Page 126 of Damnation
“Aha!” I hear her swear under her breath. “I knew he was behind this insanity somehow. Goddamned Collins. I swear, I’m gonna kill him. I’m actually going to kill him this time! Yes, you dick, I’m talking to you! You’re a dead man, you hear?” I can hear her yelling from far away, like she’s pulled the phone away from her face for the moment. And then my heart stops at the idea that she might actually be addressing Thomas. That he’s right there, a few feet away from her.
“Hey, Tiff. Listen, I don’t want you to be mad at him. He hurt me, not you. And please believe me when I say that he’s not the only reason I feel like I need to do this. It’s a combination of everything. You were right, I need to find a way to start myself over again. And I can’t do that if I’m standing still in the same place while everything goes to hell around me. If I don’t do it now when it’s vacation and school is closed, I don’t know when I’m going to get another chance.”
Tiff answers after a few seconds of silence. “Please just tell me you know what you’re doing.”
“I do.”
“Are you truly, truly sure about this, Nessy?”
“I am. It’s not just a whim, I promise. I want to do this. I need to.”
Another prolonged silence. So prolonged that, at a certain point, I start to wonder if she’s still on the phone. “You there?”
“You have to call me every day. I want to know every move you make, understand? If you go to the grocery store, you tell me. If you hit up the pharmacy, you tell me that too, got it?”
I tuck some hair behind my ear, chuckling softly. “Got it.”
“Okay, then. Leave, go to Montana. Put the pieces of your life back together, and then you come back here. To your home. Because I can deal with that hair-gelled blond dolt Alex being gone, but not you. I love you, and remember, keep me updated on everything.”
I smile. “I promise I will. And I love you too.”
Twenty-Nine
The flight was almost two hours. I was tired as hell, but I still didn’t get a wink of sleep—too much adrenaline in my body. When we landed, I grabbed my bag and got into a taxi, giving the driver the address from the note that Dorothy had given me. Now I’m here, sitting on these worn taxi seats. The roads we’re traveling on are windy, and the car bounces over potholes while I look out the window at the snow-covered Montana countryside and the white hills in the distance. It must have snowed last night.
I find myself jiggling my feet and chewing my thumbnail, two gestures that I repeat in a nearly mechanical fashion. Neurotic. The taxi driver glances at me several times through the rearview mirror, his forehead wrinkling. He’s probably wondering what’s wrong with me.
“We’ll be there in just a few minutes, miss.” He smiles at me, probably thinking to reassure me, but my heart only beats more wildly as he says it. There’s a roaring in my head. I haven’t seen or heard from my father in more than three years. And he certainly isn’t expecting to see me now. I’m insanely afraid of what might happen, and I’m starting to think it wasn’t such a good idea to come out here.
The driver stops at the entrance to a private road bordering a series of town houses all decorated for Christmas. He explains to me that the address on the paper is on this street but that, because the area isrestricted to residents, he has to leave me here. I pay the fare and get out of the car.
I drop my bag on the ground, raising a puff of snow that settles on my Converse, dampening them immediately. Maybe wearing canvas shoes wasn’t my brightest idea. But I don’t pay it much mind; I’m too busy staring around in bewilderment.
Despite being the largest city in the state, here on the outskirts of Billings, the air feels clean, and the sun warms my face even if the wind is biting. I look up at the sky, an almost blinding blue that is only accentuated by the blanket of snow on the ground. I shut my eyes for a few seconds and inhale deeply; the air smells like winter and sunshine.
Okay, I’m here. I can do this.
I sling my bag over my shoulder and set off. The street is wide and deserted. I walk along for a few feet, listening to the sound of snow crunching beneath my shoes until I find a mailbox in front of one house with the wordsTurner and Clarkwritten on it. My heart begins to pound in my chest again.
This is the one. This is his house.
There’s a little snowman standing in the front yard, with a carrot for a nose, two chestnuts for eyes, a little wool hat on top, and branches for arms with a child’s gloves stuck on the ends. I realize, with a pang in my heart, that my father probably made that snowman with his son. The son for whom he shoved me aside.
I’ve just ginned up my courage and walked toward the house when a disheveled gray cat hurls itself at my feet, purring against the toes of my shoes. A tiny smile escapes me as I crouch down. “Hey little guy, where’d you come from? Aren’t you getting cold just hanging around out here?” I scratch him under the chin, and he seems to really appreciate it. He lingers there, his belly bared to the air and his eyes closed, just rubbing his head against my shoe. “Are you lost?” I check to see if there’s a collar around his neck, but I don’t spot anything. I guess he’s a stray. I pet him for a few minutes, just observing the house in front of me.
The porch is decorated with strings of lights, which are already oneven though it’s broad daylight. There’s a back patio that looks immaculate, and a well-tended garden. A child’s toys are scattered around in the snow. My head throbs at the idea that this child is my brother. The last memory I have of him is from one afternoon in the late autumn when I was at my father’s house. Dad had gone to take a work call, and Bethany and I were left alone in the kitchen. Even though we weren’t speaking to each other, I offered to help watch little Liam if she had work to do as well. That particular afternoon, the baby kept tugging on the hem of my jeans to get my attention. I barely had time to pick him up, intending to put him in his high chair, when Bethany shoved me aside and took over, glaring angrily at me.
I got the message loud and clear: I wasn’t to touch the baby. Liam stared up at me with big bewildered eyes while he gummed his fingers with the kind of innocence that only children have. I was so hurt by the rejection that I just grabbed my things and ran out so I wouldn’t burst into tears right in front of her. I was only fifteen and trying to be accepted, an effort that she always nipped in the bud.
I snap out of those thoughts with a shrug. I look down at the cat and smile again. “I really do have go, you know?” I stand up, and he stretches before jumping up onto a large rock nearby and posing there like he’s trying to sunbathe.
I, on the other hand, take a huge breath and approach the door. I hesitate a moment before I ring the doorbell. What if she opens the door? She’ll probably chase me off, and my journey here will have all been for nothing.
Anxiety eating away at me, I put my ear to the door in an attempt to try to listen for my father’s voice on the other side. There’s a bit of confusion, but I think I hear both voices, albeit muffled. Enough of this. Without overthinking it, I reach out and ring the bell. Then I step back immediately, like the doorbell has shocked me.
The wait lasts a couple of minutes, and I feel like I’m dying the entire time.
I rub my palms on my jeans, chewing aggressively on the corners of my lips. Then, I hear the sound of heavy footsteps drawing closerand closer, and there’s suddenly a part of me that feels a strong urge to flee. The other parts, however, are practically imploding with the need to see who it is.
