Page 48 of The Lake of Lost Girls

“Ben, we can’t,” I heard her say, though I could tell she didn’t mean it. It was only the teasing protests of flirtation.

I kept my distance, far enough that they didn’t see me. But close enough that I saw everything.

My hands became fists at my side.

My father—my beloved, doting father—pushed the girl against the brick wall, his hands sliding up her shirt. Her fingers were in his hair. Their mouths were fused together as if they couldn’t get enough.

I heard her moan as his lips traveled the length of her neck. Her head fell back, her bright, blonde hair—the complete opposite of my mother’s dark brown—fell over her shoulders, her eyes closed.

I recognized her. We went to school together, though she was a year behind me. She must be a senior now. No more than seventeen. Maybe eighteen.

Too young to be making out with my forty-two year old father in a dirty alleyway behind the local movie theater.

I took a step toward them, my foot accidentally kicking a can that clattered along the ground. It was loud in the oppressive silence.

They both looked up, startled. The girl fixed her tight-fitting sweater, smoothing her hair back from her face. She barely looked at me, instead grabbing my father’s hand, pulling him away.

But not before he saw me. Our eyes met and there was a flash of anger. A hint of shame.

This wasn’t the first time I found him like this. There had been so many of them. Too many. So, I knew this girl didn’t matter to him. None of them ever did.

I walked into the fire escape, the door closing loudly behind me. I carried two empty boxes, taking them out to the trash. I was finally all moved into my dorm. I was exhausted and nervous, but excited, too. I could hear whispers further down the stairwell.

I had left Mom and Lindsey talking to my new roommate and her parents. Dad had gone to get us drinks a while ago and hadn’t come back yet.

I wondered where he was.

My feet hit the bottom step and I could see two people tucked away in the shadow of the staircase. The man leaned in close toward the young girl, speaking softly in her ear. She looked nervous, but excited, her pale cheeks flushed. I had seen her earlier carrying a suitcase, a man and a woman who must be her parents right behind her. The man had been yelling at his wife, who appeared skittish and uncomfortable. Their daughter had either been oblivious to the familial discord or so used to it that she blocked it out.

I recognized the red-checkered shirt the man was wearing. And the perfectly styled brown hair.

I watched as he took the girl’s hand, pulling her toward him. She tilted her face up to look up at him. She was pretty. They always were. He wouldn’t bother with them if they weren’t.

I felt sick watching them.

Not here. Not today.

I coughed loudly. My dad dropped the girl’s hand. She looked like a deer in headlights. Without a word, she scrambled away, hurrying out the door and onto the quad.

Then it was just Dad and me.

“You promised.” It was an accusation.

What if Mom had seen? Or Lindsey? Or anyone?

But that was part of the thrill for a man like my father. I got that now. It wasn’t worth it if it wasn’t dangerous.

“Jess.” He said my name sadly. As if I didn’t understand. As if I were the problem. As if I were a child, and not the same age as the young woman he was just flirting with.

“You promised,” I repeated. I dropped the empty boxes and ran back up the stairs.

I stood there for a long time after they left.

I hated him. More than I thought it possible to hate anyone.

I loved him. More than I thought it possible to love anyone.

And then I cried. Because it was the only thing I could do.

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