“Dad?”
Addison’s father leaned over the side of the hospital bed and kissed her on the forehead.
“What…are…you…doing here?” Addison asked.
“I needed to talk to you.”
“I thought you weren’t coming again until next week.”
“I couldn’t wait.”
She ran a hand through her dirt-filled hair. “I’m glad you’re here.”
He smiled. “Me too.”
“It must be important if you came early,” she said.
“What?”
“Whatever you have to tell me.”
“It will keep until we get you home. I want the doctor to look at you first.”
Addison’s arm was broken. The doctor explained she’d fallen on top of it when she tumbled to the ground. He rattled on using terms like “angulation” and “fracture,” both words she had heard before but didn’t quite understand. She stared blankly into his eyes, nodding. When he finished talking, he asked if she had any questions. She looked at her dad who then walked with the doctor out to the hallway, no doubt to make sure his every concern was satisfied.
The whole day had been a blur with only bits and pieces remaining in her memory. She tried to piece it all together, starting with the moment she’d left the house to find the bike path to when she woke up in the middle of the woods. The beginning and end were clear; it was the moments in-between she couldn’t account for.
Her father returned to the room and explained they’d need to apply some type of cast to her arm before they could go.
“Where’s Luke?” Addison asked.
“At the house. I drove you here. He asked me to call and give him an update. He’s…umm…very nice.”
“We’re friends, Dad,” she said, sitting up on the bed. “He’s fixing up the house.”
“I know. He told me.”
She raised a brow. What else has he told him?
“What happened out there?” he asked.
In an attempt to quell his concerns, she said, “I tripped over something on the road. You know how clumsy I am sometimes.” This was a fact that was more than a little true, earning her the nickname of “Butterfingers” by her aunt. If she didn’t drop it, spill it, or lose it, she tripped over it.
“Why’d you leave your bike?”
Good question. She’d wondered that very thing herself. She handled the answer by pulling a switcheroo. “How long were you at the house before you found me?”
Her father leaned against the wall. “Oh, about fifteen minutes or so. Luke and I made our introductions, and he gave me a tour of the place. When you hadn’t returned after we finished, we went looking for you.”
Her dad’s phone buzzed. He picked it up and looked at it. “Luke found your bike. He’s such a nice young man.”
“You said that already.”
Her father winked. “He was so concerned about you; he carried you all the way back to the house. Looks like everything is going to be fine.”
If only that were true.
***
Back at the house, Addison relaxed next to her father on the sofa. He’d let out a series of sighs over the last few minutes which were his “tells,” something he did when he was getting ready to deliver news he didn’t like giving. He’d sighed when she was five and her rabbit died. He’d sighed when she was twelve and he had to admit to cancelling the family vacation to Disneyland because of some last minute work thing. And most recently, he’d turned up at her old house, red-faced and sullen, dried tears staining his ruddy cheeks. He hadn’t needed to speak then. She’d never seen him cry before, and she knew it meant something was wrong. Very wrong.
Addison was used to the sighing. Years of hearing it taught her the best thing to do was to wait. Eventually the heart of the matter would come out as it always did. The heavier the sigh, the heavier the confession. Today he was sighing harder than usual, a fact that she didn’t want to let scare her, even though it did.
“I’ve come here,” he began, “to tell you something that will come as a bit of a surprise to you.”
She leaned back, as if understanding the magnitude of what he was about to say would be better received with as much calm as possible. He continued.
“When you were a child and your mother came to me and told me what you’d witnessed at your friend’s house, I should have told you then that I believed you. I was wrong not to do that. And I’m sorry.”
Although relieved, it was a bit of an odd confession to make after so much time had passed.
“Dad, is this because of what happened at dinner last time you were here? I haven’t thought of it since then. If you have, then I’m the one who should be saying sorry. What I experienced as a kid…well…it was a long time ago. I know you never wanted to hurt me.”
“I have thought of it. A great deal, actually. It’s been bothering me ever since we parted company that night. When you told me the vision you had of Natalie wasn’t the only one, I didn’t want to believe it, even though I do.”
“You…do?” She could barely speak the words. “Why? What changed?”
“You’re my daughter. You’ve never said anything that wasn’t true.” He hunched over the arm of the couch with his back to her, his nervous gaze darting around like a bee without a flower to land on. Then he drew breath and let out the longest sigh of all. There was more.
“It means a lot to hear you believe me, even now,” she said. “But that isn’t what you came to tell me, is it?”
“I love you, Addy.”
“I know, Dad.”
She was just about to reach for him when he said, “Everything I’ve done has always been to protect you. You know that, right? You understand?”
His voice was shaky, uneven.
What was he saying—or not saying?
“You’re scaring me,” she said.
She patted him on the back with a hand. He wouldn’t turn around. He seemed—afraid. But why? Not wanting to put it off any longer, she rose, walked over to him, and crouched before him. She took his hand and rubbed it gently. “Dad, you can tell me anything. It’s okay. Please—whatever it is, won’t you feel better once you get it out?”
“What I have to say will change everything. It will change the way you look at me. It might even change our relationship.” He covered his eyes with an unsteady hand. “Oh, what am I saying? It will do all of those things.”
Addison shook her head. “I don’t believe that. Won’t you at least look at me?”
After several moments, he slid his hand to the side. “No matter what happens, you have a right to know.”
“What?”
“It’s your grandmother, Addy.”
She didn’t understand. “What about her?”
“She’s…alive.”