When we arrived at our destination, Patrick waited outside. I eyed him warily. Arranging this outing was a nice gesture, but showing up to get a pat on the back made it go down a bit like the time I chugged a glass of vodka, thinking it was water.
He held the door open, hanging back to allow everyone else inside.
“Thanks for doing this,” I said. “I didn’t expect you to be here.”
“I wasn’t planning on it, but since Justin’s not here, someone needed to fill in.”
On the bus, when Logan mentioned eight heads, I’d assumed he was naming the maximum allowed, not our current number. Now, I did a silent head count: Me, Rachel, Birdie, Ed, Joshua, Koji, Logan…and Patrick. I swallowed back a groan. They couldn’t have waited for Adam to arrive? Or brought in Mom? She’d helped foster a love of puzzles and games in me and Adam; this type of event was right up her alley.
On the other hand, if she knew Patrick arranged the event, she’d probably refuse to come, anyway. And getting some bonding moments between me and my father would make better TV than hanging out with my mom, as much as I loved her. Guessing Patrick would be around after we escaped, I’d asked the Network to keep Mom busy for the day. Connor arranged for her to go on a tour of the stars’ homes with some of the other out-of-town guests.
The cameras rolled, so instead of arguing, I smiled at Patrick and placed a hand on his arm. “I’m glad you stepped up. It means a lot to me to see how much you’ve changed. What made you think of doing an escape room?”
If he liked escape rooms, maybe we had something in common other than DNA.
“I read an interview with you and Justin last year,” he said. “You talked about how much you loved this type of thing.”
An odd feeling fluttered within me. He’d seen the interview? He remembered? Maybe I’d misjudged my father. I wondered if fifteen years without his daughter was punishment enough. He seemed to be making a genuine effort.
He continued, “The interview said the two of you were going to do every escape room you could find, so I wanted one here in SoCal. Tonight was the only night the Network would let me arrange it, though. Sorry we couldn’t wait until Justin got to LA.”
“It’s okay,” I said, “I appreciate the effort. We’ll still have fun.”
Inside the building, a man with long black dreadlocks and gleaming white teeth went over the rules: We got one hour, don’t hurt the zombie, don’t break the furniture, don’t climb the furniture, don’t get killed by the zombie. He said that last bit so solemnly, I started to get a bit nervous.
Rachel nudged me. “Relax. Zombies aren’t real. They’re not going to actually kill us.”
“Are you sure?” Birdie mumbled on the other side of me. “I wouldn’t put anything past the Network after the cruise.”
Our host led the group into the square room, started a timer, then retreated into a corner so he could pull “dead” people out of the game. We had about a hundred square feet to work with. Eight adults did not fit comfortably. An armoire dominated the room, hulking against the back wall, intimidating largely because it was the only space in the room big enough to hold a zombie. A glass case took up most of one wall, with three shelves, each secured by a different type of padlock. A bookcase stood opposite the case, with a desk between the two. The desk had no chair; the only other “furniture” in the room was a filing cabinet, also locked.
Every padlock had different requirements to open it: one required four numbers, one asked for shapes, one wanted five letters, one required a key, one was the standard padlock that adorned every locker in my high school. We got to decipher various clues and solve puzzles to figure out how to open each of them.
Justin would have loved this room. Part of me didn’t want to do it without him. Surely, we could wait a couple of days and save ourselves from zombies after Justin arrived? But the Network had a full schedule for the week.
With eight puzzle-solvers, a host, a camerawoman, and eventually a zombie, the temperature in the room went up ten degrees. The Network wasn’t allowed to air the solutions to any puzzles, but they’d gotten the okay to take some shots of the zombie and the setup. We barely had room to maneuver. Every time I moved, I tripped over Birdie, or Logan’s breath whispered down the back of my neck, making me shiver. But we only had an hour, and soon enough, the presence of a zombie would make it impossible to search the far side of the room for clues. So I dove into the challenge.
At my direction, Rachel darted for the far wall, peeking beneath the portraits and lifting a corner of the carpet. Since she was less mobile, Birdie went for a bookcase next to the door and started seeking clues within the pages of each book. I dropped to the ground and crawled under the desk.
Five minutes later, an alarm sounded, jolting us out of our concentration. Logan shrieked and grabbed my arm. The armoire door cracked open, which triggered everyone else to stop and race for the far corner. Everyone except me and Patrick. We stood with our hands on our hips, glaring at them.
“He’s not even out yet,” Patrick said. “Come on, kids.”
I’d been nervous about him joining us, but my father turned out to be a huge help. He kept a level head while people yelled out fragments of clues. He found paper and a pen and started writing things down. When the zombie emerged and grabbed Joshua’s foot, Patrick convinced him to sit quietly in the corner without break-dancing the way he did when eliminated from The Fishbowl.
The group worked steadily, with little time to argue. After only ten minutes, we opened one of the padlocks, which gave us the first symbol for removing the final padlock on the main door. Eight of us celebrated as one. As the clock ticked down the seconds toward our win or loss, I became more and more inclined to trust the man who’d fathered me. I hadn’t known anything about him, not really. He deserved more of a chance.
With ten minutes left, only Rachel, Patrick, and I remained “alive.” The others sat in the far corner, where Birdie deciphered an encoded paragraph we’d found inside one of the books. The underlined letters, theoretically, would give us one of the final clues. Rachel moved marbles around a Chinese checkers set while Patrick and I called out commands hidden on light fixtures on opposite sides of the room–while dodging the zombie and trying not to trip over the chain tethering him to the armoire. Not the easiest task, but the two of us worked well together. Almost as well as me and Justin.
The last marble clicked into place. Rachel yelled out “heart” from her spot near the desk, right before the zombie grabbed her in a bear hug. She moved into the corner, huffing, while I examined my path to the door. Patrick grabbed the desk and shoved it into the middle of the room, creating a buffer between me and certain “death.” The zombie moved backward. While its eyes focused on Patrick, I looped a length of chain around the bottom of the armoire, then darted out of the way.
“I’ve got it!” Birdie said. “The final clue is, ‘_____ are a girl’s best friend.’ Diamonds.”
“Don’t be so materialistic,” Joshua said. “Maybe it’s brains.”
Koji rolled his eyes. “Yeah, bro, some girls like brains. Which doesn’t explain why any of them like you.”
Materialistic or not, “diamonds” fit the puzzle in a way “brains” did not. Or cupcakes, which were my best friend outside of, you know, actual human beings. The zombie made a half-hearted swipe as I passed where he lay on the floor. Blinking sweat out of my eyes, I lunged for the final padlock and punched the four symbols I’d been given. Nothing happened.
“It’s wrong!” I shouted, trying to keep one eye on the clock, one on the zombie, and one on the padlock. Unfortunately, I didn’t have three eyes.
“Did you clear it first?” Patrick asked.
“What?”
“Before you put in the code, you have to push the mechanism to the right twice,” he said.
Right. The host had explained how to operate the final lock when w
e walked in. In my excitement, I completely forgot. With shaking hands, I reached for the padlock again, pushing to the right once, then again.
The zombie growled and lurched for me. I leapt back, away from the door. Patrick skirted the desk, racing back for the armoire. I watched, stuck in one spot. Where I stood, the zombie couldn’t reach me, but he blocked me from the exit, and the clock ticked steadily down toward zero. Less than a minute left.
Then the zombie grunted and moved backward. He stumbled, falling to his knees.
“I got him!” Patrick yelled.
Out of the corner of my eye, Patrick held the gathered chain, which forced the zombie toward the armoire. It turned and reached for him. Wiping my hands on the sides of my pants, I lunged for the padlock again.
For the second time, I entered the code. Diamond, spade, heart, spade.
The zombie spun around, reaching for me.
The lock clicked open. I yanked it off the door, wrenching the knob with all my strength. The stale, increasingly ripe air in the tiny room whooshed outward. I stumbled through the doorway, jumping up and down as everyone in the room cheered.
Success!
Patrick grabbed me from behind, sweeping me into his arms and lifting me up over his head. I screamed and clapped before turning around and closing him in a massive hug.
It was the sweetest victory I’d experienced in a long time.
* * * *
After we did our wrap-up interviews, Logan insisted that Patrick accompany us back to the Fishbowl to celebrate our victory with drinks and dessert. After all, he set up the event; he deserved to enjoy the spoils.
I sat beside my father on the bus ride back, reliving every moment of the experience. For those few minutes, it felt like we’d never been apart. When we reached the house and everyone else stampeded into the kitchen, he hung back, motioning me into the living room.
“Thanks for letting me come,” Patrick said. “I was worried you would ban me.”
“I thought about it. But at the end of the day, it wouldn’t have been fair.” Also, it would have gone completely against the Plan. I needed to go with the flow, even when I didn’t want to. Even when flirting with Logan made me uncomfortable. “Besides, if the producers wanted you there, nothing I could’ve said would make a difference.”
“True, but it means a lot. And I appreciate being included in the party.”
“Well, you did save me from a zombie. It would’ve been horribly rude to deny you ice cream after.”
He took my hands and led me to the couch. “Sit down, Jen. I want to ask you something.’
The change in his tone and intense look he gave me made me wonder if he needed my spare kidney. Maybe that was why he’d come back after all these years: not for fame or fortune or to make things right, but because he needed an organ only Adam or I could provide.
“I’m so proud of you, Pumpkin,” he said. “I know you don’t want to hear this, and I know you must hate me, but I feel so grateful every time I look at you.”
“I never hated you,” I said, surprised that the words felt true. “I hated that you left us.”
“I never wanted to leave you. Your mom and I were like oil and vinegar. There was no way to make it work. And the unfortunate reality of life is that sometimes, when couples split, the kids pay the price. I wish that weren’t true.”
“It doesn’t have to be true. Plenty of divorced couples prioritize their kids.”
“You’re right, and maybe things would’ve been different if I hadn’t been in the slammer. But I’m here now, and I want to make things right.”
“Well, taking me on a zombie adventure was a good start. Really, I appreciate it.”
“I’m glad.” He swallowed and wiped his hands on his pants before catching my gaze. “Now, listen. I know I have no right to ask you this…”
Here it was. He wanted one of my kidneys. That’s why he’d come.
“I’ve been trying real hard to prove myself to you. We had a nice dinner the other night, and today was a blast. The most fun I’ve had in ages.”
“It was a great day,” I said. “Thank you again.”
“I want to be your father in truth, Jen,” he said. “I don’t want to be just some guy sitting in the audience when my baby girl gets married. I’ve missed too much of your life.”
With a start, I realized where he was going. I could have stopped him, given an immediate answer, not made him ask the question that hurt his pride. But I wanted to hear him apologize, to weigh the sincerity of his tone. I wished I were watching this moment on TV, so I could pause and walk away and be certain of my feelings before saying something that could damage the fragile truce we were forming. I wanted to call Mom, ask how she felt. But real life didn’t give time-outs. Besides, I knew how she felt about my father’s reappearance.
When he spoke again, tears glistened in his eyes. “I know you’re not property and you certainly don’t need to be ‘given away,’ and I know I don’t have any right to ask, but it would mean the world to me if you’d let me walk you down the aisle on Saturday.”
Never would I have predicted the gut punch those words carried. My mouth went dry. For fifteen years, I would’ve done anything in the world to get my father’s attention. I’d have walked over hot coals if it meant he’d attend the father-daughter dance so I wouldn’t be the only girl who missed out. And now, here he was in front of me, extending the olive branch I’d dreamed of.
My heart pounded. The Network held me over an emotional chasm the size of the Grand Canyon. I didn’t know if I could walk next to the father who abandoned me with a smile. I didn’t know if I wanted to. But the cameras were on me, and he deserved an answer. The Network obviously wanted me to say yes. They might make me reshoot if I didn’t play along. Or perhaps they’d stage another, more touching father-daughter moment tomorrow.
Not knowing what to do, I pictured myself walking into the wedding alone. Then I pictured it again, this time holding on to my father’s arm. In my imagination, he looked so dashing in his tux, I could see why Mom fell for him, all those years ago. My heart ached.
To my surprise, my vision blurred. I blinked repeatedly to gain control of myself. I started to speak, but my mouth was dry. Someone handed me a glass of water, which I gulped gratefully before trying again.
“I appreciate how hard it must have been for you to come here this week,” I said. “You probably weren’t expecting to be welcomed back with open arms, and it takes guts to show up anyway. It means a lot to me. On top of that, you spent a lot of time–”
Raised voices floated through the doorway from the hall, cutting me off.
“Don’t be ridiculous!”
Mom. I wondered who she was talking to.
“I’m going in to see my daughter. I don’t care what you’re filming. Get your hands off me, young man!”
At that, I stood. I didn’t know what was going on, but I wasn’t about to let them manhandle my mother. My guess was, they didn’t want my parents to meet face-to-face without exactly the right contrived moment.
Before I made it across the room, Mom appeared in the doorway. “Jen! There are you. I don’t know what’s wrong with the producers. They told me not to disturb you.”
“You’re always welcome in this house, Mom. It’s okay.”
“I figured you were with the wedding planner.” She spotted my father and turned to him, extending one hand. “Hello. I’m Tina Carter. Who are you?”
Chapter 11.5
On the Groom Cam, Wednesday:
The camera opens on an exterior shot of a bridal boutique.
Justin: No, I’m not looking for a wedding gown. Since we still don’t have a flight, Sarah and I are here to try on her dress. She’s a bit camera-shy when she’s not talking about baked goods, so I told her to meet me here in another ten minutes. I’ve worked out a surprise.
The camera goes dark. A moment later, racks of white dresses in plastic bags fill the scene. The camera pans to the left, past the dressing room doors, then onto a rainbow of bridesmaid and mother-of-the-bride dresses.
Justin (voice from inside the dressing room): Ready?
A woman’s voice (off-camera): Ready!
The dressing room door opens. Justin stands in a strapless, floor-length white gown with a lace bodice and a wide ribbon around the waist. The bottom of the dress bells out. A glittering belt wraps all the way up his left arm. On his head sits a tiara with a veil. He exits the dressing room, the train of the dress and the long veil flowing out behind him.
A bell rings, out of sight. The camera pans to Sarah, standing in the doorway. She takes one look at Justin and bursts out laughing.
Justin: What’s so funny? Am I not a beautiful bride?
Sarah is doubled over, unable to speak. Justin pulls on the sash around his waist, and it comes off. The bottom of the dress falls away, leaving Justin in a lace sheath.
Justin: Look! I’m ready for the reception.
Sarah wipes her eyes. Stop! I’m crying here.
Justin: I don’t know what’s so funny. Cut your hair, and you’re looking at your own wedding day, twin sister. It’s the happiest day of your life!
Sarah straightens. Right. My wedding day is something we need to discuss when I haven’t met anyone I wanted to date in like a year.
Justin: Two and a half, but who’s counting?
Sarah shoots her brother a dirty look. The camera returns to an extreme close-up of Justin. Okay, so I lied about not trying on dresses. But it was worth it for the look on Sarah’s face.
The shop’s owner greets Sarah in the voice previously heard off-camera. The camera is handed off to someone else before another woman shows Sarah a rack of three teal dresses. She takes all three into the dressing room with a stern look back at the camera. Don’t even try to follow me with that thing.
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