Page 96 of Whatever It Takes
Lo loves Jonathan.
I’m caught in the middle. Not knowing how I should feel about a man who was rumored to have molested Loren. A rumor that was false and caused Lo to relapse years ago. What I do know: Jonathan isn’t all good, even if that rumor was wrong.
But Jonathan is kind to me. He makes an effort to get to know me and my interests. We talk on the phone sometimes about comics, and he asks how my school is going. Rob Moore, the man I grew up thinking was my birth father, never even pretended to care about me. And he was right all along—I was never his daughter.
Not really.
So maybe he had a right to hate my existence.
It’d be so easy just to put all my hate into Rob, while putting all my love and trust into Jonathan. But Ryke says our dad is manipulative.
He says to not trust him.
To not fully love him.
I don’t know what to think.
I’m paying for my first semester of college on my own, but I’m also taking some of Jonathan’s money for the rest of the tuition. That’s all I want to take.
So I don’t fly private. I budget. I’m not going to pretend that I’m wealthy because it’s not my money, and I don’t want to be so far indebted to him that I can’t find my way out.
“Thank you for flying with us,” a flight attendant tells me as I exit the plane. I shake off all thoughts of my dad, each step towards baggage claim reminding me of the man on the other side.
Garrison.
Do I even remember what he smells like? I wonder if he changed shampoos while I’ve been gone. If he will look more tired and gaunt in person, or if that was just the trick of the cellphone screen.
Maybe the circles under his eyes aren’t as dark. Maybe he’s better…I hope so.
I follow the signs and descend two different escalators. My palms sweat and my heartbeat thumps wildly with each passing second. But then the baggage carousels come into view.
Whipping my head around, I try to find him in the crowds.
And then I freeze.
People move around me, passing to the nearest carousel, but my eyes are onhim.
Garrison stands near carousel four, his gaze already pinned to me, a bundle of pink orchids in his hand. But he’s just as frozen and rooted to place. Unmoving.
We just stare at one another like we’re processing the fact that we’re here.
In the same room.
Almost in breathing distance.
“Hi,” I say, but he’s too far away to hear me. But he sees me.
He sees.
Hi,he mouths back. I read his lips.
Tears prick my eyes, and I walk.
I jog.
I run.
My backpack almost slips off my shoulder, but I catch it at my elbow. He meets me halfway. We practically collide into one another, but it’s like reuniting a missing puzzle piece. Arms fitting around bodies. Heads leaning to the correct side on instinct. His chest against my body, warmth blazes through me—a hug so powerful that I tremble from his touch.
