My thoughts are interrupted by footsteps, and I quickly place the six boxes on the floor and under my bed. Crap, she’s back. She’s going to corner me again. I can’t let her defeat me. I can’t let her know she’s getting to me again.
I have to be stronger than her.
I can be stronger than her.
I am stronger than her.
The door jolts open, and my eyes broaden at the unexpected face standing before me. I honestly thought he was dead. I figured she killed him and chopped up his body to feed to the squirrels.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN:
THE TRUTH
"CHLOE?"
I’m still in shock. I haven’t seen him in over five years. At this moment, I realize how much I missed him. He may have been a mute most of my life, but I know my real dad is in there somewhere. "Dad?" I run over to him, locking my arms around his neck—something I haven't done in years.
He pushes me back into the room and closes the door behind him. "Chloe, what are you doing with all of those letters?" He swallows hard, moving past me and pulling them out from under the bed. I guess I didn’t do a good job of concealing them. Now I’m even more thankful it wasn’t my mother coming in here.
As he places the last box back on the top shelf of my closet, Sammy's movement behind him catches his attention. He turns around slowly and his face contorts with confusion. He looks back at me, then again at Sammy. He points to him, and whiteness clouds his skin.
"Yes, Dad. He's mine," I say.
"But—I don't—How?" he fumbles over his thoughts and words.
"Dad, where the hell have you been?" I ignore his discomfort at the thought of me having a child. "The truth. I want it."
"Chloe." He places his hands in the air, surrendering to me. "It was your mother, not me. I had no say over what she was doing, and when I tried to interfere, she threatened me…with your life. She told me if I wanted you to live, I would need to disappear." A tear forms in the corner of his eye as he stutters through his words. "I thought I saw you walking out of the library, but you had a little boy, so I wasn’t sure. In any case, if there was a chance it was you, I had to come warn you. Your mother has intentions that I'm not sure you are aware of. You aren't safe here, honey. Neither is he." He points at Sammy.
"Where are you living?" I ask.
"In an apartment in Westborough. There's room for both of you to come stay with me. You need to get out of here before she comes home," he says, as he reaches for the doorknob. I can sense his eagerness to get out of here. I believe every word of what he’s said. I’d be wise to follow him and at least get Sammy out of this potential danger. Now that I know the locket isn’t in my closet, I’ll need to consider places where it might be. Some time to think might not be the worst idea.
"Dad, I need to find a locket that she has been hiding from me. Do you know anything about it?" I doubt he has any clue about this locket. But I might as well try my luck. I have nothing to lose at this point.
He cups his over his mouth. "You know about the locket?"
He knows about the locket? "Yeah, and I need it. Do you know where it is?" My voice carries a little louder than I intended it to. "After watching me be the victim of my mother's abuse for most of my life and doing nothing about it, the least you can do is tell me where it is."
His eyes roll up toward the ceiling. "I believe it's up there."
"In the attic?" I ask.
"Chloe, if your mother finds you up there, it won't end well…for any of us."
"We have an attic?” I lived in this house my whole childhood. I had never seen an opening, a door, or a pull down contraption from the ceiling. Nothing.
He nods his head hesitantly, probably wishing he didn’t tell me. I doubt he knows the true meaning behind the locket. Although, I guess I shouldn’t assume anything, since people seem to know things before I do.
"Chloe, be smart about this. Okay? Do you know where she is right now?" he asks.
"No," I respond. “I’m sure she’s out looking for me, though.”
"I would say now is not a good time, then. Sweetheart, I want to keep you safe. Come home with me and plan this out appropriately."
He sounds like Alex. It's killing me.
"He's right, Mommy," Sammy says.
I throw my head back and grab our coats off of the bed. "Let's go, Sam. We're going to go stay with Grandpa for a bit."
"Grandpa, huh?" my dad grins with a proud look on his face. "Hey Sammy, come here, buddy." My dad squats down and opens his arms. He actually looks like a real grandfather. I’m not sure I remember seeing this non-battered side of him. I wouldn’t remember. I’m sure if he was ever like this, it was before I was seven—a time I can’t recall.
Without a second to think, Sammy runs over and wraps his arms around my dad's neck. "I've heard a lot about you, Grandpa,” he says.
"Hopefully all good things, buddy." I’ve never said a word about my dad. What could I have said? Great dad. Never seemed to care. Never spoke to me. Never gave me hugs. Watched my mother destroy my life. Sammy is good at sucking up, even at his young age. He’s definitely an old soul with a little body.
"Mommy said you always kept her safe. You're like, her…superhero," Sammy smiles. I did say that. I remember now. He did stop my mother from hurting me a number of times. I just wish he had been around the times when she did hurt me.
My dad squeezes him tightly, and I'm doing everything I can to keep my emotions in check. I can't just forget about the neglect, but do I continue holding him accountable for it? I guess we'll see how this new living situation plays out first.
We pile into my dad’s beat-up old suburban and start rolling out of the driveway. Suddenly, I feel the brakes compress and the car jerk forward.
"Shit!" My dad shouts.
I turn and see my mother's large, expensive SUV blocking the end of the driveway, making it so we can't move. My dad looks at me and shakes his head with concern.
"Floor it, Dad. Over the lawn," I say, being the force that will push him to overcome her.
He looks back toward the garage and then down to the shifter and slams it into reverse. He pulls the steering wheel all the way to the left and presses his foot on the gas down to the floor.
Tire marks are left on the lawn and the car thumps as it rolls over the curb. The look on my mother’s face is priceless. Her mouth is hanging open and she's slowly pulling her unnecessarily large black sunglasses down onto the brim of her nose. And Dr. Greene, who’s in the passenger seat, looks like he’s about to be sick.
For the first time in my life, I see excitement in my dad's eyes as he grins and waves at her while driving by. He grips the steering wheel with both hands until his knuckles turn white. "God, that felt great." He lets out a loud rumbling belly laugh and sucks in a deep breath. "What a bitch."
"Wow Dad, I never thought you had it in you." I lean over and pat my hand on his shoulder.
"Excuse my language, Sammy," he apologizes, looking into the rear view mirror.
"It's okay, I wasn't paying attention. I was looking at Grandma jumping out of her car and screaming something.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN:
DAD’S HIDEAWAY
IT'S NOTHING like what I had imagined. The minute he mentioned having his own apartment, I pictured a run-down studio with stained carpeting and peeling paint. I never thought of my dad as the domestic type. That might be because my mother has always been a clean freak and the cook—or so she liked to call herself. My dad sort of just followed orders and tiptoed around the house.
If I had to guess, I would have assumed he didn't know how to use a broom or even a microwave. But that seems to be far from the case.
The apartment has two floors, or I guess one floor with an attached loft. Hardwoods, Pottery Barn style furniture and a lavish kitchen with granite countertops and stainless steel appliances. Fresh fruit and vegetables lay in iron baskets placed nicely on the counters, and crystal wine glasses hang perfectly from a rack under one of th
e dark cherry wood cabinets. I'm shocked to see a place like this, maybe even more so to see that my dad has style. I never knew. This place looks pretty expensive, and for someone who has merely pulled off part-time hours as an administrative assistant, this should be unaffordable.
"How did you score this place?" I ask, still searching around, taking in every detail.
He looks down to his fiddling thumbs, as if he were ashamed to say.
"Dad?"
"Chloe, I've had money. Money hasn’t really been a problem over the past ten years. When your grandmother died ten years ago, she left me a significant amount of money. It was only in my name, so I hid it, figuring your mother had no intentions of keeping me around for long. I knew she wouldn’t have been able to get rid of me fast enough.
“However, I never gave her the chance to kick me out. I left on my own as soon as I found out about her affair with Dr. Greene. I had suspicions that she had been unfaithful in the past, but when the hospital called to notify me about your mother’s scam, I confronted her. She threatened me with your health, and forbade me from coming near you, or she would act upon her threats. I've never been one to underestimate your mother's control and powers. When it came to you, I tried to protect you, even if it seemed like it wasn’t helping.
“I somehow had a feeling you would eventually become stronger than your mother, and you would find your own way. I had hoped, anyway. It seems as though I was right about that at least," he says, shuffling his fingers through Sammy's hair. "Hey buddy, do you want a cookie?"
Sammy looks at me for consent and I give it to him. “Yes, please!” He lifts Sammy up, throws him up on his shoulders and brings him into the kitchen.
It's the first time I've heard Sammy giggle all day, and it's making my heart feel a little stronger.
My dad places Sammy down on one of the barstools and takes a seat next to me while pouring him a glass of milk.
"Dad, you look good. You look healthy, I mean." I smile seeing that he's happy—happier than he was with my mother, at least. "So, are you two officially divorced now, or what?" I ask.
"She won't sign the papers." He nods with a sigh.
"What? Why not? Isn't this what she wanted?" I ask.
"Chlover-Belle, I don't know what the hell that woman wants. She's crazy—that's all I know."
I can’t stop the tears from pooling up in my eyes, hearing my dad call me a nickname I haven't heard since I was seven or eight years old. "Dad, I've missed you so badly," I mutter between sobs.
The barstool screeches across the Italian kitchen tiles and between blinks I feel his arms wrap around me. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. It's all I can say. No one deserved the life you were forced to live through," he says.
I pull away. "Dad, I still don't understand why you let her have her way all of those times. Why didn't you call the police or do anything to help me? I don't understand. I hated you for so long. I put you on the same page as her. I felt abandoned by both of you." That needed to be said to him. I can't let him off the hook this easily. I get that he was afraid of her wrath, but I couldn't watch anyone do that to Sammy. That's something I'll never comprehend.
He places his hands on my shoulders and leans forward, putting his face right in front of mine. "There is absolutely no excuse for how little I tried. I was depressed, miserable, and barely cared about myself, let alone you. It was wrong—I was wrong. My behavior was inexcusable, and I would understand if you were not able to forgive me for the way your life turned out. And I won't ask for a second chance. But I will ask for us to try and make things right—even if that just means me being the best grandfather Sammy could ask for."
"Dad, I need to be able to trust you. Because right now, I don't feel like I can trust anyone." Not sure anyone could blame me for that.
His eyes are still staring at mine, wide and glossy. He isn't saying much, but I feel as if he has something to say. I close my eyes, trying to understand why it's taking so long for him to promise me trust. But the knock on the door distracts my mind from my question.
I run behind Sammy and pull him off of the barstool and under the counter. "Does she know where you live?" I whisper. I don’t know why I’m so afraid of this woman. Maybe it’s the confirmation from my dad’s mouth. Hearing how crazy she is. Knowing what’s she’s capable of. Understanding what lengths she will go to to get her way.
"Chloe, stand up. It's okay," my dad says calmly. "Come in." He takes a few steps toward the opening door.
I peek out over the granite countertop and scan my eyes up to her face. Young, slim, short black hair, and icy blue eyes—a woman, half his age, no more than ten years older than me, standing in his doorway, looking at him as if he were the most incredible man she's ever laid eyes on. I perk up and stand up straight, holding Sammy tightly in my grip.
"Is this—" the woman begins.
My dad interrupts her quickly and meets her at the door, ushering her inside. "Yes Ash, this is Chloe."
Her confidence carries her quickly across the living room, greeting me behind the breakfast bar. She shoots her hand up as a smile spreads across her high cheekbones. "Hi Chloe, it's a pleasure."
I shake her hand limply and study her expression, hoping to get a feel for who she is or what she's doing here. I'm assuming she's my dad’s…girlfriend. They aren't even divorced yet. My mind circulates with hundreds of questions as I notice that she's now behind me, squatting down, and asking Sammy to give her a ‘high-five.’
I point to the back of her and nod my head at my dad. He motions me to settle down. But, how can I? My dad is dating this beauty-queen who can't be more than thirty-five. I mean, she is an improvement from my psychopath mother, but thirty-five? That's rough.
"Who are you?" I ask, placing my arms around Sammy and lifting him up.
She looks back at my dad and walks over toward the living room couch.
"Chloe, why don't you come in here and have a seat," my dad says.
Why so you can tell me all about your new girlfriend and how I'm getting a new mommy? I laugh at the thought. I carry Sammy into the living room and sit on the leather chair across from the couch that the beauty-queen…Ash and my dad are sitting on.
The chair complains as we sink into the cushion, and I wish the noise would fill the silence longer.
"So, how long has this been going on?" I ask, looking back and forth between the two of them.
"Well, for starters, this isn't what you think. So, wipe the snide look off of your face," my father says, sounding disciplinary.
That's a relief, I guess. But if she isn't my dad's girlfriend, then who the hell is she?
"I'm all ears." I raise my eyebrows and cup my hands behind my ears. I know I’m being obnoxious, but I have no energy left for guessing games.
My dad clears his throat. He does that when he’s nervous, which was a lot when I was growing up. It’s like a tic. "Chloe, This is Officer Ash."
She reaches into her pocket and pulls out her badge. "Cindy Ash. Nice to meet you, Chloe and Sammy."
"What's going on?" I ask again.
"Chloe, I'm here to help you—well, you and your dad. Sammy, as well." She slides her badge back into her pocket. "Your father has been seeking a way to have your mother detained due to her blackmailing high officials and now attempting to blackmail your father. He’s forced to support her or or she’ll act on a particular threat she’s had hanging over your father’s head since you were a child. She's a danger, as you are well aware. She’s not right in the head. However, she is intelligent and is careful not to leave a trace of her behavior behind. She's pretty much holding your father's wellbeing at stake right now, and I've been working with him for the past few weeks to help him get some resolution. Unfortunately, that means catching your mother in the act. As we've learned, this is anything but simple. So, we've been working closely on a plan," she explains.
How closely? I mutter to myself.
My father stands up and uncomfortably shifts his weight from foot to
foot. "Chloe, look. If you help us out, she can help you find your missing necklace." He winks quickly so only I can see.
Suddenly, I'm not feeling so hostile toward this woman. If she can help me find the locket, I'll help her with whatever she needs.
"Okay, deal. Tell me what this threat is, and I’ll see what I can do to help."
"I can’t, Chloe.” His eyes widen, giving me a look that’s telling me to stop with the questions. I’m wondering if Officer Ash even knows what this threat is.
She interrupts my stare down with my dad and says, “Well the first thing is, we need you to find out your mother's schedule. Where she tends to be every day and when she isn't in the house. See if there is a pattern. That kind of stuff. Do you think you can pull that off?" she asks, looking worried about my response. I know I'm their only hope right now. And again, I wouldn't be doing this if it weren’t going to benefit me in some way, not after the neglect my father has shown me.
"Yeah. I think I can manage that." I pull Alex's leather jacket off of the bar stool and shove my arms through the sleeves. "Well, we better get going, Sammy." I lift him off the stool and pull him by the hand to the front door. "I'll need a ride."
"Chloe, just relax for a minute. Do you want to stay for dinner?" My dad asks, walking toward me with his arms stretched out toward us.
"Depends. Is she staying too?"
Officer Ash stands up and I can immediately tell I took this too far, and I was completely wrong about my accusations. Her face is red, her eyes are large, and she's waving her hands in front of her face. "Whoa, what do you think is going on here?" She flashes the back of her left hand up in the air, and I see a large rock sparkling under the light. "I'll be having dinner with my husband tonight, Chloe. I'm just here to help your father with this case," she says, with an annoyed look splashed across her face.
"Wow. I am—I'm really sorry, Officer Ash. I—"
"Chloe." She blows out some air and replaces her scowl with a smile. "No harm done. I know you're going through a rough time right now."
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