Page 8 of Sunsets & Slow Dances

“Where you been all night?” my grandpa, who everyone, including myself, called Buzz, asked as he rounded the corner from the kitchen with his coffee mug in hand.

“I was out looking for Chloe.” Why did people insist on asking questions they already knew the answers to? As I stood, I realized that he was at the age his memory might be slipping, so even though he knew when I left exactly where I was going and what I was doing, I should probably double-check that she hadn’t come home since I’d asked him to call me if she did. “Chloe hasn’t come home, has she?”

“Nope. But I don’t see why you got your knickers in a twist. That little lady’s got a good head on her shoulders.”

“She’s thirteen,” I reminded Buzz.

“She’ll be ‘aight,” he dismissed.

His assurance meant nothing considering he had as much information as I did, which was that she snuck out of the house and her phone was either turned off or dead because it was going straight to voicemail.

Bruce “Buzz” Knight was the most laid-back man I’d ever known. I don’t think I’d ever seen him get upset, stressed, or ‘riled up’ as he liked to call it. Unfortunately, I’d inherited my temperament from my father, and not from him. It didn’t take much to get under my skin. I’d done everything I could not to react like my father had. I practiced meditation. I read books onanger management. I even went to therapy when I had Matty because I did not want to be the same father to him that I had.

“I don’t know why you’re makin’ such a fuss. She just lost her mama, so she went out with her friends for New Year’s Eve to blow off steam.”

“Exactly.” That was my fear.

“Is Chloe home?”

I turned around, and Matty was standing at the bottom of the stairs. His light brown bedhead hair was sticking up in all directions. One leg of his Batman pajama bottoms was scrunched up to his knee, and his other was down to his ankle. He rubbed his eye with his left hand as he yawned.

“Not yet, little man. You hungry?”

“Is she okay?” His arm dropped down to his side so he could have both hands free to double-barrel pet Betty and Bandit, whose tails were going a mile a minute with excitement at someone else joining in the morning festivities.

“She’ll be ‘aight.” Buzz repeated as he sipped his coffee with one hand and ruffled Matty’s hair with the other before patting his head.

Matty winced under the force of Buzz’s pat. The old man didn’t know his own strength. He might be in his late eighties, but he still worked his land every day. He wasn’t gym strong; he was manual labor strong. He also wore the same rings on his hand that he used to bop me and my friends with when we acted up, and they had some weight to them.

“Do you want some cereal?” I asked Matty.

Matty nodded.

I went to the kitchen and poured Matty a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch, which was a staple my mom always kept because it was her favorite. I was just putting it down in front of him when I heard the door open.

My heart slammed into my chest as I walked around the corner and saw Chloe walking through the door.

“Chloe,” I breathed out in relief. Her long brown hair was in two French braids, her face was scrubbed clean with no makeup, and she was wearing a hoodie and sweats and slides. It didn’t look like she’d been out clubbing or anything.

She didn’t even spare me a glance; just walked right past me to the stairs as if I didn’t exist.

“Chloe,” I said a little louder.

She stopped but continued staring straight ahead.

“Where were you? I’ve been out all night looking for you.”

“I spent the night at my friend’s house,” her tone was clipped.

“I was worried about you. I went to the police?—”

“Oh my god!” Her head fell back dramatically. “You are so cringe.”

“You can’t just leave and not tell me where you are.”

Now she did turn toward me. Her eyes were filled with anger, and a single tear slid down her cheek as she seethed through a clenched jaw, “Youarenotmy dad.”

With that, she rushed up the stairs and slammed the door so hard the windows shook.

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