Page 45 of Mr. Edwards
“I’m nervous,” I admit, giving Reece a tight smile. “What if he doesn’t like me?” I don’t mean to say those words out loud, but the closer it gets to his visit the more freaked out I’m becoming.
“Not possible. Besides, he’s your dad, he has to like you.” He smiles, trying to make light of the situation, but that doesn’t mean anything to me. My mom hates me the majority of the time.Oh God. That thought almost sends me over the edge.
Please don’t hate me, Dad.
I stay rooted to the spot, my eyes constantly flicking to the clock. It’s been over an hour now, he’s late. Reaching into the back pocket of my jeans, I retrieve the last letter my dad wrote me. I stuffed it in there before coming downstairs, along with his baseball cap. I love that hat, but I thought he might want it back. I don’t need it to feel close to him anymore… I’m going to have him instead.
Quickly scanning over his reply, I double-check the date he mentioned in his letter. “It’s the 22ndtoday,right?” I ask Michelle, who’s been watching me curiously from behind the desk.
“Sure is, sweetie.”
The corners of my lips turn up slightly, but I don’t say anything in return. He’ll be here soon he’s probably caught in traffic.
Rising from the chair, I head toward the front door and Michelle catches my movement.
“Oh my God, is he here?” she squeals with enthusiasm.
“No, not yet. I’m going to check outside.”
“Ah. Okay.”
My gaze moves from one end of the street to the other. I don’t even know what kind of car he has. That sets my mind wondering. Imagine if he arrives in a flashy sports car; I’ve never been inside a car like that. What if he has the top down and takes me for a spin around town? That would be so cool.
I pace the sidewalk, all the while scanning the area for any signs of him. As time passes, that feeling of dread returns. Maybe I’m expecting too much. Maybe he won’t arrive in a sports car. I don’t care what kind of vehicle he drives I just want to see him. To be honest, he could arrive on a bicycle or even on foot… I wouldn’t mind at all.
“Hey,” Reece says, popping his head out the door. “You all right out here?”
“Yep.”
“Any sign of him yet?”
“No. He must be running late.”
He nods. “I’m sure he’ll be here soon.” His words are meant to encourage me, but I see the truth on his face. He’s doubtful.
“What time is it?” I ask.
He looks down at his watch. “Almost six.” I cringe. “Why don’t you come in and wait? It’s getting cold out here.”
“Okay,” I begrudgingly agree.
I follow him back inside, but instead of sitting by reception, I take a seat on the carpet in front of the large windows. I have a better view from here.
As time drags on, I rest my elbows on my knees, dropping my head and burying my face in my hands. It’s well after seven now and I’m struggling to hold the tears back, but I only have myself to blame.You create your own heartache with expectations, right?If you expect nothing, you can never be disappointed.
“How you holding up, kid?” Reece asks, squatting down beside me.
“He’s not coming, is he?”
I lift my head and glance at him over my shoulder when he doesn’t reply. The pained look on his face tells me everything his words don’t. Yet, my eyes still plead with him for an answer, but in my heart, I already know the truth, and it hurts way more than I want to admit.
Why am I such a hard person to love?
Standing quickly, I wipe my eyes with the heel of my palms. I’m ready to get out of here. I take one last look outside the window and spot a man across the road. He has what appears to be a map in his hand, and he’s studying the buildings that line that side of the street. My heart thunders in my chest.
He came.
“I think that’s him,” I squeal, already making my way toward the exit.
