“You’re not going to Bornstead, are you?” I ask Tristan, but he just stares at me like he’s waiting for something.
“Is that what you’d like, Charity? Would that make you happy?”
“Where did you get that black eye?” I ask, sidestepping his question. It feels too personal to answer anyhow, and I swear, we probably only have like thirty seconds before Miranda comes back in here and yells at me for taking too long. “During fall break, where—”
“I know all about my own black eye; I don’t need you to describe it to me.” He reaches up and touches the side of his face in remembrance. I frown, but I know being a dickhead is his way of practicing self-defense. “And you, better than anyone, know perfectly well who gave it to me.”
“Your dad?” Tristan shrugs and turns away. I step toward him, a question on my lips that I know I shouldn’t ask but can’t help and then …
It’s actually Zayd this time that comes tromping in to bug us.
“Come on, Charity, it’s celebration time,” Zayd scoops me up in his arms and carries me out the door and down the steps.
We head down to my dorm and go inside, tea is served all around, and the movie is started.
It’s nearly ten minutes before there’s a knock on the door, and Zack gets up to answer. Without a word, Tristan steps inside and joins us.
Now the bullying and behind-the-scenes manipulation from Harper, that’s expected.
Seeing the king of the school in my room eating popcorn?
That’s the shock of a lifetime.To celebrate my acceptance into Bornstead, Dad and I go out for waffles first thing. He has to take a seriously loaded edible before we go because he’s having trouble eating. Or rather, he says he just doesn’t feel much like eating.
I’ve missed him like crazy, and sitting across from him in the Station, I feel this inescapable fear that takes hold of every part of my body and won’t let go. My dreams of getting rich and putting Dad up in a mansion to enjoy his retirement seem like a bunch of bullshit right now, like the naïve whimsy of a sheltered girl.
Charlie … he’s dying.
It’s almost too much for me to handle, that rush of feeling, but for Dad, I crush it all down and hide it away. Later, it’s going to rear its ugly head and bite me in the ass, I just know it.
“Can we talk?” I ask him later that evening, as he sits on the couch and sips a hot chocolate with whipped cream, red and green sprinkles dotting the top. I’m hanging ornaments, but my hands are shaking. I hide the emotion from Charlie, turning back to the sweet scent of pine and sap-covered branches. All the guys are in town—and I don’t think it’s by accident. No, it’s most definitely by design.
Either they want to be close to me … or else they feel sorry for me. I can’t decide. But honestly, I’m glad they’re in Cruz Bay for winter break. Knowing that I have people out there in case I need support, that’s priceless. Text messages are nice, video chatting is better, but there’s nothing like holding the hand of someone you love.
That’s irreplaceable.
Tears sting my eyes, but I continue hanging ornaments, pulling one after the other from the box. There’s a glazed ceramic circle with a picture of me as a baby, cradled in Dad’s arms. He looks like a different person there, his skin smooth, cheeks full, mouth turned up in a genuine sort of smile. I almost lose it when I see that ornament.
“Of course, Marnye-bear, what about?”
I glance over my shoulder, and I wonder if it’s even worth it to bring this up. The thing is, I have to know. And I imagine that Charlie Reed is the only person who might be willing to tell me the truth.
“Isabella, is she …” Dad pauses, his mug of hot cocoa halfway to his lips. “Is she your daughter?”
There’s a long stretch of tense silence, so much so that I wonder if he’s even going to answer me.
“Why would you think that, honey?”
I hang the special ornament near the top of the tree before I turn around, dressed in fuzzy flannel pajamas that I’m sure the guys would lose their shit over. If they liked the duck pj’s, well, this reindeer onesie with the giant horns on the hood could seriously rock their boat.
“She looks like you, and me, really. And when I walked in after school let out last year, you were crying. I know you said you were just happy for me to finally meet my sister, but it’s more than that, isn’t it?”
Dad glances away, like he can’t bear to have this conversation.
“I didn’t know,” he whispers, voice tight, so strained that I feel suddenly like an asshole. I never should’ve brought this up, not with him in this condition. He looks back at me, face set in a determined frown. “I didn’t know she was mine, or I would’ve … I wouldn’t have let Jennifer keep us apart.”
