Dad came into my room after we got home.

He said, “I need to talk to you, Livy.”

And I said, “I don’t need to talk to you.”

I’d found him and Berkeley right away at the pool. They were on the pirate ship. Even Dad.

I sat in the shallow pool and acted like Dad was no one. Berk would yell to show me something in the water and I’d watch and laugh but when Dad tried to get me to look at him, no way.

He sprayed me with a huge cannon and I tried to act like I didn’t notice which wasn’t so easy if you want to know the truth.

We went to McDonald’s after the pool, which was Mom’s place and I ordered a salad, which was a pretty low blow but I didn’t care. No way was I going to order something good and make him feel happy about himself.

So now he was in my room. Berk outside playing and I was busy looking at the ceiling.

“I know you’re upset.”

The ceiling.

“Olivia? Can we talk?”

I closed my eyes and tried to imagine what it would be like to live in an adobe house.

He sat down on the bed and did a sigh, a big old sigh like his life was hard. Like talking to redheads and arguing on the phone and having fancy apartments in the city that was not Bryce Canyon with no room for kids was hard.

“I’m sorry I left,” he said.

I said, “Barf.”

He said, “What?”

And I said, “Barf.”

He said, “Barf?”

And I said, “Barf.”

He did a face like I was so immature but I didn’t care. Then he said, “Your mother and I were having some problems. I was having problems.”

I stuck my fingers in my ears.

“Stop that,” I think he said, but I wasn’t sure because I couldn’t hear him. “Stop that right now,” he said, but again, I couldn’t be too sure.

Then he reached over and yanked my fingers out of my ears.

“That was rude,” I said.

“Was it?” he said. “Was that rude?” he said, his voice rising.

“Yeah,” I said. “It was. Besides you already told me everything.”

He sighed. Then he said, “No I didn’t. Here’s the thing. Your mother and I were so young when we got married.”

I stuck my fingers in my ears again.

He pulled them out again and kept talking. “I made some mistakes. I . . .” he stopped.

“What mistakes,” I asked.

He looked at me. “I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

“Tell me now,” I said.

He shook his stupid head. “You’re too young.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You are,” he said, and I could feel the tears start to come. He didn’t know me. He didn’t know me at all.

I said, “Did you get a girlfriend?”

His face got really red then but I didn’t care. I didn’t. “Did something happen with Melody?” I said.

“Who?”

“Melody, from down the street.”

He stopped talking for a minute. Then he said, “Did your mother say that?”

“No. But Mom doesn’t like her.”

He sighed. “One time I said Melody was pretty. That’s all. And your mother, she freaked out. You know how she can get.”

I thought about that. I thought about Mom. My mom. Her hands. So cold. Always so cold. And her arms. And her face. And her wrinkles. And her hair pulled tight. And her back. Her back that had held her up while she wiped down walls and scrubbed people’s floors and vacuumed room after room after room.

I thought about how Mom could get and I wanted to scream.

Dad kept talking. “Like I was saying, we got married so young.”

I felt sick. So sick I might throw up for real.

He kept going.

Mom has so many expectations and he tried he tried so so hard and us girls he loves us girls but it was too much and your mother, he knows it was hard for her but she knew it wasn’t working and shouldn’t be talking like this talking like this talking like this but I’m right, I am old now and I should hear the truth and he wants the best for me and I can always come to him and blah blah blah blah blah on and on and he’s so sorry.

Finally, when eighty percent of my body was turned to stone, finally he said, “I’m so glad we could talk like this.”

I said nothing. I was nowhere.

Then he said, “I love you, Livy, and like it or not, I’m here. And like it or not, we are going to have to make this work.”

“No we don’t.”

He looked at me. “Yes we do.”

“When’s Mom coming home?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“I don’t know.”

I thought about Mom. How if it was me, if my husband who I loved and loved and loved, took a knife to my heart and left me and made up stupid excuses like we were too young and blah blah barfity blah, maybe I would crack down the middle, too.

But then, moms weren’t allowed to crack.

It should be a law.

Because what about their kids?

What about me and Berk?

Weren’t we someones?

I closed my eyes and tried so hard to hear a helicopter coming.

From far away I heard his voice. He said, “Can you please help me? Help me make this work?”

“No,” I whispered.

“No?”

“No.”

He was quiet.

Then he said, “I don’t remember you being like this.”

“Being like what?” I said.

“Stubborn,” he said, rubbing his face.

My heart started thumping. He didn’t remember me being like this? He didn’t remember me being like this? I made a goal not to talk to him ever again for the rest of my life. But then I couldn’t help it, I said, “I don’t remember you being like this.”

He looked at me. “Like what?”

I was about to say something like a butthead. You are a butthead. But then I knew that wasn’t what I really wanted to say. What I wanted to say was so big, so huge, so gigantic, it wouldn’t fit in this trailer. It wouldn’t fit in this entire neighborhood. What I wanted to say could blow up the entire state of Utah, it was so big.

So instead I said, “I’m going to my friend Bart’s house for dinner.”

Dad looked at me. “What?”

I said it again.

He said, “When?”

I said, “Tonight.”

He said, “He invited you to dinner?”

I said, “Yes.”

He said, “I don’t know his parents. And isn’t his name Harrison?”

I said, “So.”

And he said, “So I don’t even know his name.”

I said, “So.”

He said, “So you can’t go.”

I said, “What?”

And he said, “You can’t go.”

I said, “What are you talking about?”

He said, “I don’t think your mom would let you go.”

“Yes, she would.”

He sat for a minute.

Then he said, “Would she?”

“Yes,” I said.

Then I thought about it, would she? I thought she would. Would she not?

Then I thought how she’d let me take Berkeley to school and how she definitely wouldn’t care if I went to some stranger’s house for dinner.

I said, “She’d let me go.”

He looked at me. “Would she?” he said again.

“She would.”

He stopped talking.

He looked at his hands.

Then he said, “Is she really okay?”

Is she okay? Was he talking about Mom? He was talking about Mom.

“Uh,” I said. “No.”

He nodded. “I know.”

Then he said, “She told me she was fine. That she was working nights to maybe go to college. Be a nurse or some crap. I should have known she was lying.” He paused.

Was that what she was saving for?

He kept going, talking more to himself than me. “I can’t believe she let you take Berk to school with you.” He sighed. “I’ll call her.”

“Call who?” I asked.

He looked at me. “Your mom.”

He could call her?

He was just going to call her?

On the phone?

He could call her.

I said, “You can call her?” my voice hard to get out.

He looked at me funny. “Of course I can call her.”

“What about the no contact.”

He sighed. “That was only for a couple of days. Forty-eight hours but we decided she should take some time for herself, take a little break before she came back.”

A break.

A break.

Take a little break.

Then he said, “I talked to her earlier.”

He’d called her. He’d talked to her.

I swallowed. “In Wisconsin?”

He was tapping something on his phone. Distracted. “What?”

“Is she still in Wisconsin,” I asked.

“She was,” he said, not looking at me. “She’s not anymore.”

“Where is she now?”

“She’s at a friend’s house.”

“What friend?” my blood pumping. Mom didn’t have that many friends.

He ignored me. Started doing something on his phone.

“What friend?” I asked.

He didn’t respond.

“Where is she, Dad?”

He set the phone down and took a big breath.

He turned his ring on his finger, which, why was he wearing that all of a sudden? He never wore it before.

“Where is she?”

He sighed. “I told her to give me a little more time. I told her to stay away.”

“Where. Is. She.”

He looked at me. “She’s at Delilah’s.”