Page 107 of The Lake of Lost Girls

“You don’t understand,” Dad said, backing away. “She was a mess. Then that man swooped in and scrambled her head. She wasn’t seeing straight.” He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes and let out a wail that terrified me.

“Dad …”

My father held out his arms, keeping me at bay. “Stop, Lindsey. Don’t touch me. This is all my fault.”

Jessica:

“Jess.”

My dad came around from the side of the house. I knew he wanted to speak to me and I had intended on trying to avoid him as much as possible. At this point, what was there left to say?

“Hi, Dad.” Derision dripped from my lips. My revulsion hit him like a sledgehammer. It began to overpower the love that still simmered there, bubbling away under the surface.

“Who was that?” he asked softly, carefully, like he was worried I might break.

“No one,” I answered, my hand still on the lid of the trunk. I didn’t want to look at him.

“Are you seeing that man?” I continued to ignore him. “Answer me,” he hissed.

I finally turned to him, coming around the side of the car. I looked back at the house, relieved that Lindsey was still somewhere else, far away from this.

“So what if I am?”

“He’s too old for you …” His words trailed off as we both felt the hypocrisy of them.

“I guess I have Daddy issues,” I taunted. The gloves had finally come off. I was no longer my father’s little girl. I was a full grown woman, and I was angry.

Dad took me by the arm, pulling me toward the garage where he pushed me inside, slamming the door behind him. “Haven’t you put me through enough?” he entreated with so much agony it gave me pause.

But then I remembered everything that had happened. Everything I had done.

Everything that led to this one awful moment.

“Of course, Dad, make this all about you,” I challenged.

“Thisisabout me, right? Isn’t that what you’ve been telling me for months?” He wanted to yell, but he couldn’t. Because then Mom would overhear him and what would he tell her?

What lies would he invent to cover us both?

“Yes, Dad. You’re right. It is all your fault.”

I hated him so much. No, I hated how much I didn’t hate him.

“Jess, please,” he begged, his pain almost visceral. “I miss you. I miss us. Please …”

I couldn’t help it.

I couldn’t stop myself.

For all of my rage, there was still so much love, no matter how much I wished there wasn’t. Seeing him upset physically hurt me.

I wrapped my arms around him and started crying. Once I started, I couldn’t stop. I needed my dad.

He stood like a statue for a long, endless moment before his arms came up to encircle me.

“Shh, Jess. I’ll take care of this,” he cooed and I wanted to have faith in his promise.

For the first time in a long time, I let myself believe him.

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