Page 82 of Heartstrings
“Because no one has been able to get a hold of you for hours, Indigo! I’ve spent the entire evening calling all your friends, but nobody knew where you were.”
I winced so hard my left eye closed. “Yeah, about that… I maybe sorta lost my phone.”
“I know.” Dad retrieved something from his pocket.
“I—how did you get that?” I stuttered, staring at theLady Phoenixstickers decorating the back of my phone case. My fingers itched to snatch it away from him, but I didn’t dare. Not when Dad was glaring at me like I’d committed a felony.
“You left it at the recording studio after your fight with Violet,” he explained. “She found it and brought it home.”And told me what happened, the look on his face seemed to say.
Good. It was about time I aired my grievances. “Sooo…” I said, nodding to my phone. “Can I have that back?”
“I think the more pressing question that needs to be addressed,” he said, his grip on my phone tightening, “is where have you been?”
“Just driving around. I needed to clear my head.” No way was I going to tell him I drove out to San Bernardino to visit our old house. Or that I fell asleep in my car. Either confession might put Dad, who looked like he was about to have a coronary, over the edge.
“For nine hours?” he demanded. “Indigo, how could you be so irresponsible, especially after the conversation we had three weeks ago? I was about to call the police.”
A brief image of myself in the back of a cop car flickered through my head.Thatwould have been mortifying, but at least then I’d know he cared.
“I’m not sure what you want me to say other than I’m sorry,” I answered. “I didn’t mean to lose my phone. It was an accident. If I hadn’t lost it, you’d have known where I was. I’ll be more careful next time, I promise.” Crossing my fingers underneath the table, I casually glanced at the clock on the stove, yawned, and prayed I could wiggle my way out of this. “Is it okay if I go to bed now? I have to get up in five hours.”
Dad’s nostrils flared. I got the sense that if I moved a single inch, he’d release a guttural roar. “No, Indie. Apart from being nowhere close to finished with this matter, we still need to talk about how you treated your sister. Your behavior was unacceptable.”
“I’m sorry, but how exactly?” Because heaven forbid I tell the goddamn princess the truth about how I felt. We didn’t want to hurt her precious feelings.
“You blamed Violet for my and your mother’s divorce,” Dad said, a combination of anger and disbelief coating his tone, as if the mere thought was implausible. As if he hadn’t spent every second of the past five years devoted to her success at the expense of the other members of this family.
I lifted my shoulders in a half-hearted shrug. “And?”
He shook his head, his mouth hanging slack. “How could you accuse her of something like that? Do you know how much that hurt her? She cried all evening.”
“Seriously? For once, can we not pretend like her career didn’t take over all our lives?”
“That’s not true—”
“You’re shitting me, right?” I pounded my fist on the table,causing the coffee mugs to rattle together. “You of all people should know better. Your liferevolvesaround her!”
Fire flashed in Dad’s eyes. “Indie, my job as Violet’s manager may have thrown my and your mother’s relationship issues into relief, but it was never the cause of our marital problems.”
“Then what was?” I exclaimed, fighting to control the waver in my voice. “Because I sure as hell don’t understand.”
“Sweetie,” he replied, his tone suddenly gentle, like he was trying to cushion a blow, “sometimes things don’t work out even if we really want them to. After many conversations, your mother and I accepted that we’re two very different people who want opposing things out of life.”
“No, that’s not going to cut it.” Twice now, Violet had insinuated that there was more to the story, so it was time for Dad to enlighten me. “I don’t want to hear the nice, let’s-all-hold-hands-and-sing-Kumbaya version of what happened. I want the truth.”
Dad blinked at me, expressionless. After what felt like an eon, he sighed, removed his glasses, and dragged a hand down his face. “It was my fault,” he said, more to himself than to me, like this was the first time in years he’d allowed himself to remember.
“Did you cheat on her?” I asked point-blank.
“What?” Dad jerked back like someone had lassoed him around the shoulders. “Of course not! I wouldneverdo something like that to her.”
His shock—explosive but clearly grief-stricken—was believable. “Okay, then what?”
“I—” Dad shifted in his seat and dropped his gaze.
A chill slid down my spine. What could possibly be worse than him cheating on her?
Three unnerving seconds later, he raised a pleading gaze to mine. “Please understand that if I’d known what I was asking of her, I never would have—”
