Page 93 of The Crush
Seventy-Four
Isabel
Wednesday, November 2, 1994
I stand from my seat on the front porch the moment I see his headlights come into view. Wait for him to make his way down the dirt road and pull his truck into the empty drive, time stretching out while my nerves draw tight.
This time, I want to sprint for him through the dark. Throw my arms around his waist and tell him that everything will be all right.
But I don’t want to lie anymore.
“Isabel.” Daniel, too, remains where he is once he gets out of his truck, not taking a single step toward me, and his hesitation is all I need, the confirmation I had known to anticipate. Still I had hoped.God, I had hoped.
“I’m sorry,” he says in a low rasp. “I know you’re upset with me, and you have every right.” His eyes drop to the object on the porch beside me. “I’m sorry. I’ll take you back to your parents if that’s where you want to go.”
“That’s really what you think, isn’t it?” I ask, trying for calm but not quite keeping the color of my emotions out of my voice. “You really think I’d justleaveyou?”
He still doesn’t understand. He’s neverreallyunderstood.
“Well…” he says. “Youarestanding out here with your suitcase.”
“Well,” I repeat back to him, my fists bunching so tight that my nails dig into my palms, a poor distraction from the pain in my chest. “I wasn’t really sure what I needed to be prepared for since you disappeared in the middle of the night without talking to me.”
“I know, I did, and I’m—”
“Youleftme to wake up to you gone,” I remind him, taking a step to the edge of the stairs. “Again.” He opens his mouth to speak, but I’m not nearly done.
“Your dad called the hospital. He searched the roads.” Daniel winces, his crossed arms pulling tighter into his chest. “We didn’t know if you were hurt or, Jesus, if you weredead.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to make either of you worry.”
“To make usworry?” How does he not get it? How does he notseeit? The outline of this day has been seared into me. I feel like it should have left visible scars.
“I tried to call sooner,” he explains, muttering something that sounds likedamn receptionistbefore he adds, “But I know I should have left a note or—”
“Danny, you shouldn’t have leftat all.” There’s silence again, a long drawn-out pause that only seems to magnify the space between us before I ask, “What did my father say to you?”
When he seems surprised by my question, I’m nearly insulted.
“What? You didn’t think I would check?” I ask him, my head tilting as I shrug. “Kind of common sense when you lose something to look in the last place it was.”
“Right,” Daniel says simply, and I notice the way he keeps transferring his weight from one leg to the other, either out of anxiety or a struggle to stay standing or both.
“Why don’t you…come inside, okay?” I move farther down the stairs. “Come inside. And we can talk about it.”
“No.” He looks at my suitcase again before he shakes his head. “No, if you want to go back…I’ll—I’ll take you. This is my fault. I should never have let this get—”
“Don’t.” I point a surprisingly steady finger in his direction. “Please, don’t do this. You don’thaveto do this, Danny.”
“It’s the right thing. It’s the thing I should have done months ago,” he says, running his hands through his hair and tugging at the messy strands. “I just… Fuck, I just wanted yousomuch, but I can’t keep—I can’t keep making you pay for the shit I’ve done.”
“Danny,stop.”
“How?” he asks, a bitter laugh slipping free. “How was I ever supposed to juststop? I keep trying. I’vetried. I don’t know how to stop.”
I start to move toward him again, but he shakes his head, telling me to stay put. “The DEA has offered me my job back. They’ll let me work on the Cali cartel.”
I grip the porch railing. “And you said you would?”
