Never Let You Go

  Marcus entertains us through the meal with stories of traveling in Europe and Africa, like the time he was nearly left behind on a safari. Sophie laughs hysterically when he shares that he ate termites and other local delicacies, wrinkles her nose when he describes how they crunched and their tiny legs caught in his teeth. I’m glad he came over. It’s just what we needed.

  After dinner, Sophie heads upstairs to do some homework. Marcus and I have decaf coffee at the table, nibbling on the chocolate. I tell him Andrew was in my house and that the police are delivering a summons to him but I haven’t heard whether they found him.

  “Why didn’t you call?” he says.

  “I didn’t want to drag you into my drama.”

  “Promise you’ll call next time,” he says in a firm voice.

  “It might be hard if I’m running for my life.” I smile.

  “That’s not funny.”

  I sigh. “I know. I’m just trying to deal with all this.”

  “Do you have a gun?”

  “No. I’ve signed up to take my gun safety course, but then I have to apply for a firearms license. They probably won’t approve it once they find out about Andrew.” Canadian gun laws are strict, especially when it comes to domestic violence, which I used to appreciate. I’d never liked guns, even though my father had them when I was growing up, and I hated that Andrew had them when Sophie was little, but now I wished I had one stashed in every room of our house.

  “Maybe I should try to get a gun, like from the black market,” I say.

  “Whoa. That’s risky.”

  “What’s risky is sitting around waiting for him to make a move.”

  “I’ll put out some feelers, okay? I know people through my self-defense classes.”

  “Really? You’d do that for me?”

  “I’d rather help than have you accidentally buy one from a cop.”

  “That would be just my luck.” I flick a glance out the window, searching the shadows. “I hope they find him soon.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  SOPHIE

  He’s called three times but I haven’t answered or listened to the voice mails. I have a twisty feeling in my stomach, like hunger and the flu mixed together. I rub at the knot, but it doesn’t go away. We were supposed to meet today, but I texted him first thing and said I had too much homework, which is a lie because it’s the last week before winter break and we’re all coasting right now, except for Delaney, who failed a test and has to do a makeup project.

  I’m sitting outside after school, waiting for her. I glance up, check the street. I keep getting this feeling that Andrew’s going to look for me. This is what it must feel like for Mom. I was so stupid to let him back in our lives. I couldn’t stop thinking about it all weekend, how he’d been in our house. This morning I woke up with a giant headache. Like Mondays aren’t crappy enough with chemistry first period. Now I have to deal with trying to avoid my stalker dad. My cell chirps. This time it’s a text from Delaney: B a while. Have to finish this stupid project!

  I text back: K, I’ll catch the bus. I walk down the street toward the public bus stop, wishing I had my bike. It’s starting to snow and the road is covered with slush and my feet are getting wet. I wrap my scarf around my neck and face and hunch my shoulders in my coat. I feel a vehicle slow beside me, glance over, and catch a flash of white. I’m too scared to look all the way, but I’m pretty sure it’s Andrew’s truck. I walk faster. Shit. Shit. Shit. I should have stayed at the school. I fumble for my phone in my pocket. Who do I call? What do I say?

  “Hey,” he calls out. “I need to talk to you.”

  I shake my head. I’m not going to look at him. He pulls over in front of me, blocking part of the sidewalk. I can see him through his open passenger window. The back end of the truck is sticking out. Cars drive around him, one honks and the driver makes a gesture out the window.

  “You shouldn’t stop on the shoulder like that,” I say. Is he going to grab me and force me to go somewhere with him? I take a couple of steps back.

  “Why don’t you get in the truck? You’re getting soaking wet.”

  “I have to go home.”

  “Why are you avoiding me?” He’s leaning across the front seat so he can see me through the window. More cars are driving past, but no one is stopping. No one is asking if I’m okay. I could be getting abducted right now and no one would give a crap.

  “I have to go,” I say again. “I’ll miss the bus.”

  “Tell me what’s wrong.”

  “You came into our house!” I yell over the noise of all the cars. I’m shocked at the anger coming out of my body. “I told you to stay away from her.”

  His face is blank, and then it’s like all his features rearrange slowly like he’s understanding something. “So that’s why the cops are looking for me.”

  “You were supposed to go to court today. Mom’s getting a restraining order.”

  “I haven’t been near your place.”

  How would he know what was near or not? He must know where we live.

  “You went through Mom’s things. You read her e-mails.”

  He’s not saying anything, but he doesn’t look surprised anymore. It’s like he’s pulled inside himself and is just thinking. The traffic is whipping past. I wonder if someone will recognize me. I want to turn around and walk away, but I also want to hear what he says next.

  “Sophie, I’ve been in Victoria all week—packing my stuff. I wouldn’t scare you or your mom like that. What the hell would be the point? I’m trying to start over.”

  “I know you were in our house.”

  “Let’s go for a coffee and talk about it. I’ll tell you everything I did all week—every single day, hour by hour. And you can tell me why you’re so sure it was me, okay?”

  He sounds sincere, like he really doesn’t understand what I’m talking about. I look at the road, the piles of snow starting to settle on the center line. I’d have to run to catch the bus, and if I miss it, the next one isn’t for thirty minutes. Maybe it would be good to hear what he has to say. If it was him who broke in, I can scare him about getting caught and he’ll stay away from Mom.

  “If you take me anywhere else, I’ll call the cops—I have my phone in my pocket.”

  He holds his hands up. “Okay.”

  I take one last look down the road, then climb inside.

  * * *

  We’re quiet in the truck. He turns the heat up and I glance around, notice the big container of gum in the ashtray. I’m stabbed with another memory, the beer he used to drink at the job site, then he’d pop gum into his mouth before we drove home. He sees me looking.

  “Want a piece?”

  “It doesn’t work, you know. Cops can still tell.”

  He glances at me and I think he’s going to be mad, but he sounds calm as he says, “I’m not drinking, Sophie. I’m never touching a drop again. I missed it at first, but I don’t think about it anymore. I was just using it as a way to cope with my emotions. I don’t want you to worry.”

  “Doesn’t matter to me.” I turn away and stare out the window, see my reflection, my wet hair. I think about Mom and how angry she would be at me right now. I have to hear his explanation. She doesn’t think I can see through him, but if he’s lying, I’ll figure it out.

  The Muddy Bean is full and noisy, the air smells of damp clothes and coffee, and freshly buttered toast that makes my stomach growl. I order a cheese scone and coffee at the counter and pull out my wallet, but he insists on paying. It’s strange, feeling him standing beside me, his arm brushing against mine. It seems like such a dad thing to do, paying for my lunch, but it also reminds me of how Mom was broke for so long. We rarely got to do things like going out for lunch together, unless you count a hot dog in the food court at the mall.

  We sit down and I tear off a piece of my scone, shove it into my mouth. Partly from hunger, partly to buy myself some time before I have to speak.

  “Good?” he says. r />
  I nod. He’s fiddling with the handle of his mug and leaning forward in his chair. He keeps looking at my face, waiting for me to talk.

  “Why did you break into our house?” I say.

  “If I did something stupid like that I could go back to prison.” He leans forward even farther, his upper body almost on the table. “I spent ten years in there, Sophie. I know you can’t imagine what that’s like, but it’s hell, okay? The prisons you see on TV and in movies? That Lockup show or whatever. Those are country clubs compared with the place I came from.”

  His explanation makes sense. Why would he risk his freedom? But who else would have broken in and not taken anything? “You were really angry Mom divorced you.”

  “I was pissed off for a long time, but I understand why she didn’t want to be with me anymore. I was mostly mad at myself. I screwed things up, I told you that. But I’m not going to walk out of jail and start messing things up again. Are you sure anyone broke in?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Listen, I know your mom is angry at me, and she has good reason, okay? But maybe she also wants to make sure you stay mad at me.”

  “She wouldn’t lie. Someone opened all her bills too. And there was a book beside her bathtub, with candles. She was really scared.”

  He frowns, leans back in his chair with his head to the side like he’s thinking. His eyebrows are pulled together. It makes him look tough, mean. “It sounds like someone is messing around with her. I don’t like that, especially when you’re living there. She needs to get an alarm.”

  “We have one. I forgot to set it.” Maybe it wasn’t him. Why would he tell us to get an alarm? I don’t know what to think anymore. Could it be one of her creepy clients? Or that girl who used to work for her? She quit because Mom was giving her a hard time about getting back together with her loser boyfriend and missing work.

  “Does she think I want to hurt her?”

  We’re holding gazes and I can feel the scone sticking in my throat and I have a gut cramp and want to run out the door and get far away from him. How can I look at him and say what I’m thinking? He doesn’t seem angry, though, more like he’s not really surprised. I don’t answer.

  “Right.” He takes a breath and runs his hands through his wet hair. He has dark pouches under his eyes and I think he must be tired. “Did your mom ever tell you about my family?”

  “A little.”

  “Well, I have what they call abandonment issues.” He gives one of his sideways smiles and I think maybe I can understand why my mom loved him once. “Your mom was the most amazing thing that ever happened to me. She’s so beautiful—I couldn’t believe she was mine.”

  My mom is beautiful. She has white-blond hair like one of the elf queens in Lord of the Rings, and her eyes are big and blue, her lashes so dark she doesn’t even have to wear mascara. She could date lots of guys if she wanted, but it took her a long time before she went out with Greg. I like how they are when they’re around each other—they laugh a lot and she always seems relaxed. I can tell he’s really into her, but I think maybe my mom is scared of that.

  “You should have treated her better,” I say.

  “I know. I had it all backwards. I was so scared she would leave me that I turned into a jealous jerk and pushed her away.”

  “Why don’t you meet someone else? Lots of people do online dating.”

  “Maybe someday, but right now I just want to get to know you again.”

  “You have to go to court and agree to leave Mom alone.”

  “I’ll sort it out right away, okay? As soon as we’re done here, I’ll talk to the cops.”

  “You won’t fight it? It means we can’t talk about her either.”

  “Listen, I get that it might be too late for your mom and me, but I don’t want it to be too late with you. You’re the only family I have left. If you don’t want to see me, okay. I’ll just have to hope you change your mind one day, but I’m not going to willingly give you up.”

  His words make me sad and frightened but also kind of happy. He’s trying to get me to look at him—I can feel his gaze—but I’m staring into my coffee, studying the foam. It feels wrong to feel sad for him, like I’m betraying Mom, but it’s true. I’m all he has left.

  “You have to stay away from Mom,” I say. “If anything else happens, that’s it.”

  He reaches his hand across the table. “Deal.” As I shake his hand, I feel someone watching and glance around. Across the room I notice Jared with an older woman with black hair who kind of looks like him. His mom. I’ve seen her around town, driving a silver Lexus, always wearing sunglasses. He gives me a smile and a small wave. I look away.

  * * *

  The next day at school, Jared comes by my locker. “You still pissed at me for asking about your mom?” he says. “Sorry if I said something stupid.” He smiles. “Happens a lot.”

  “I was just in a bad mood. Sorry.”

  He leans against one of the lockers, his hands tucked into his pocket and his shoulders hunched like he’s cold, but then I think maybe it’s because he’s tall and he’s trying not to tower over me. He’s wearing black jeans, a maroon plaid scarf around his neck, and a gray T-shirt with a picture of Jimmy Hendrix on the front. Part of Jimmy’s face is faded off. I wonder if the shirt is vintage. He probably paid a hundred dollars for it or something crazy like that.

  “You were having an intense conversation with your dad at the coffee shop,” he says.

  Jesus. How long was he watching? “That was my uncle. He’s going through some stuff.”

  He’s quiet for a moment, and I tense, worried that he’s going to ask a bunch of questions, but he just says, “You going anywhere for Christmas vacation?”

  I laugh. In his world all his friends probably go skiing at their chalets or on expensive vacations to somewhere warm. “We’ve decided to vacation locally this year,” I say in my pretend rich-girl voice. “The ski hills are just so crowded with poor people, you know?”

  He looks confused at first, then smiles as he realizes I’m making fun of him. “I’m having some friends over this weekend. You should come.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Why not?”

  “We don’t hang out with the same kind of people.”

  “I like that you’re different. You’re an artist, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I saw your drawings in the yearbook. You’re really good.”

  “Thanks.” I don’t know what else to say. My face feels warm and I want to make a smart-ass comment, but I can’t think of anything. Why is he being so nice?

  “You can bring Delaney,” he says. Delaney has a crush on one of Jared’s friends and would love to go to a party. She’d be totally pissed if I turned down an invite.

  “Maybe,” I say. His face breaks into a smile and I feel a weird tightening across my chest like someone is hugging me from behind and my whole body wants to relax.

  “I’ll see you Friday.” He leans closer, the smell of spearmint strong on his breath. He must’ve been chewing gum. For a moment I wonder if he wanted to have nice breath for me, and the idea is confusing and exciting and a few other things that I can’t think about right now.

  “Don’t worry,” he says. “I won’t tell anyone about you seeing your dad. I know he just got out of prison.”

  I stare at him, and all the noise in the hall disappears. I can only feel the thudding in my chest. How did he know? Has Delaney been talking to people? I feel so hurt I can’t breathe.

  His face changes, his smile dropping like he realizes he messed up. “I’m sorry. I could tell you were related and I’ve seen his photo online, so I knew who he was.”

  “So now you’re going to tell everybody.” I’m angry and upset, but also confused. How had he seen my dad’s photo? There was a lot of press about it years ago, but I hadn’t seen anything in the news about him getting out. Maybe there was an article in Victoria.

  “I knew
about it months ago, but I never told anyone.”

  “Why did you look me up?”

  “I like you. I wanted to know more about you.” He shrugs and gives me a smile. I’ve seen all his smiles. The ones he gives his friends, or the teacher. I’ve never seen this one. It’s shy, but also hopeful and kind of sweet, maybe even a little embarrassed. But that can’t be right.

  “I don’t want anyone to know about him.”

  “Don’t worry. You can trust me.” The bell rings and he glances down the hall. “I better get my books. See you Friday, okay?” He walks away.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  LINDSEY

  It’s loud in the shelter, a cacophony of barks and yelps as I walk down the concrete hallway looking at the dogs in their kennels. I don’t like this feeling, their pleading, desperate eyes, the metal fencing, the smell of urine. I want to take them all home, but I can only afford one. I’ve thought about getting a dog for years, but always worried about the vet bills or food. Now I realize I was just scared that something could go wrong, that somehow Andrew would take it away from me, even from behind bars. I stop in front of a kennel with a German shepherd cross with a big head, big paws, and an even bigger smile. He has reddish brown fur and the hair down the middle of his back grows in the opposite direction like a Rhodesian ridgeback. His brown eyes are ringed with black and his muzzle and the tips of his ears, which flop at the ends, are also black. I make a kissing noise and he cocks his head, paws at the fence.

  One of the shelter staff has been giving me the details of the dog in the kennel beside him—Buddy, a friendly black Lab with a full-body wiggle and a high-pitched bark.

  “What this one’s name?” I ask her.

  “That’s Angus.”

  I smile at his moniker, which suits him perfectly. His previous owner must have had a Scottish background or a good sense of humor. “I live alone with my daughter and we’re looking for a family pet, but also a dog that will scare off strangers. Is he protective?”

  “Angus is a real love and would probably just lick a burglar to death, but he has a loud bark.” As though he heard the challenge, Angus stands up against the chain-link fence and woofs three times. Deep loud barks that echo against the concrete. He stands almost as tall as me and has to weigh close to a hundred pounds.