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I could only imagine the thousand scenarios running through Dad’s head as he stewed downstairs. How long has she lied to me? Who is the boy? How long has she known him? Are they sneaking around? Sleeping together? Planning to run away?
I needed to get into his head, figure out what he was thinking, and put all of his worst fears at ease. But there was no way to gauge what was going through his mind. I could only speculate, which is exactly what he was doing. Neither one of us was making this easier on the other. I kept trying to approach him, but he wouldn’t come to me, and every time I went down to talk to him, he yelled at me to go back to my room.
But if I couldn’t get through to my dad for now, at least I could put Jasper’s worries to rest. He’d stood out on the neighboring back porch since we parted ways, pacing the length of the house, throwing glances up at my window every few minutes. And each time, I waved. And with each wave, he granted me a small smile. If nothing else, I could give him some kind of assurance that I wasn’t hurt, dying, or dead.
Propped up on my bed that met the window, I rested my head against the glass and stared down at Jasper for a while, watching him watch me.
His concern was endearing but unnecessary, and I wished so badly I could tell him that. There was nothing for him to worry about. I was safe here. Unharmed. Optimistic, despite the situation. Sooner or later, Dad would cool down. He’d come up, say his piece, and we’d go about our night. Life would go on.
But hours ticked on slowly without any word from Dad, and I started to lose hope that this whole argument would blow over so quickly. I didn’t know what to expect; I had nothing to compare it to. He’d threatened this punishment a hundred times over the years, but I’d never been grounded before.
It was the unknown that was eating me alive.
I fell asleep sometime after ten o’clock, my face smashed against the window. Hours of restless sleep went by, and every now and then, I’d peek my eyes open to find that Jasper still kept a close eye on me. At some unreasonably late hour of the night, he’d rested in a patio chair, kicked his feet up on the table, and fixed his eyes in my direction.
He wasn’t going to leave his post. I’m here to look after the people I care about. That includes you. I closed my eyes again, smiling at the memory of his words. He cared about me.
Stuck in the Moment Page 11
