Perched stiffly on my hospital bed, I told Detective Myner everything. I wouldn’t look at Ross, but I could feel his laser-like stare. When I apologized to the detective for lying, Ross sucked air through his teeth. He didn’t know Detective Myner had asked me what Jerry whispered, and I’d replied it was nothing important.
My fingers cramped from gripping the cell phone so hard.
“All right.” The detective didn’t even sound mad. At least that was something. Ross was mad enough for two people. “Thanks for telling me, Shaley. We’ll start running this down immediately. We’ll find the guy.”
Fear and wild hope shot through me. If they found my father, maybe I could see him.
But if he’d sent Jerry, why would I want to?
“Okay. Thanks.” My voice dulled out. I just wanted to reverse the world three days—when I knew nothing about my father and could still dream he was a good, loving man.
“Can I talk to your mom for a minute?” the detective asked.
“Sure.” I handed the phone to Mom.
The detective’s voice filtered to my ears. He asked for the spelling of Donovon.
Mom told him, then listened. “I don’t know. The last time I saw him was seventeen years ago.”
All appetite for breakfast was gone. The smells coming from the McDonald’s bag turned my stomach. No way was I going to hear the rest of the story about my father like this.
I thrust myself off the bed and made for the bathroom. Inside, I shut the door hard and locked it, closing out Mom’s voice.
The bathroom looked cold and sterile. A shower with a seat. One sink. A floor of white tile. The toilet was handicapped-size. On the wall next to it ran a strong silver bar for support.
Eyes burning, I sat down on the closed toilet and put my head in my hands. Loneliness washed over me in waves. How had I gotten here, in this hospital room, so far from my home? Why had God let me lose three friends in the last few days, one of them turning out to be a traitor?
Now I was losing my dad—before I even knew him.
A tear plopped to the tile between my feet.
Remember, God is always watching. Carly’s words from two days ago ran through my head. Yesterday I’d vowed to find the truth—all of it. The truth about my earthly father, and the heavenly Father whom Carly insisted loved me so much.
So much for the heavenly one. Today I sure didn’t feel any closer to God.
Maybe if terrible things stopped happening, I’d have more time to think about him.
No, you wouldn’t. You wouldn’t think about him at all.
The thought echoed in my mind.
Three days ago I was waiting excitedly for Brittany to come. For two months we’d been on tour. And before that I’d been home, living the life of a famous rock star’s daughter. All those times I’d never thought about God for a minute. Why?
Because things hadn’t been hard enough to make me seek him.
I straightened, blinking away tears. Carly’s story ran through my head. She lost her parents and had her heart broken by the man she loved. When she’d turned to God, her life hadn’t gotten any better for a long time. But she’d had the strength to deal with it. Because inside, she’d changed.
A shiver ran down my back. I drew my arms across my chest. I needed to take a hot shower and wash my hair. Change clothes.
So much for the outside. What about your inside, Shaley?
My mouth twisted. This was kind of weird, thinking about God in a hospital bathroom.
But the thoughts wouldn’t go away.
My hands slipped over my eyes. I felt pretty stupid. And small. But if God was “always watching,” I suppose he knew that anyway.
“God,” I whispered, “here I am. Could you help, please? I’m … tired. And I need your strength—like Carly has. I’m ready to pay more attention to you, but I’m not even sure how to start. Could you show me, please?”
A hard knock sounded on the door. My head snapped up.
“Shaley.” Ross’s voice.
“Yeah?”
“You hiding in there?”
“Yeah, I’m hiding. And praying.” Take that, Ross.
“Oh. Well, you can stop now. We’re off the phone.”
Stop what—hiding or praying? I almost laughed. “Okay.”
“And the band’s here.”
Oh, great. Now I’d have to face everybody else. Ross would make me tell them too.
“Coming.”
Leaning both hands on the sink, I stared at myself in the mirror. I looked like a half zombie, long faced, circles under my eyes. My hair a mess.
Voices and laughter filtered from the room.
All the years Mom refused to talk about my father—and now everyone would be hearing about him. I wanted him to myself. I wanted my dreams back.
Plastering a tight smile on my face, I opened the bathroom door.