No, the phone must be in its hiding spot, unless he’d dropped by to pick it up later.
“I’ll just run in,” Sydney trilled as she opened the car door.
“Actually, I need to use the restroom.”
“And then we’ll go to Grandpa’s?” She asked the question with suspicion, as if she thought Veronica might come up with an excuse to stay home once she went inside. Smart girl.
“Definitely. I just need to text and make sure he’s there.”
She’d been putting that off for as long as possible, willing her father to leave his place and be unavailable by the time Veronica reached out. But she couldn’t avoid it any longer.
She pulled her phone from her purse as Sydney watched, then typed a quick message to her dad. Sydney wants to stop by. Are you home?
Sydney eyed the message and lingered a moment longer, watching for a sign that her grandfather was writing back.
“Go on! I’ll let you know what he says.”
She finally exited the car and Veronica followed her into the house. “I’ll be back in a few,” she offered as she aimed for her bedroom, but Sydney was already digging through a pile of construction paper on the kitchen counter.
Veronica’s phone vibrated. She glanced at it to find that her dread had been justified. I’m home! her father texted. Can’t wait.
Jesus, the man was finally present for his family. Great.
Dropping her phone back into her purse, Veronica stepped softly down the hallway as if Johnny’s secret device might hear her coming and hide. She closed her bedroom door behind her as quietly as she could, then dropped cross-legged to the floor in front of the wardrobe and eased the left door open.
Her hand slipped unerringly inside the shoe as if she’d been sneaking peeks into his hidden stashes for years instead of days. She withdrew the phone and turned it on, her pulse pattering with quick excitement as it cycled through the opening screens. Finally the lock screen loaded. She typed in the password and then the message bubble dinged itself awake with a tiny number 1 that turned the stutter of Veronica’s pulse into a driving rain on a metal roof.
She clicked on the icon and held her breath. This time she wasn’t disappointed.
Don’t let her see this phone. And don’t ever mention my name. EVER.
The air whooshed from Veronica’s lungs. She’d expected flirtation. Or jealousy. Or maybe even a sexy picture. But this wasn’t some bimbo’s cheeky text. This was fear of exposure.
“She’s married too,” she whispered to herself. And then she gasped. It was Neesa. It had to be. Neesa was married. And she would definitely not want her big ex-con husband to discover her affair.
Johnny was strong, but Neesa’s husband K.C. was six four and built like a star linebacker, and rumor had it that he’d spent nearly three years in prison for stealing cars back in the day. Oh, he was an upstanding citizen now. In fact, he owned his own car repair place down the street from the gym. Then again, maybe that was a front.
No, Neesa wouldn’t want to piss her husband off. But if Veronica didn’t reveal that she knew, perhaps she and Johnny could maintain this dark, delicate balance for years, each of them toeing the dangerous edge and being careful not to topple them all down. They could all have what they needed. A little hit to get them through. Small escapes when they needed them.
She’d lost any desire to pull more information from this woman. She didn’t want to be sure it was Neesa. If she knew for sure, she might give something away and be the one to tip the balance into disaster. She’d stay on her edge, steady and true, or as steady and true as one could be in an affair.
“Mom!”
She jumped so hard she hit the phone against the edge of the wardrobe door and flinched at the loud crack and the graze of pain against her fingers.
“I’ll be right there!” she called through the door.
“Did he write back?”
“What?” she asked in shock. “Who?”
“Grandpa!”
Oh, right. “Yeah, he’s home.”
“Then hurry!”
“Sure,” she muttered. But she didn’t move. She sat there in her dim room on her cheap, worn carpet and she let a little peace seep into her bones.
She could do this. Just for a few more years. Johnny could have Neesa on the side. This would all work out.
Exiting the app, she started to shut down the phone, then realized she’d created a problem. The message bubble no longer indicated an unread message. If the woman texted again in the meantime, Johnny might not notice, but if he opened the app and found a previously read message . . .
Crap. She had no choice but to delete it. Better to raise suspicion that his off-brand phone had missed a message than a suspicion that someone else had been accessing it.
She deleted the text and shut down the phone, her heart lighter. Even the dread of seeing her father had lifted a little. Enough that the sight of her daughter waiting with a homemade card clutched tight in her hands brought a genuine smile to Veronica’s face.
“Ready to see Grandpa?” she asked.
“Yesssss!” Sydney spun in a circle and held the card high. “I didn’t use glitter because it’s bad for the environment. Did you know that?”
“No. Why is it bad for the environment?”
“Microplastics,” Sydney said solemnly.
“Oh, of course. That makes sense.”
“We should take our bottles of glitter to the next Earth Day disposal thing.”
“Sure.” She draped her arm over her daughter’s shoulders and walked out to meet her next challenge of the day. Today she could handle anything. Even revisiting her childhood.
Her father lived thirty minutes away, in a big development near the airport. It had been designed as a “walkable” neighborhood, and he’d latched on to a passion for discussing the walkability philosophy once he’d finally recovered from the shock of losing his marriage. It was a huge improvement over his first postdivorce apartment: a dingy one-bedroom a few blocks from the home he’d shared with his wife, a perch for him to await a forgiveness and grace that had never blossomed.
Now he lived within walking distance of a grocery store and a stadium-seat movie theater. The apartment had two bedrooms “so anyone could come visit,” and the kitchen sported modern appliances. But there was still nothing on the walls, and the furniture all looked like soulless hotel chic. That was what he was used to. He probably felt more at home in a high-end hotel than he did in a house. He’d certainly always been ready to hit the road.
Veronica parked in a visitor lot and they walked a winding cement trail to her dad’s ground-floor apartment. When they rounded a corner he was already outside, standing in front of his door with both fists on his hips.
“Hey, pumpkin!” he called to Syd, and Veronica’s heart lurched with fierce nostalgia. He’d always called her “pumpkin,” and she’d loved him more than anything in the world.
A good mother was easy to take for granted when a father was exciting and lively and often unavailable. He’d seemed like a movie star to Veronica. A classic star from the olden days, always tan and dapper. Always calling people “pal” or “chief.” Or “pumpkin.” He’d travel for a week or two at a time and then sweep back into town like a hurricane of charisma, swinging his daughters and even his wife into wide, spinning hugs, hiding gifts and candy in his luggage for the girls to discover.
When he was home, he’d been called up to be the disciplinarian, because his word was gold. Even the mildest scolding from him made Veronica blush with shame. She could ignore her mother for weeks, but she knew the insurrection would end as soon as her dad came home and told her to shape up.
But he’d countered his enforcement with pure indulgence. Oh, come on, Janet, let them stay up a little longer. Come on, Janet, one scoop of ice cream won’t ruin anyone’s dinner. Come on, Janet, how often will they get to skip school to see the opening game of baseball season?
Her mom had just been the rule ma
ker, the gatekeeper, the cook, the helper. Dad had been the star.
Judging from the way Sydney raced to her grandfather and jumped into his open arms, he was a star to her too. He twirled her around in a circle that set her squealing.
“Did you see the pictures of me and Dad and Old Man?” she asked breathlessly as he set her down. “We were on the news.”
“I sure did. Your dad is a bona fide hero, sweetheart.”
“He is! My friends are all so jealous, Grandpa!”
“They should be.”
“I brought you a card.” She tried to hand it to him, but he pointed to his door.
“We’ll open it inside. I’ve got a present for you too.”
“But it’s your birthday.” A hollow protest, as she knew Grandpa always had a present for her, and she was already racing toward the open door.
“Hey, sweetie,” her dad said as Veronica approached for a slightly more restrained hug.
“Hi, Daddy. How are you?”
“I’m good. Great. Just got back from Germany.”
“Fun,” she said with a forcibly bright smile.
“I do enjoy a good biergarten.”
Out of respect for the lovely day, Veronica didn’t ask whether he enjoyed the beer maids as well.
“How’s your mother?” he asked, with only a shadow of the wistfulness he’d carried the year before.
“She seems good. She’s been helping with Sydney this week.”
“What a week!” he cried, throwing his arms wide. “Did you have any idea that boy had been kidnapped? Did he tell Johnny who took him?”
“No, we had no idea. He was scared and exhausted. He didn’t say anything at all, I don’t think. We were as surprised as everyone else.”
Her father led the way into his place, and Veronica immediately noticed some bright touches that had been added since her visit two months earlier. His beige couch and chair were now accented with deep-blue pillows that picked up the blues in a soft area rug at her feet.
One of his casual partners had taken a more serious position, it seemed. “You get an interior decorator?” she asked dryly.
“A friend offered to help get this place more comfy.”
“A friend, hm?”
He shrugged. “She’s very nice.”
“Finally ready to settle down after all these years?”
He grunted, his handsome face hardening a little at her jab. “Your mom left me. I’m not planning on spending the rest of my life alone.”
“Oh, no one ever thought you would.”
“Listen—”
Sydney came bounding out of the spare room, which was mostly decorated for her rare overnight visits. “Is this it, Grandpa?” She held up a rectangular box that had been wrapped in silver with an elaborate pink ribbon.
“That’s it, pumpkin.”
She bounced up and down a little, and Veronica took a moment to enjoy what could be one of her last glimpses of her little girl being a little girl. Hormones were already wreaking havoc on her life. She’d gotten her first pimple that summer. Some of her friends were already wearing dressier clothes and casting off their toys. Not Sydney. Not yet. But soon.
As she watched, her daughter took a deep breath and set her heels flat to the ground. “Okay, but you get your card first.” She tucked the present close to her chest and handed him the glitter-free card.
It was made of yellow construction paper, but it looked nothing like a toddler’s version of a card. She’d penned a beautiful sketch of a tree across the front, and when her grandfather opened the card, neatly written black script covered the right side. Veronica hadn’t read it, and she wouldn’t ask to read it now. Hopefully it wasn’t another attempt to get her grandparents back together. It seemed as if Sydney had finally given up on that dream after last year’s reconciliation-free holiday season.
“Oh, sweetheart. That was a lovely poem. What a perfect gift for an old man. Thank you, pumpkin.” He pulled her high into another gravity-defying hug, and Sydney hugged him back with all her strength. After he set her down, she waited a respectable few seconds before holding up the wrapped gift.
“Can I?” She waited for his nod before tugging carefully at the ribbon. She’d always taken her time with gifts, which was a real boon for Christmas in a single-child household. If she’d been a ripper, the holiday would have been over in two minutes flat, even with too many presents from indulgent grandparents.
When she finally broke the tape and peeled back the shiny wrapping paper, she revealed a thin wooden box with a glass front. Veronica eased closer to look over Sydney’s shoulder. Behind the glass were flat wooden cutouts of woodland creatures. When Sydney turned a little knob, they began to jump and move against a forest backdrop.
“Oh, Grandpa! It’s so cute!”
“They make them by hand in a little village I went to. It can’t compete with video games, I guess, but . . .”
“No, I love it. It’s perfect.” She gave him another hug and then took her arty little box over to the couch to turn the knob, first quickly and then slowly. She turned on the TV, but her eyes kept going back to the scene in her hands.
“That’s really pretty, Dad.”
“I thought she might like it. She likes to draw, and they carve them all by hand. But maybe it’s too old-fashioned for a little girl these days.”
“It’s beautiful. Thank you for thinking of her.”
“Thank you for bringing her by today.”
She felt a little ashamed that he had to thank her. But seeing him broke open something inside her and left her exposed to all the pain and regret and guilt she could ignore in her everyday life. He’d been her hero, and she’d lied to herself and everyone else to maintain his heroic image for as long as possible. But that wasn’t Sydney’s fault. Hell, it wasn’t even her father’s fault. He hadn’t asked her to cover for him.
But he’d known. When she was fifteen, he’d come home from a business trip without his wedding band, and she’d pointed it out quietly in the hallway. He’d taken out his wallet, slipped it from one of the plastic inserts, and put it back on. He’d winked and whispered “Thanks, pumpkin.” A little secret between father and daughter. He hadn’t known about the first secret she’d kept, but he’d known about that one.
That night her mother had asked him to enforce the curfew Veronica had been breaking. A typical request, because Veronica wouldn’t argue with her dad. “Three nights in a row she came home after ten. She’s only fifteen. This has to stop before she gets into real trouble.”
Veronica had already turned beet red, afraid her father could actually see that she’d been making out with her new boyfriend on each of those nights. But instead of snapping at her to be more respectful of her mother, Dad had taken her side. “Let her have a little fun. She’s a good girl. You’re too hard on her.” Veronica had felt triumphant at the tight twist of her mom’s mouth. She’d also felt a little nauseated. From then on, it had been them against Mom, and he’d taken her side every time he was home. When he wasn’t home, Veronica had thrown his support in her mother’s face. Dad was reasonable. Dad understood her. Dad would never be so mean.
Had he known he was making that bargain? Had he known how ugly it was? Or had it just been a natural extension of his indulgent personality?
It shouldn’t matter anymore. It had happened years ago. They were all adults now, and she had her own sins to justify. “I’m sure Sydney would love to spend the night . . .”
An olive branch. Today she could afford to be generous.
“Oh!” her father exclaimed, sounding genuinely happy. “That would be wonderful! But I’m afraid I have plans. A friend flew in and we’re having dinner . . .”
Another friend. Of course. She nodded.
“In a few days?” he suggested. “Next week?”
“Sure. We’ll see.”
“I’ll call you.”
“Great. No problem.” Her cheeks burned with embarrassment that she’d thought she was
doing him a favor. “But hey, you should really let Sydney know that you’re not lonely. She worries about you even though I’ve told her you’re fine. More than fine, really. It seems like you’re good as new.”
“Were you hoping I’d suffer?”
“Oh, I don’t know, Dad. I thought maybe you’d repent for a few years, at least.”
He dropped his voice to a discreet murmur. “Listen, I was away from home a lot. It wasn’t easy. After thirty-five years of marriage, I made a mistake. I’ve apologized to your mother.”
Her laugh sounded like gravel. “After thirty-five years? Dad. Please.”
He met her gaze without flinching. “I made a mistake.”
“A mistake.” The burn spread from her cheeks to her nose, the tips of her ears. It felt like embers beneath her skin. “One of them called the house once. I answered the phone.”
“One of what?”
“One of your mistakes. I was fourteen. She thought I was Mom. She told me she loved you and you loved her and you were going to be together.”
He still didn’t flinch. He only frowned at her in innocent confusion. “What are you talking about? Who said that?”
“Were there so many you couldn’t even guess which one it was?”
“This is ridiculous. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I didn’t tell Mom. I kept your secret. And the dozen secrets it was impossible not to notice afterward. It never even occurred to me that Mom might know too. I just assumed she was stupid and old-fashioned and clueless. Weak. I think I hated her for it. Like she wasn’t smart enough to hold on to you. But of course she must have known. She put up with it for us. For me and Trish. I get it now. I really, truly get it.”
Her father sighed. “Veronica . . .”
“I get why you did it too. Why not? You had the best of both worlds. A tidy family at home and fun on the road. You were a king.”
“Hey. Come on. It was never like that. Yes, I made more than one mistake. Okay. I admit that. But it wasn’t some conspiracy, all right? I was just . . . young and irresponsible.”
False Step Page 14
