by Judy Corry
My muscles relaxed as the waitress jotted down my mom’s order. “I’ll be right back with those.” With a smile, she turned and headed back to the kitchen.
“Will you text your dad to see how much longer he’ll be? I left my phone at home,” Mom said as she looked over the dinner menu. Why did parents always forget their phones? Was it their way of proving they weren't addicted to them like they accused their teens of?
Whatever. It didn’t matter. I did as she said before turning back to my own menu.
The waitress came back with our drinks and took our orders.
“Any response from your dad yet?” She glanced anxiously at her watch.
I clicked my phone on and smiled at the picture I'd set as my wallpaper—Jess, Ashlyn, and me at their family's cabin last Fourth of July. But my dad hadn't responded.
“No text yet. Maybe he’s still on the phone with John,” I said. “He seemed stressed about whatever the text said.”
My mom nodded. “He did. I know he’s been worried about a few of his clients with the recent changes in the stock market. Hopefully, everything’s okay. Your dad could use a break. Maybe we could head to Martha’s Vineyard for a few days and give his blood pressure a much-needed rest.”
“That would be nice.” Though it would be freezing this time of year. At least the house we usually rented had a huge fireplace to stay warm by.
The waitress set our plates in front of us a while later. I took a bite of my pasta all’Amatriciana. The pancetta and tomato taste filled my mouth.
“Did he text you back yet?” My mom turned to look at the restaurant’s entrance, checking.
He had never missed our weekly dinner at Alessandro’s before.
I checked my phone. Still nothing. “Should I call him?”
“Sure.”
I called, but it immediately went to voicemail.
“What’s wrong?” Mom asked when she saw the confusion on my face.
“His phone went straight to voicemail. Maybe he’s driving here now?”
But he never showed up at dinner. I sent him another text on our way to the car, so he’d know we'd left.
We stopped by the house for a plate to put the cookies on before going to the recital. My dad’s truck wasn’t in the garage, and when we walked into the kitchen, we found a note waiting for us on the granite counter.
Sorry, I messed everything up. It’s better you not know anything.
-Paulo
Chapter Two
“What?” I dropped the box of cookies and grasped for the paper. He messed everything up? “Do you know what he means?” I asked my mom, the note shaking in my hand.
She looked as confused as I felt, her dark blue eyes full of fear.
“Let’s call him,” I suggested.
Mom grabbed her phone from the counter and dialed. I anxiously strummed my fingers on the counter as we waited for him to pick up.
“It went straight to voicemail,” she said, more fear growing in her expression.
“Try again.”
She dialed again, only to end up with the same result.
Mom slumped on a chair as I ran upstairs to their bedroom, scared about what I might find. I took one step inside and my stomach dropped. Their room was a mess. His dresser drawers hung half open, their contents ransacked. I ran to the closet to see if his suitcase was still there, but it was gone. The safe was open as well, but instead of looking like a mess, it was empty. He took mom’s jewelry? What would he need diamond necklaces for?
I stormed out of my parent’s bedroom and tore down the stairs. Mom was still sitting in the kitchen, staring at her phone in shock.
My heart twisted in my chest as I continued down the hall and into Dad’s office. Maybe there was some hint in there about what was going on.
I rushed to his desk and yanked open a drawer, then another and another, searching for something, anything, that would give me a clue about what was happening. The problem was, I had no idea what I was looking at. It looked like a bunch of bills and receipts.
I rifled through the papers on his desk, searching for his laptop in the mess. But it wasn’t there.
What was going on?
It didn’t make sense. Hadn’t he landed a huge account? Why would he suddenly run?
The note said he was sorry about messing everything up. But what had he messed up? Was that what John had texted him about?
I pulled out my phone to try calling my dad. Maybe he’d pick up for me, if not my mom.
This had to be some kind of joke. He wouldn’t just up and leave us. He loved us.
His voicemail greeted me. I hung up and called him again, but he still didn’t answer.
I called him again, and again, and again, until my hands were trembling. When his voicemail picked up the last time, instead of immediately hanging up and redialing, I listened to his cheerful message. “This is Paolo. Sorry I can’t come to the phone right now. Leave me a message and I’ll get back to you. Ciao.” I fought back tears, an ache forming in the back of my throat as I waited for it to beep.
“Where are you, Dad?” I asked with a shaky voice. “What’s this note supposed to mean? What did you mess up? What’s going on?” My voice broke, a sob escaping at the thought that he really may have left us. “Why is it better we not know?” I hung up, not having anything else to say since all I wanted to do was cry and scream at the same time.
Where was he? How long did he plan to be gone? Why had he cleaned out the safe? He hadn’t acted any different this afternoon when he got home from work. Had that been his plan all along, to pretend like he was going to take us out for a night of fun before abandoning us? To make promises for the future, like getting me a car and coming to my big concerto performance next month…only to run away? My gaze went back to his desk. Peeking out from under a piece of paper was his phone. It was sitting right there. It felt like my dad had kicked me in the chest. We had no way to track him. He didn’t want us to find him.
But then I had an idea. Maybe I could find out what John had texted him about. That might tell me something.
I powered on his phone, feeling the first flutter of hope. But it didn’t prompt me for a security code like it should have. Instead it gave me prompts for setting up my new phone. My dad had restored it to the original factory settings.
I threw the phone at the bookshelf across the room. As it shattered, so did I. My body shook as desperate sobs burst through me, tearing through my body and leaving me completely empty.
Ding dong.
I held my breath and listened for my mom to answer the door. A deep, unfamiliar voice spoke. In a matter of seconds, loud footsteps stormed through the house. Someone was running toward my dad’s office. I jumped out of the chair, banging my knee on the desk. Was I in danger? Or were these guys here for my dad?
“Eliana! Eliana!” Mom called, growing louder as she got closer.
Two men burst through the door, followed by my mom. The men were dressed in dark jackets with the letters FBI printed on them.
FBI?
“Mom!” I ran to her and fell into her arms. “What’s happening?”
She wrapped her arms around me, and we both leaned against the wall for support. “They’re looking for your father.”
We were told to stay in the living room as the FBI searched our house, looking through every corner and drawer—invading our personal space without a care for our privacy. When the FBI finished scouring the house, they asked to speak with my mother alone. But she was so shaky and nervous that she insisted I stay with her.
We sat in our living room with two of the agents—they were the type to wear perpetual frowns on their faces. The senior agent, a sixty-something man with a silver mustache, started asking questions. His partner, a middle-aged man with biceps bigger than my thighs, took notes.
“Are you aware that your husband embezzled money from his clients?” the older man asked, his eyes scrutinizing my mom.
Embezzled money? What?
“We have a mountain of evidence that says he did.”
“He was framed. I’d know if my husband was breaking the law. We don’t keep secrets from each other.”
The agents looked at each other, telling me they didn’t believe my mom at all.
“Did you have any indication that your husband would be going out of town? Did he mention anything to you?”
“No.” My mom’s voice broke. “We were supposed to go to dinner tonight. I had no idea.”
The older agent turned to me. “What about you? Did your father say anything to you before he left?”
“He didn’t say anything.” I shook my head, worried I’d say something wrong and get in trouble. “He just left a note.”
“Note?” The agent stilled and squinted his eyes. “What note?”
“The one on the counter.” I stood up.
“No. You stay here. I’ll get it.” The middle-aged agent turned on his heel and left the room.
I held my breath the whole time he was gone. Had I just offered evidence to help them arrest my father? I wanted to run after the agent and tell him to stop. But my mom reached over and squeezed my hand.
The agent was back a couple of minutes later. “Where did you say that note was?”
I cleared my throat and glanced at my mom, wondering why he hadn’t found it. She nodded for me to tell him.
“I thought it was on the kitchen counter. That’s where we read it when we got home.”
Had Mom done something with it? When I looked at my mom, her eyes gave nothing away.
The agent went back to the kitchen. I heard him moving things around, imagined him looking in every cupboard and corner, even in the garbage. But he returned a few minutes later with empty hands.
“Maybe one of the other agents grabbed it,” my mom suggested.
“Let’s hope they did. If we find out you’re hiding things from us, it will only make things worse for you. As for now, we’re taking your husband’s fleeing as an admission of guilt. And until he comes back and turns himself in, we’ll have to freeze your accounts.”
My mom gasped. “You can’t freeze our accounts. How will we survive?”
“It was never your money to begin with. I suppose you'll have to earn your money the old-fashioned way.”
My phone buzzed as soon as the FBI left.
Jess: Is everything ok?
He’d probably seen all the cars and commotion.
Me: No.
Tears pricked at my eyes again. Everything was not okay. Everything was a mess.
And it probably wouldn’t be okay any time soon.
Had my dad left town for a couple days, or had he left the country for good? His passport hadn’t been in the safe. If he was guilty and had any idea of the consequences, it was likely he’d never come back. He wouldn’t choose to go to jail.
Jess was on my doorstep a minute later, panting as if he’d sprinted all the way over. “What’s going on? Is everyone okay? Did something happen?”
He searched my face for any clues.
“My dad’s gone.”
Jess straightened. “What do you mean he’s gone?”
I looked to the side and wiped the tears out of my eyes, hating the fact that I was crying in front of him. “He left a note saying he was sorry for the mess he made, and it was better for us not to know anything.” My voice wobbled, and a sob sneaked up in the back of my throat. “I don’t think he’s coming back.”
Jess pulled me into his arms, hugging me tight against his chest. “That doesn’t make sense. Is there anything I can do?”
I sniffled and shook my head.
“He’ll come back. This has to be some sort of misunderstanding.” Jess sounded so sure.
“Even if he does come back, he’ll go right to jail. The FBI says it might be for twenty-five years.” My voice grew more and more hysterical as the reality of everything fully hit me. We couldn’t go twenty-five years without him.
“Hey.” Jess pulled me into his arms again and rubbed my back. “It’s gonna be okay. My parents can help your mom find a job. And you guys have money in the bank, don’t you?”
I shook my head against his chest. “The FBI said they’re freezing our accounts until my dad returns. We have nothing.”
The next few days were a long, horrible blur of FBI agents coming in and out of the house, taking statements from me and my mom and searching every corner for more clues about my dad. I held my breath every time the doorbell rang, dreading every moment when our privacy was invaded by complete strangers. The media also tried relentlessly to get more information on this hot story. To avoid having my picture plastered all over the newspapers and social media, I stayed inside.
Jess and his family helped my mom and me in a search of our own, contacting all the people who might know something more about my dad. But no one knew anything. And even though they said they would do all they could to help, I knew if my dad didn’t want to be found, he wouldn’t be. He was too smart for that.
My mom had barely eaten anything since that last dinner at Alessandro’s. She wouldn’t leave the house. She didn’t shower. She spent the days in bed crying. Her already small frame was becoming thinner and the dark circles under her eyes were looking worse. It reminded me way too much of how she’d looked a couple years ago when things had been bad with her alcoholism, and it twisted my stomach into knots.
In addition to watching my mom for any signs of a relapse, I tried to gather any financial-type documents I could find. But when it came down to it, there was nothing left that the FBI hadn’t taken as possible evidence. We didn’t even know the passwords for any of the online accounts my dad had, since he’d always been the one to handle paying the bills. We would have to wait for the bills to come in the mail before we’d know where we stood.
On Saturday afternoon I decided to cash in my silver coin collection. My dad had taught me to freeze some of my fruit in case of an emergency. Now definitely seemed like an emergency, so Jess and Ashlyn helped me take the coins to a pawn shop. When all was said and done, I only had eight hundred and thirty-six dollars—not nearly enough for me and my mom to get by on for very long.
“Mom, you have to eat something. You’re wasting away before my eyes.” I held a spoonful of broth up close to my mom’s lips, but she stared stoically ahead at her bedroom wall.
She wore her blue bathrobe today, and her chestnut hair was falling out of the braid I’d put it in yesterday.
When she didn’t respond, I said, “If you don’t eat this on your own, I’ll have to take you to the hospital and they’ll stick you with an IV.”
She slowly opened her mouth.
I spooned the broth in and she eventually finished the bowl. She barely pecked at the small piece of bread I offered her, so I took the dishes to the kitchen to wash them.
A few minutes later, Jess knocked on the French doors in the dining room, his six-foot frame hunched over as he peeked through a square of glass. I waved him in.
“How are things this evening?” He shoved his hands in the pockets of his dark blue jeans as he leaned against the counter beside me. “Is your mom any better after you showed her the cash?”
I set the sponge down and looked at him. “She actually finished her dinner tonight.”
“That’s progress.” He gave me an encouraging smile.
“I guess.” I turned back to the sink and scrubbed the dishes again. “It’s like I’m taking care of a baby. I have to do everything around here.”
“She’s hurting right now.” His brow furrowed over his green eyes. “Her life was turned upside down. That’s not something you just get over.”
“It’s happening to me too, you know!” I scrubbed the plate in my hand even harder. “But you don’t see me starving myself and laying around in bed all day. Instead, I’ve been doing all the cooking and digging to trying and figure out how to make thi
ngs work. I even called my piano teacher and told her I had to quit. I gave up my concerto with the orchestra!” The plate broke and sliced my finger. “Ugh!” I dropped the broken plate and sponge, and gripped the sink.
“Are you all right?” Jess leaned over and inspected my hands.
I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment as I tried to gain control of my temper. A few deep breaths later, I felt marginally better. “I’m okay.”
He scooted behind me, grasped my forearms and lifted them so I had to release my death grip on the sink. “Let me clean up the plate while you take care of that cut.”
“Fine.”
A few minutes later, when I came back after bandaging my finger, I found Jess with his hands in the soapy water.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you willingly do the dishes,” I commented as I watched him place a cup in the top rack of the dishwasher.
“Come on.” He shook his head and smiled the kind of smile that made it easy understand why so many girls at school were dying to date him…even knowing his horrible dating record. “You know I do the dishes at my house all the time.”
“Sure, but you usually complain for twenty minutes before you trudge over to the sink.”
He moved to put the sponge away. “I can stop if you want.”
“No, no, please continue.” I leaned back against the counter. “I’m not complaining. Just amazed.”
“Well, I’m glad I could amaze you for once then.” He winked as he put a handful of silverware in the dishwasher’s utensil basket.
I hesitated before asking my next question, not sure I wanted to know the answer. “So…um, has your dad found out anything more?” His dad owned several successful businesses in town, so he had a lot of connections. I hoped he would be able to discover something.
Jess frowned. “Not really. Just a bunch of investors who got screwed over. I guess my mom’s sister was one of them.”
I pinched my eyes shut. If I closed my eyes, maybe everything wouldn’t seem so real.
But hearing there were actual clients of my dad who had lost real money because of him…well, it just made it a lot harder to pretend like it was a big misunderstanding.