.
“I’m guessing you didn’t picture comforting a crying girl when you invited me out for coffee,” I mumbled. “Are you close to your parents?”
His expression suddenly turned distant. Then I blinked, and the hardness was gone. I wondered if it was ever there in the first place. “Yes, they’re great. I try to visit once a week. They pull out all the stops for me when I’m there. I get a huge home-cooked meal, my laundry done, and enough leftovers to last a week.”
“A mama’s boy?” I joked.
His eyes were humorless. “I guess so,” he responded, but something sounded off about his tone. I couldn’t tell whether the mood change was from talking about his parents or my teary outburst.
As I took the final sip of my green tea, I said, “I have a presentation tomorrow for class, so I should probably get going to prepare.”
He nodded with understanding, most likely realizing how embarrassed I was about crying in front of him. Cameron was too unnerving. He was making me open up and talk about things I had buried deep inside myself. Being with him was effortless, and I was afraid to develop that kind of connection with someone I barely knew.
Clearing off our table, he held out my jacket while I slipped into it and then put on his own coat. I was silent when he walked me to my Jeep.
He broke the silence. “I would really like to see you again.”
“I haven’t scared you off yet?” I said half-jokingly.
“No way,” he asserted. “Your father died, of course you’re going to get upset talking about him.”
I broke away from his intense stare and surveyed the parking lot. “Are you parked close by?”
Cameron pointed to a car in the rear of the parking lot. My jaw dropped as I turned back to face him. “Are you serious?”
“Is it a deal breaker? Not everyone likes it,” he said with a chuckle. I was relieved to see his mood lighten. Something about our conversation had made him uncomfortable and I couldn’t pinpoint what had bothered him so much. Since we’d only met, I figured spending time together would allow him to open up in the same way I did.
“Are you kidding me? What’s not to like?” I demanded incredulously. “Can I check it out?”
“Of course.”
We crossed the parking lot and I stared in awe at his metallic blue Mustang. It looked like a model from the mid-1960s, but it had been restored to its former glory. The paint looked fresh, and it sparkled in the sunlight. “What year is it?”
“A 1967,” he replied. Giving me a sidelong glance, he remarked, “I bought it
I never permitted myself the time to dwell on that day and what I had seen. My objective had been to focus on only the happy memories of my father. His death was too painful, the reason I couldn’t bring myself to visit the cemetery since the funeral. He was in his early fifties when he died, and I’d mistakenly believed we would have decades together. He was supposed to give me away at my wedding and be a doting grandfather to my kids.
“Hey, it’s okay,” Cameron said and scooted over to me. He intertwined his fingers with mine. I studied our hands and waited for the tumultuous feelings inside me to pass.
“I’m sorry. It’s hard to talk about my dad. We were close and his death still feels raw. He was so young.” I sniffed as the tears continued to threaten to spill over.
Since his death, my father had grown to mythic proportions in my mind. Everything was better before he died. My mother’s narcissistic tendencies and obsession with beauty were kept in check. My father treated her like the queen she imagined herself to be and limited the criticism from her Lila and I were forced to endure. She’d never been the affectionate type with us, but my father more than made up for it.
“I can’t imagine what that must’ve been like,” he said kindly. I shyly peered up at him and found myself mesmerized by his eyes. They held me in place, and I wanted to disappear inside of them.
“I’m guessing you didn’t picture comforting a crying girl when you invited me out for coffee,” I mumbled. “Are you close to your parents?”
His expression suddenly turned distant. Then I blinked, and the hardness was gone. I wondered if it was ever there in the first place. “Yes, they’re great. I try to visit once a week. They pull out all the stops for me when I’m there. I get a huge home-cooked meal, my laundry done, and enough leftovers to last a week.”
“A mama’s boy?” I joked.
His eyes were humorless. “I guess so,” he responded, but something sounded off about his tone. I couldn’t tell whether the mood change was from talking about his parents or my teary outburst.
As I took the final sip of my green tea, I said, “I have a presentation tomorrow for class, so I should probably get going to prepare.”
He nodded with understanding, most likely realizing how embarrassed I was about crying in front of him. Cameron was too unnerving. He was making me open up and talk about things I had buried deep inside myself. Being with him was effortless, and I was afraid to develop that kind of connection with someone I barely knew.
Clearing off our table, he held out my jacket while I slipped into it and then put on his own coat. I was silent when he walked me to my Jeep.
He broke the silence. “I would really like to see you again.”
“I haven’t scared you off yet?” I said half-jokingly.
“No way,” he asserted. “Your father died, of course you’re going to get upset talking about him.”
I broke away from his intense stare and surveyed the parking lot. “Are you parked close by?”
Cameron pointed to a car in the rear of the parking lot. My jaw dropped as I turned back to face him. “Are you serious?”
“Is it a deal breaker? Not everyone likes it,” he said with a chuckle. I was relieved to see his mood lighten. Something about our conversation had made him uncomfortable and I couldn’t pinpoint what had bothered him so much. Since we’d only met, I figured spending time together would allow him to open up in the same way I did.
“Are you kidding me? What’s not to like?” I demanded incredulously. “Can I check it out?”
“Of course.”
We crossed the parking lot and I stared in awe at his metallic blue Mustang. It looked like a model from the mid-1960s, but it had been restored to its former glory. The paint looked fresh, and it sparkled in the sunlight. “What year is it?”
“A 1967,” he replied. Giving me a sidelong glance, he remarked, “I bought it
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