After my shower, I collapsed into bed, thinking that sleep would overtake me in seconds. But I was too keyed up to settle down. Overtired to the point of buzzing, I rolled over and batted the air until my hand connected with the phone charger that had slipped between my nightstand and my bed. I plugged in my phone by feel, intending to decompress with some mindless scrolling once it charged enough to come back to life again. I stared at the black screen until my home screen came up.
Eight new texts and four phone calls since it had died at the hospital around dinner time. But more importantly, there was one new email.
Sitting up, I exhaled sharply and opened it, hoping like hell that not too much time had passed since it was sent.
from: Trishisadish@mail.com
to: CooperGrant4@valleyu.edu
date: Tue, Jun 19 at 7:23 PM
subject: Re: 421 Mill Street
Cooper,
Yes, the house next to the jewelry store is still available. I'm available to show it tomorrow afternoon after four. Please print the attached rental application and bring it with you. Thanks, Trish Collins, owner.
I hissed in relief and leaped from the bed.
Finally.
I turned on the WiFi and hit print. For a moment, I considered leaving it down there in the printer until the morning. It gave me a small, cheap thrill to imagine my father's surprise when he saw it lying there. He wasn't the only one in this house who could keep secrets.
But my anxious excitement won out in the end. Even though I was exhausted to the point of hallucinating, I still stumbled out of bed and went downstairs to retrieve it and fill it out. I wanted it to be all ready and filled out for the showing. I wasn't going to screw this up.
The dark house rang with a heavy, unlived-in silence as I walked through the living room, relying on muscle memory to get me to the back of the house where my dad's office, and the printer, was located. It was close to two in the morning, but neither of my parents were home. That wasn't odd, especially not lately. My father pretended his erratic schedule was in service to his work, even though he had long ago delegated the late-night clogged-toilet calls from tenants to his fleet of property managers. And my mother had lately been sleeping at her "studio" several nights a week, claiming that when "the muse" took hold of her, she was forced to stay holed up painting for days on end, but I knew it was just an excuse to stay far enough removed from my father's comings and goings to maintain plausible deniability.
Lying, cheating, and secrets. I'd spent so long fighting against them, and for what? Nothing changed. I was the only one who seemed bothered by my father's infidelity, just like I'd been the only one who'd objected to Willa's when I caught her cheating on Liam. At least Liam had broken it off with Willa when I'd brought him the truth. My mother, on the other hand, she did nothing. I'd spent so much energy trying to convince her to leave him, but she still stayed.
So instead, I was going to leave.
My dad's office printer hummed to life. I stood there in the middle of the room with my skin tingling as I watched the application inch its way onto the tray.
The room suddenly flooded with light. It took me a few befuddled moments to realize the rocking of the printer had jostled his desk so much that his mouse jiggled, bringing the screen to life.
His email was open.
I wasn't going to look. I didn't want to know.
I looked.
Hot anger roused me from my exhausted stupor and I leaned in to read the most recent unread email. It was from SandyCandy1972 and was sent this morning. The subject line was a long string of Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: that ended with "When can we meet?"
The leaden ball in my stomach made it feel like it was sinking right down to the floor. I balled my fist, slamming it into my thigh. Why was I surprised? Why was I... sad? Was I really so hopelessly, naively stupid that I'd thought he stopped? He never stopped. Goddammit, why was I sad?? With a giant, gulping breath, I pushed the useless rage back down again and bent to read the string of emails.
He sent the first one. Once again, I wondered why that mattered, like it would be somehow more excusable if Sandy had been the one to pursue him. But he sent it right here from his work email, asking if he could see her again. And signed it, Fred Grant.
No shame. No regard for the "good name" he had here in town. He wasn't even bothering to hide it. Why should he? The only person who was bothered by his cheating was me. I could print out this email right now and bring it to my mother and she would still excuse it. Any anger she felt would be directed at me for meddling. For invading his privacy. There would be no anger at my dad for breaking his marriage vows a million times over.
I grimaced as I read through the chain. Who was Sandy? A drunken one-night stand that he was pathetically pursuing? Or a long-term affair he'd been hiding in plain sight for years? It made no difference who she was, really. He would continue to cheat. And my mother would continue to turn a blind eye, choosing comfort over dignity.
I snatched the rental application from the paper tray and scanned it. I needed to get out of this house. Swinging rent on my own - even in a crappy two-bedroom cottage next door to a failing jewelry store with dusty rings in the window - would be tough with only the part-time work I could snag at the bar helping Ethan's cousin Taylor during busy season. But I had savings. And more importantly, I had my name. I might know that being Fred Grant's son was nothing to be proud of, but the rest of this town had no clue. In Crown Creek, the last name Grant made people perk up. It was, as my mother always declared after she was two bottles deep into her Chardonnay, "a good name. One that means something."
My father had a good name, so who cared if he was a good man?
I stood there a minute. Then leaned down and deleted Sandy's reply. Then moused over and clicked to empty his trash.
That was petty, but it felt good. Fuck him. I went back up to my room and fell asleep almost instantly.
Chapter