In Another Life

by C. C. Hunter

  “How? Oh yeah, you stalked me on the internet.”

  “I didn’t stalk you. I checked you out.”

  “What’s your Facebook address?” He heard her typing something into the computer.

  “I don’t have one. Not a real one.”

  “You have a fake Facebook account? But not a real one.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why?”

  “Because … I like stalking people on the internet.” It was a joke. She didn’t laugh.

  “Seriously?”

  “At the other school, I heard some of the kids were talking about me on Facebook. I wanted to check it out … anonymously.”

  She didn’t say anything for a few seconds, then, “Do you run?”

  “I try to. But this summer, I did more swimming.”

  “Are you on a swim team?” she asked.

  “No. The Fullers have a pool. And I went to their lake house a lot.”

  “You don’t play sports?”

  “I like watching them. But never played.”

  “Really? With your size, I’d think some coach would have had you playing football years ago.”

  “They shy away from foster kids. We move a lot.”

  “Did you?”

  “What?” he asked.

  “Move a lot before you lived with the Fullers?”

  He ran a hand over his face. Why had he brought up the foster program? “They were my fourth home.”

  “Was it bad?”

  Not as bad as with my dad. “Not really.”

  “How old were you when your father died?”

  He wanted to change the subject, but she’d accused him of doing that at the park. “Eleven.”

  “How … how did your father die?”

  Shit. This was the downside of getting close to a girl. They wanted your life history.

  The line went silent.

  “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

  He almost said good, but opted for, “It’s a long story, and it’s late.”

  “Yeah. I should let you go.”

  He felt her pulling away. When he wanted to pull her closer.

  “He died in a car wreck.” It was true. Cash had wrecked the car. But it was the bullet in his father’s friggin’ chest that’d killed him.

  “Were you in the car with him?”

  “No.”

  “I’m sorry.” Emotion came with her apology. “When my mom got cancer, I was so scared of losing her. I don’t think I could have handled it. That must’ve been so hard.”

  He hated hearing her sympathy. He didn’t deserve it. And neither did his son of a bitch father.

  * * *

  Saturday afternoon, I’m at Lindsey’s, helping her figure out what to wear on her date with David. I’m thrilled they are dating. But I’m struggling to work up some good vibes. Mom’s been down all day. I barely got her out of her room to eat.

  Seeing her depressed makes me feel guilty for agreeing to see Dad. Oh, I know it’s not fair that she makes me feel that way, and honestly, I don’t think she wants to make me feel that way. But she does and I do. Add that I’m not looking forward to seeing Dad, and it’s understandable that my mood isn’t much better than Mom’s.

  “I like this blue blouse better,” I say to Lindsey.

  “It’s not too plain?”

  “No, it shows off your girls.”

  “It doesn’t show them off too much, does it? I don’t want him to think I’m trying to get him in the backseat on the first date.”

  I laugh. “It doesn’t say ‘let’s hop in the backseat’; it says ‘notice me a little.’”

  “And ‘notice’ is good, right?” She frowns. “I don’t know if I’m ready for this.”

  “You’re ready,” I say.

  She looks at me in the mirror. “I wish it were a double date. Can’t you call Cash and see if you two can go with us?” She turns.

  “I can’t. I’ve got my dad tonight, remember?”

  “Oh.” She frowns. “Sorry.”

  “Me, too.” I drop on her bed and vow not to whine. I did enough of that last night, when we talked after I got off the phone with Cash. Sandy, one of my old friends, was a whiner. “Besides, I’m not really dating Cash.”

  “You’re going out Sunday. Plus, you made out with him on your porch swing.”

  “Yeah.” I smile, remembering, and if I could just think about that instead of the other stuff, I’d be happier. “But I don’t know if it’s a date, or just us figuring out if I’m Emily Fuller.”

  She rolls her eyes. “After that text he sent about wanting to kiss you?”

  Yeah, I’d shown her Cash’s text, too. “You’re right. I guess you’re not the only one who’s nervous.”

  “I just pray if he tries to kiss me, I won’t think about Jonathon. He emailed me this morning. Asked me what I was doing this weekend.”

  “You didn’t email him back, did you?”

  “Yes, but only to say I was busy. I had to hint that I wasn’t staying at home mourning him.”

  “Did he ask what you were doing?”

  “He did. I didn’t answer.” She grins.

  “Forget about him,” I say. “Tonight is going to be fun.”

  She drops down on her bed. “Should I tell David my deep, dark secret?”

  “What secret?”

  “That my mom’s a lesbian? Or is that not first-date information?”

  “Why would you need to tell him?” I ask.

  “Because if Lola is here, he might figure it out like you did.”

  “You wouldn’t feel the need to tell him if your mom were heterosexual. So why tell him this?”

  “Because not everyone thinks it’s normal like you.”

  “I don’t think you need to make a big deal about it.”

  She smiles. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For coming over. For saying all the right things. I asked Jamie to do it, and she said she and her cousin were getting pedicures.”

  “No big deal.” I wonder if Lindsey realizes she just told me I was her second choice. It sucks being someone’s second choice. But hey, it’s better than no choice.

  “Are you going to ask your dad about the name of the adoption agency?”

  “If I can find a way to bring it up in the conversation.”

  “Why don’t you just ask him?”

  “Because I don’t feel like explaining that I might be a kid who was kidnapped!” I snap.

  She runs a brush through her hair. “Do you really not remember anything about your life before?”

  I tell her the one and only princess-dress memory.

  “What about the kidnapping? I mean, you’d think that would’ve been traumatic and you’d remember it.”

  “I don’t.” Fear brushes against me “I tell her about the picture with the bruise on my face. Of the fear I can’t explain.”

  “Okay, that is creepy,” she says.

  “Yeah.”

  “You know you don’t have to tell your dad about the kidnapping thing. Just say you’ve been thinking about the adoption.”

  “Yeah.” But like I told Cash, I’m a peacemaker, not an egg breaker. Then again, the last few times I’ve spoken with, or seen, Dad, I’ve come unhinged. But the whole kidnapped thing is different. Bigger. And if I learn I’m really Emily Fuller, there won’t be a bowl big enough to hold the eggs that’ll break.

  My phone dings with a text. Thinking it’s Cash, I feel a thrill ride my rib cage and pool in my chest. It’s not from Cash.

  It’s Mom.

  Make sure your dad knows not to come inside the house. I don’t want to see him! And ask him why he hasn’t paid your car insurance yet.

  A crazy thought hits. Not about Mom, but Dad. About forgiving Dad.

  Maybe I won’t be able to forgive him until Mom’s okay. Maybe I won’t be able to forgive Dad until Mom forgives Dad.

  That might be, like … never.

  Th
at feels wrong, but it might be true.

  I drop back on Lindsey’s bed. “I hate my life.”

  * * *

  Working a little late, it was six when Cash was washing up to leave work. His phone dinged with a text. Hoping it was Chloe, he grabbed his cell. He hadn’t texted her today for fear she’d bring up his dad again, but he’d decided to text her later.

  He hoped she’d be up for another late call. Other than talking about his past, he’d enjoyed talking to her. He smiled about the whole Fifty Shades of Grey conversation.

  He looked at his phone. It wasn’t Chloe. The text was from Mrs. Fuller. Dread hit. He’d gotten out of the house this morning without seeing her. He didn’t have a clue how she was going to react to his bad idea comment about being adopted.

  He read the text.

  Tony and I are in a curry mood. Can you join us at Kiran’s Café?

  He wanted to decline, but maybe going out to eat would be easier than facing her at home.

  He texted back. What time?

  Seven?

  Sure.

  She sent back a smiley face. She texted a lot of smiley faces. He knew it was a sign that she cared. He also liked getting them.

  With an hour to kill, he decided to run to the bookstore. Talking with Chloe about reading had him eager to pick up a book. Perhaps he’d find one in the fantasy genre so they could talk about it.

  * * *

  Mom’s snuggled up with a book and Felix when I walk out of the bathroom after getting ready to go out with Dad.

  She looks up. “You look nice.”

  “Thanks.” All I did was comb my hair and put on mascara and lip gloss, but I know this is Mom playing nice, and I appreciate it. I check the time, and it’s almost six thirty. Leaning down, I pet Buttercup, who’s wagging his tail as if he thinks we’re going on another walk.

  “Do you want me to bring you something back to eat?” I ask Mom.

  “No! Wouldn’t want to eat anything your dad bought.” She’s already out of nice. “I’ll fix something.”

  “Why don’t you write?” I say.

  “I might.”

  What do you want to bet she doesn’t? She probably won’t eat either. I checked today, and she drank only two of her Boosts, total. What happened to drinking two a day? I swear, she’s even thinner now.

  “Later.” I grab my purse and walk out, feeling guilty for leaving her alone.

  Sitting on the porch steps, I see a truck stop next door. Then Jonathon, the no-good cheating dog, gets out. He sees me and nods. I nod back, but not in a friendly way. I know Lindsey left thirty minutes ago.

  I listen to him knock and ask for Lindsey. I hear her mom answer. “She’s out.”

  “Can you tell her—?”

  The door snaps closed. I smile. Lindsey’s mom doesn’t like the cheating dog either.

  I’m still smiling when I hear footsteps. Oh shit!

  I look down the street, praying I’ll see Dad’s car roll up. But nope.

  Then Jonathon is in front of me. “You’re the new girl at school, right? Chelsea?”

  “Chloe,” I say.

  “You and Lindsey ride to school together?”

  “Yup.” Where are you, Dad?

  “Do you know where she’s at?”

  Decisions. Decisions. I could tell him she’s on a hot date. Or I could … “Nope.”

  “Do you know who she’s with?”

  Decisions. Decisions. I go with the truth again. “Yes.”

  He frowns. “But you aren’t going to tell me, right?”

  “It’s not my place.”

  “You know, I’m not nearly as bad of a guy as she told you I was.”

  Right. So you didn’t cheat on her? I think it, but don’t ask.

  He leans against the porch post. “Where did you move from?”

  “El Paso,” I say, wishing he’d go away.

  “You like it here?”

  “No.” When I look up, he’s ogling my boobs. As if the guy has a chance in hell.

  He scuffs his shoe against the porch. “Well, since I’m not doing anything and you aren’t doing anything, maybe—?”

  “No.” Dad’s car pulls up. I stand. “Bye!”

  When I get into the car, Dad’s head is dipped down, staring at Jonathon, who is looking at us as he walks back to his truck. Considering Dad’s driving a red convertible and is wearing spiked hair, Jonathon probably thinks my dad’s my date. Ew.

  “Who’s that?” Dad asks.

  “No one.” I push back my dislike for Jonathon and confront my angst over Dad. He needs to lose the spiked hair.

  “You already have a boyfriend?”

  “No.” Then I remember Cash. “Maybe.”

  “Don’t you think that’s a little soon?”

  I shake my head.

  “Why didn’t you introduce us?” He sounds like a concerned father. Why does that annoy me? Then I realize why. He lost the right to parent me about boys or sex stuff when he started screwing Darlene.

  “First, because that’s not him. Second, because … just because.” I shut my mouth. I don’t want to argue.

  He stares, and from his expression, I can see he’s thinking the same thing. “It’s good to see you.” He reaches over and squeezes my hand. “We haven’t done a father–daughter date in a long time.”

  If you missed me so much, how come you sent flowers a day late or didn’t call me when you said you would? I swallow the question. No breaking eggs tonight. But I’ve thought about Lindsey’s remark about asking Dad some “vague” questions about the adoption agency. I might do it.

  Dad starts talking. “I Googled Indian restaurants in Joyful. There’s one, Kiran’s Café. You up for butter chicken?”

  17

  We talk about safe subjects, riding to the restaurant. The weather. The last book I read. He’s trying to make conversation, but he’s using up subjects so fast, I’m afraid we’ll run out.

  “How’re Brandon and Patrick doing?” I ask about Dad’s cousin and his husband, thinking those are safe subjects.

  “Don’t know. I haven’t seen them in a while.”

  “Why not?” They used to come to the house at least once a month, plus holidays. Brandon, a chef, would cook.

  “We’ve been busy.”

  We being him and Darlene. My next thought falls out of my mouth. “They don’t like Darlene?” That shouldn’t make me happy, but it does. “Or does she not like them?” That possibility ups my Dad angst. Since both my dad’s parents died in a car cash right after Mom and he were married, Brandon is Dad’s only family.

  “You shouldn’t let Darlene break up your family.” Then again, he let her break up our family.

  Dad’s expression flinches. “It’s not like that.” The lie colors his tone.

  In a few minutes, Dad parks and we enter the restaurant filled with the rich scent of curry, cumin, and turmeric. My stomach growls but my heart goes straight to hurting. I’m transported back to all the daughter-and-daddy dates in the past. Back to when spending time with Dad was one of my favorite things. We’d laugh. Talk soccer. Talk movies. He’d ask about school, my friends, my life. Not like he was checking up on me, but like he wanted to know everything about me because I interested him. Because I was important to him.

  I miss that. I miss him. The old him. The old us. A knot lodges in my chest.

  We’re seated at a front table. The waiter, a tall, older Indian man, hands us menus. Dad’s looking around like he’s confused. He takes the menu, but glances at the waiter. “Did this used to be Pauline’s Pizza?”

  “Yes,” the waiter says. “My brother bought it seven years ago.”

  “I thought so.”

  The waiter takes our drink orders and leaves.

  Dad looks at me. “Your mom worked here. I used to eat here every Friday night, because there was this guy who worked on Fridays who liked her.” There’s a look on his face as if the memory’s good; then, just like that, he blinks and that touch of happi
ness vanishes. He pulls up the menu as if to hide behind it. I can only speculate, but I swear his reminiscing of Mom hurt him. Or maybe remembering how badly he’s hurt her is what stings.

  Then again, I swear Dad doesn’t know how badly he hurt her. Or me.

  Is it terrible of me to want him to hurt? Maybe it’s normal, but it feels wrong. Everything feels wrong. Being here with him feels wrong.

  He sets down his menu. “You want to order the usual? Butter chicken and lamb vindaloo, and we share?”

  “Yeah,” I say.

  “You want anything else?”

  “Maybe,” I say, thinking the more food we have to eat, the less we’ll have to talk.

  The waiter brings our drinks. “Ready to order?”

  Dad looks at me. “Let’s order those two things first, and if you see something else, we can order that, okay?”

  I nod. Dad orders.

  When the waiter walks away, Dad and I are back to staring at each other. “So school’s okay?” he asks.

  I think he wants me to say it’s okay so he can feel less guilty. “I’m surviving it. Barely.” I’m not letting him off the hook that easy.

  He tells me about running into Cara and Sandy in the music store. Because Dad never went into the music store unless I begged him to, I figure he was with Darlene. I imagine my old friends’ shock at seeing Darlene. I wonder why neither of them texted me about it.

  They probably thought it’d hurt me. Embarrass me. It does.

  “I’m hungry,” Dad says when a different waiter walks past with plates of food.

  “Me, too,” I lie. I’m not sure I can eat. All those smells that at one time brought on feelings of love now bring on queasiness.

  We get quiet again. Dad’s phone dings with a text. He reads it. I wonder if it’s Darlene. Nope. Not hungry. The restaurant noise picks up. Forks hitting plates. Cooking noises from the kitchen. Low conversations. I hear the hostess asking someone how many are in the party.

  “Three. Thank you,” the patron answers. Those three words strike a familiar chord.

  I look up. A whoosh of air leaks out of my mouth. It’s Cash with a man and a woman. The woman from the video, but older. The man has dark hair. And brown eyes. Brown eyes like mine.