Letting You Know (37 page)

“
What
do you mean?”

“
You
know what I mean,” I said, exasperated. “Look around us.
This place? You and Mom? How is this even possible, what happened
after I left?”

His
face fell, a level of defeat I didn't understand. Sitting forward, he
ran a hand over his face, groaning. “Right. I was going to let
your mother tell you. I'm not sure if she was ready, when she saw
you.”

“
What
is it?” The dread flooded down my limbs, coiling around my
heart. “You're scaring me, please just tell me.”

“
Leah,”
he chuckled, squinting at me in consideration. “Calm down. You
sound like it's bad news I'm about to tell you.”

“
I...
I don't know
what
kind of news you have, Dad. Honestly.” Rubbing my upper arms, I
felt cold in spite of the warm room.

He
took a deep breath, sitting back in his chair, increasing the
distance between us. His voice matched the level of the dim light.
“It's hard to talk about. Not because of what came of it, but
because of how it began. You... you probably remember the day you
told us you were leaving.”

“
Yeah.
Of course I do.”

How
could I not?

“
Well,”
he said, meeting my gaze with those raw, wet eyes so similar to my
own, “that day you left, it changed everything. I mean it,
everything. Some of it, maybe you could have predicted. The rest,
though? Impossible.”

“
Stop
dancing around it,” I whispered.

His
mouth became a tight line. “It might sound awful, that it took
something as severe as you packing up and leaving here, leaving
us,
to open our eyes. But that day, when you gave us the news, we had
been feeling at our lowest for who knows how long. Months. Years,
maybe.”

My
throat was dry; drinking from my glass did little to help.
Did
they really feel so bad? I can't imagine being in that mindset for as
long as he's implying.

“
Anyway,”
he mumbled, looking down at his lap. “Your visit, it messed
with us. You seemed so cold that day.”

“
I
wasn't trying to be cold,” I said, defending myself quickly. “I
just—I just felt like you guys didn't care! That you didn't
even understand why I was doing what I was doing, what it meant to
me...”

“
Shh,”
he said gently, his fingers twitching on the table. I wondered if he
had debated reaching out to take my hand or not.

I
left mine there, on the cold surface, just in case.

“
Leah,”
he went on, “we couldn't know why you were leaving. We had
guesses, we thought maybe... maybe you were trying to get away from
us.” His voice broke, he covered it with a grunt, pretending to
clear his throat.

I
saw right through him.

“
Dad,
no. That's not why.”
He
sounds so hurt.
“I
left because I needed to get away, yeah, but it was from someone
else.”

He
was having trouble looking at me. Reaching out, I touched his arm; we
were both trembling. “Who, then?” He whispered, not
sounding convinced. “Who, if not us?”

“
Owen.”
Breathing his name, it sent a jolt down my spine. Dad froze, looking
up and finding the fear that must have been plain as day on my face.

His
fingers closed around mine, gripping my hand tight on the table top.
“Owen? Leah, tell me what happened. What did he do to you? I
knew... I knew he was trouble, I just never wanted to tell you what
to...”

My
chair fell to the floor, forgotten as I got up in my rush to move
around and hug my father. For a long while, we said nothing. He shed
no tears, but I had enough for both of us. “Did he hurt you?”
He asked, anger bubbling beneath his words.

Laughing
cynically, I wiped my cheeks and pulled away. “Yeah. He hurt me
pretty badly.”

He
rubbed his thumbs over my palms, staring me straight in the eyes.
Neither of us blinked. “Tell me everything,” he said.

Amazingly,
I did. I did without question.

I
shocked myself, letting the truth tumble free. I realized I had only
ever given so much detail to the police. But it wasn't the same.

When
I'd told them, I'd done so as clinically as possible. Deacon had
thought I was strong, yet that wasn't what it was.

Numb,
I made myself numb. I didn't want to let anyone see how scared or
hurt I felt by it all. How humiliated, how ashamed.

How
angry.

My
father listened to it all, not saying a word. He held my hands, never
looked away. Not when I confided to him the truth.

“
I
thought I was really going to die that day,” I said, sniffling.
Inside, the burden had melted. Letting everything out was cathartic.
“It was the last thing I thought, that I was just... done. The
last thing I was conscious of, before I woke up and found Deacon
sitting over me.”

“
He
saved you,” my dad said, shaking his head slowly. “Not
many people are capable of what he did. But,” he whispered,
gripping my shoulders, “less people are capable of going
through what you did, and coming out okay.”

“
I'm
not so sure I came out of it okay.” Frowning, I moved to pick
up my chair where I'd spilled it. “Dad, I still have all these
dreams. These nightmares where I'm... I relive it, is all. Yes, part
of me feels stronger for having made it through, but the rest of
me... I can't escape that fear, being afraid of death. My mind takes
over when I sleep.”

“
Is
that why you aren't sleeping now?”

“
No,”
I sighed, sitting back down. “It's because of what you started
to tell me. You haven't explained still what got you guys here.”

Chuckling,
he wiped at the corners of his eyes.
Was
he crying, and I didn't notice?
“Sorry, we got off track. Alright. The day you left, you
remember I asked you for some money?”

My
scowl was blatant. “Yeah, that I remember pretty strongly.”

“
I'm
sorry about that,” he admitted, his eyebrows furrowing hard.
“That, though, was what allowed us to get where we are now.”

Tapping
the edge of my empty glass, I shrugged. “I'm not following.”

“
We
took that money, but we didn't buy cigarettes with it. I won't
pretend we weren't a little bitter, thinking you'd given up on us.”

I
opened my mouth, but he shook his head to stop me. “Leah, we
took that money, and we ended up buying a lottery ticket.”

The
prickle that ran up my neck was extremely unpleasant. “Gambling.
That
was what you thought was a better use for that money? Dad, come on,
as if that's much more ethical than smoking—”

“
We
won, Leah.”

My
mouth fell open. “Excuse me?”

“
We
won,” he said again, grinning wide as the moon. “Your
mother picked the numbers, and for the first time, we actually hit
them!”

Pointing
at him, I kept my voice flat. “You're not joking, are you?”

“
Nope!”
He laughed, seeming quite delighted.

“
I—how
much? How much was it?”

Lifting
his hands, Dad spread all of his fingers. “A hundred thousand
dollars. More than enough for your mother and I to live comfortably
here for a long, long time until I find some work.”

I
didn't know what to say. This, of all things, was not the news I had
predicted. I couldn't have nailed down any one thing I had expected
to make sense of their life change, but this...

This
is impossible.

“
Leah,
are you okay?”

“
I—yes.
I'm just stunned.” It was the truth. “You guys actually
won. I mean, you guys
never
win.” Saying it so bluntly, I felt a flash of guilt.

Dad
only laughed again, brushing back his short hair absently. “Maybe
it was just our time, finally.”

Another
thought crossed my mind, especially as I looked up and glimpsed the
portraits on the walls. “Does Savannah know yet?”

He
tilted his head, as if considering if he should answer me. “She
does. She actually asked to move back in with us while she gets her
life together.”

“
And
you'll let her?”

“
Of
course. She's our baby girl, Leah. And... honestly, we wanted to ask
you to come back too—”

“
No,
I don't need that,” I muttered, tensing up at the idea.
“Thanks, though. It's nice to know that... if I
did
need help, you guys would be there.”

“
We'll
always be here, Leah. I promise. Things are better now.”

Peering
into those vulnerable, dark eyes, I truly did believe him. Smiling,
my fingers tugged at the hem of my long shirt. “I know. But
really, I'm doing well, I don't need any help anymore.”

“
I'm
glad things are going so well for you,” he said, glancing in
the direction of the room I was sharing with Deacon. “He seems
very nice. And you seem... really happy, Leah.”

Flushing
at the blatant observation, I tightened my grip on the dark cloth. “I
really am.”

“
Good,”
he grunted, standing briskly. “Because if anyone ever hurts you
again, they'll regret it.”

“
He
would never,” I assured him, following his example and climbing
from my chair. We stood there, facing each other in the frail kitchen
lighting.

This
has been the best Christmas in a long while.