Page 4 of Blood Moon
He stared down at me with dark brown eyes, lips folding at the corners, the first sign of him cracking.
“Don’t,”I wanted to say, but I couldn’t. It would have come out too harsh and with a snap. Despite how much I wanted to, I couldn’t dictate the way he felt, even if it was met with fallen silence and hovering.
And because I knew my father—and he’d never admit it in the moment—I knew it would take some convincing for Bobby to turn and leave this place because, deep down inside, Bobby didn’t want me to go. He wanted what was best for me, and this, he believed,wasthe best thing for me.
We stayed like that for approximately thirty more seconds, and I listened to the sounds of people shuffling down the hallway with their belongings and other students rearranging and setting up their rooms.
“Are you going to be okay?” I said it as gently as I knew how.
He cleared his throat, but the words ruptured on their way out. “Of course, I am. I’m Chief Deputy. I’m always okay.”
I twisted my lips to the side. He was deflecting, and work was a part of that. A new marriage was what it had become. It had been since his friends sat him down that day and told him to snap out of it.
Bobby placed his hands on his hips. “I’m really proud of you,” he said through clenched teeth. He looked away from me, his eyes glossing, his bottom lip trembling. I had to fight not to be who I normally was—to convey that I’d be okay, and that, despite it all, I was thankful for all he’d done for us … for me.
Within moments, I walked to where he stood, wrapping my arms around him. He kissed my forehead and whispered, “You’re going to be incredible. I just know it.”
I squeezed him tighter, feeling the rush of blood to my cheeks, the tightness in my eyes and throat. It was the sound of someone dropping a box in the hallway that made me pull away.
We both wiped our faces, and he said, “You look so much like her today.”
The mention of her made me pause, and my body tensed. We didn’t talk about Rena. Not really. A few weeks after she left, he told me it wasn’t my fault—that there was something wild inside her that made her pull away from us like she did—it was the way she was wired.
She’d had an ache that couldn’t be fed, a hunger about her that gnawed beneath the surface. My body rejected every reason he gave me because it was never enough.
The last day I saw her, she dropped me off at school.“More than the stars in the sky …”she had said.“More than the air in the world …”she breathed.“More than the life I live … that’s how much I love you.”She had whispered it between the tangles of my curls as she hugged me that day.
It wasn’t abnormal for her to declare such a sentiment upon departure. She’d always been lyrical and well-spoken in this way that withstood time. But there was something about the way she said it that caused me to tense up. I remembered squeezing my fingers into my hands so tightly as I walked into the building that my nails created crescent moons in the centers of my palms by the time I got to class.
We’d had plans after dinner. A girls’ night, complete with cheesecake and her favorite wine; she’d promised I could take a sip of it.
But that evening, the stars were dull and covered by looming clouds, the air was stilted with a bareness, and she was gone …
Bobby wiped his hands on his jeans and blew out a long bout of air. He noticed how tight my shoulders were after he mentioned Rena. How they loomed close to my neck, pushing inward.
“Di—Didn’t mean to upset you,” he said, fumbling a bit. Bobby was well aware of the few rash habits I’d developed after Rena left. I used to slam doors and talk back—both of which he corrected immediately.
But I also had a fixation with breaking things. I did it just to know how it felt to end something; the sound of glass shattering brought a pleasure that masked the pain I felt from her absence. It was a surge of power, dominance.
Even if it felt good, Bobby was tired of replacing the remote control, tired of finding small plastic pieces scattered around the house. But he was something beyond livid when I shattered the mirror in my bedroom for the third time.
He’d had the same talk with me that his friends had with him. “Enough is enough,” he’d said. After that, he placed me in therapy, where I learned to turn my anger into running, which I despised mostly because I despised running—but to my astonishment, it worked. It exhausted me so much that all I could do was shower and fall into bed after.
It also turned out that running was cheaper than therapy—which was effective but extremely expensive. Bobby would have paid whatever the cost to see me happy, but I insisted I was better, even if it was a partial lie. For what it was worth, I did feel slightly better than I had prior.
I sighed, trying my best to ease the tension in my body. “It’s okay. I’m okay,” I promised.
He measured me for a few beats before he broke eye contact, patted his pockets to make sure he had his keys and his wallet. “I’m only a call away if you need me.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“I love you, Bug.”
I gave him a look.
“You’re always gonna bemyBug.”
My smile wavered as I rolled my eyes. “I love you, too.”
