I glance at Khannan, who is staring right at me. Maybe he thinks I’m going to lie about him. Tell Mom that he gave her vibrator to me. Or make up some other story. I smile. “Don’t worry, Khannan. Nothing about you.” I look at Mom. “Just want to talk to her about my dad.”
She flinches like I’d just hit her. “Your father?” She backs away.
“I’m thinking about calling him, though he probably wants nothing to do with me.”
Her mouth opens, and she moves one hand toward her throat. “Whatever you want to talk about, dear.”
I swear, she’s shaking. “Great. Give me a few minutes.” I turn, walk to my room, and shut the door.
What would I say to Dad? “I’m having visions of another version of me doing things I could’ve done but didn’t?” Or “I don’t know what’s real anymore, so I need to visit you?”
“Sure, Laney,” he’d say. “Sounds like you need quality time with Dad. Come on up.”
Yeah, right.
Or, “I don’t feel comfortable around Mom’s boyfriend because he caught me going through her sex toys. Also, he may be having sex with teenagers. Or his son did with some version of me. And Mom’s leaving me alone with these perverts while she studies dark matter in Chicago.”
She should stay here and help me figure out whether all the other Laneys are leaking into my life or if I’m going crazy. Maybe I should tell her everything?
No, she’d send me back to Dr. Feelings. Or maybe put me into a hospital. Which could be a real possibility if she had any idea what’s been in my head.
What will I say to Dad?
“I’m sorry for ratting on you?”
Maybe I could send him all my versions of that most important day and ask him to pick the one he likes best.
Maybe he’d like the version where I sit a respectable distance from Gibbs’ tent while they make “the beast with two backs.” (I wonder if all versions of me love Shakespeare?) Then Dad introduces me to Gibbs, and we hit it off right away. Next thing we know we’re all on a plane to somewhere, starting our new life together.
I wonder how that version turned out. Could it be worse than the one I’m in?
Sometimes I’ve imagined another version. Mom cheats with Khannan and Dad throws her out. Then I live with Dad and Gibbs. I feel awful for thinking that version might’ve been better.
The main thing I want is to fix Dad and me. Even if he can’t be with Mom in our house, he can be with me. Somehow.
“Delaney, is now a good time?” Mom knocks on my door.
“Sure, Mom. Come in.” I turn around in my chair and see her carrying a glass of wine. Her smile is a little crooked. Maybe this is her second glass.
With a little too much exuberance, she asks, “Where would you like me to sit?”
“The bed’s good.”
She saunters over to my bed and straightens out my sheets and quilt before she sits. I haven’t made my bed in weeks.
She takes a sip and smiles. “You should make your bed in the morning.”
“I don’t have a Khannan to do it for me.” We lock eyes. I want to say, “I’ve seen your closet, Mumsy.” But I just purse my lips.
She looks around my room, her gaze lingering on the empty walls, which used to be filled with photos from national parks and camping trips. And our little family. Now bare for the third straight year. She sips again. “What would you like to talk about? We haven’t had a serious talk for ages.”
“Can you give me Dad’s phone number? I want to call him.”
She nods and sips. “What put that idea into your head?”
I’d like to say, “The prospect of living alone with Khannan and Eddie for a month,” but I don’t.
“The weather today. When I got home this afternoon, I couldn’t believe the heat, so I thought of cold places. And—boom—Alaska popped into my mind. Then when you mentioned Chicago, I thought about Dad. I need to see him.”
Another sip. “You want to go to Alaska?”
“If he’d let me.” I quickly bring my finger to the corner of my eye, wiping away a tear before it trickles down my cheek. “Do you think he’d talk to me if I called?”
“I think he would. He didn’t want to leave you. He was supposed to have you on weekends, but when he showed up to visit, you screamed at him. You wanted nothing to do with him.”
My breathing stops, and I can barely say, “I know.”
“I never understood why you wouldn’t go with him.” She raises her brows like she expects me to explain. “He left town soon afterward.”
I look to the floor. “I was angry. At him. At me. I couldn’t understand why he had to be with Gibbs. Why she was more important than keeping us together.”
She nods. “I don’t think he saw it in those terms. Gibbs always knew how to push his buttons. Very pretty. Full of fun. Always high on something.”
I look up. “High?”
“Yes. She’s an addict.”
“Drugs?” Why would Dad be with an addict? Did he use?
“From what your father told me, she took whatever she could find. Sometimes alcohol. Or pot. Any kind of pill. But on that day she was supposedly sober. Just released from her latest rehab and wanted to show him she’d done it. He was happy for her. They went for a walk, and . . .you know the rest of the story.”
Yes I do.
* * *
Mom was cooking hamburgers on the grill. I came back from fishing in the lake. She told me to find Dad because dinner was almost ready. I hopped on my bike and rode back to our trailer then around the loop. I crossed over to the next loop and the next but couldn’t find him. I found a trail through the woods and pedaled down a ways until I saw a boy riding his bike toward me. I stopped, straddled my frame, and waved him down.
“Have you seen a tall man wearing a red t-shirt, cargo shorts, and a backwards ball cap?”
He smiled. “Your boyfriend?”
I shook my head. “No, my dad.”
“Don’t you have a boyfriend? Cute girl like you?”
My face tingled, and I looked down. “I’m just thirteen.”
“Really? Sure look older than that.”
He was tall and muscular with curly dark hair. And freckles. He moved his eyes down my body until they stopped at my jean shorts. I looked down and saw that the legs had scrunched up. Even I could see my underwear. I straightened the legs and looked up to see his eyes peering into mine. His tongue lay on his bottom lip as he nodded his head.
My stomach fluttered, and I felt a tingle on my neck. A warning? “Have you seen him?” I asked.
“Actually, I did. He was down the trail a ways. Want me to show you where?”
I almost said, “Sure,” but caught myself. “No, I can find him. Thanks.” I hopped back on my seat and took off. When the trail curved to the right, I looked back and saw him watching me, straddling his frame. I rode faster. Then the trail dropped down over tables of rock, and I crashed. My knee was scraped a little and the seat had jammed hard between my legs. That hurt. I walked my bike over the rock steps until I was back on smooth trail. I saw an odd fluttering through the trees to my left. A dark green tent covered with camouflage netting stood within a small clearing, barely visible from the trail.