Chapter 22

The rest of my week was the worst I'd had in a while. Concentrating on school and work seemed fruitless. On Wednesday, I worked with Sawyer. Things were tense between us, and not in the usual way. I didn't know how to act around him any more. He didn't know what to say either, and I had to wonder what the future of working together would be like.

Thursday was worse. I didn't expect for things between Justin and I to return to normal, but I also couldn't predict the overwhelming disappointment that flowed through me when I didn't see him. He was a no-show at the café. There was no sign of him in the commons. And the walk to class was lonely, not the usual leisurely stroll full of smiles and banter.

Justin was upset with me and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little mad at him. His presumptions were confusing and I spent most of my time thinking over his words. I never considered myself fragile or that people tip-toed around me. That didn't even make sense. And the lapdog treat thing? That was clear. He thought I was leading him on. Sascha implied the same thing last week. I never intended to do that, but maybe I had been.

There was a knock at my door and a sliver of light brightened the room as Dad opened it. "You missed dinner. I didn't think you were here."

I sat up, running a hand through my tousled hair. "Sorry, I've just been..."

"In here hiding?" He looked pointedly at my bed where I'd flopped down over an hour ago, on top of the blankets.

"Something like that." I looked down, a little embarrassed.

Dad crossed the room and turned on my desk lamp. The soft glow didn't quite fill the room and I was grateful he didn't turn on the ceiling light. "Do you want to talk about it?"

I shrugged, fiddling with a stray thread on the hem of my sock.

Dad wandered back to the bed and sat down on the edge. I could feel one of his pep talks coming on. "Is it about Justin?"

My heart dropped. Looking up at him, I swallowed. "How did you know?" He knew about Justin, and I wasn't the one to tell him. Was it Sawyer? Or maybe Sascha? Neither of them was happy with me right now, but I didn't think they would ever tell my father about Justin Hart.

"Caroline called. She was concerned."

If it was even possible, the churning feeling in my stomach worsened. "Oh, Dad, I'm really sorry."

His brows furrowed. "Why are you sorry?"

That was a silly question. The woman who cheated on him and left us was calling. "Because you had to talk to her. That must have been hard, and it's my fault she called."

The hurt look in his eyes said it all. At least, that's what I thought. He disagreed.

Dad reached for my hand, untangling my little finger from the loose thread. "Ellie-bean, I'm a grown man, and my history with Caroline is in the past."

A new wave of confusion washed over me. "It doesn't bother you to talk to her?"

He shrugged. "It's a little weird, but no, it doesn't bother me. Does it bother you if I talk to her?"

I never imagined he would want to talk to Caroline, not after everything she did. I know I didn't want to talk to her. I couldn't. Every time she and I crossed paths, or her name was merely mentioned, the resentment over her betrayal flared up. I hated thinking about my sweet, hurt father going through all that pain again. Should I not feel that way? Had I read everything wrong?

There was a tingling feeling rising in my throat. "I guess not. Not if you're okay with it."

"Okay, good," he nodded, letting go of my hand to clasp his together. The pep talk was on its way. "So do you want to talk about what's happened with Justin and Sawyer?"

I let out a sharp breath. He knew about Sawyer as well? Did I have any secrets?

My reaction made him smile. "I'm not blind, Ellie."

I thought Sawyer and I had been careful, but if everyone at work knew, then I suppose it made sense for my father to know as well.

My fingers found the loose thread again and I tugged on it. "I'm just thinking about things." There was a lot to consider, especially now that Caroline was in contact with my father, and that apparently, he was okay with it. Knowing this might change a few things.

"Yes," he agreed. "Alone. In the dark, while I've been pottering around downstairs wondering when you'll be home." I'd heard him walk through the front door. I'd heard the clanging of pots and pans from the kitchen. I could still hear the faint sound of the television from downstairs. "You know you can talk to me about anything. I won't judge."

It wasn't an offer, but a reminder. I knew he would always listen, and I knew he would try not to judge, but I didn't want to subject him to the reminders of the past and open old wounds. That wouldn't be fair to him.

"I do know that, and I'm sorry I've been so closed off. There's just a lot of thoughts up here." I gestured to my head. Maybe my father could help me understand a few things, like one of Justin's remarks. "Do people not tell me things or avoid doing things because they're worried I'll react badly?" Did he do this, too?

"Do you think people do that?"

I rolled my eyes. "Thanks, Dr. Hayes," I smiled, referring to a psychologist I used to see. She had a knack for answering questions with questions, and while I found it annoying at the time, her methods did seem to have a positive impact.

"Maybe we should we call Dr. Hayes," he suggested, expression turning serious again. "I know you haven't spoken to her in a while, but you seemed to bond with her when you were younger."

He wanted me to talk to someone again. Was I worrying him that much? Dr. Hayes had been incredibly helpful throughout my childhood and teen years, but I hadn't needed her in a while. The last time I saw her, years ago, I was in a good place. I was thriving at school. I had a boyfriend. I was preparing for my final exams and managing everything well.

A lot had changed since then.

"Maybe, I don't know."

Dad stood up and walked the few step to my bookshelf. He ran a hand over the assortment of coloured notebooks at the top. "How about journaling? You use to do it all the time. You've got a lot going on at the moment, so if you don't want to talk to Dr. Hayes, maybe writing things down will help you see things clearer."

He turned back to me, a small smile on his face. My father was tired. The crows feet at the corners of his eyes were deeper now, and his hair was greying.

With pursed lips and worried eyes, he reached into the front pocket of his button-up shirt. He pulled out a yellow sticky-note and looked at it hesitantly. "And if you decide you might want to talk to someone else..." He handed me the small piece of paper and started backing towards the door. "You don't have to use it. You can throw it out, burn it, or flush it down the toilet if that's what you choose. But the option to talk to her is there if that's what you need. It always has been."

It was a phone number, and below it, a name. One at the root of all my problems. Caroline.

Before he could back further out the door, I pounced off the bed and threw my arms around his waist. He reached around me and ran a soothing hand over my hair. "I love you, Daddy."

"I love you, my sweet Ellie-bean." He was smiling, I could hear it in his voice. Dad held on a few seconds more before kissing me on top of the head and letting go. "I'll put your dinner in the fridge."

With those parting words, he backed out of my bedroom, closing the door behind him. I was alone again. Alone, and with so much more to think about.

I perched myself on the edge of the bed and examined the note. Dad said the option to speak to Caroline had always been available to me. Deep down I knew that, but I think Dad stopped suggesting it after a tantrum, one of many related to Caroline.

Did she want to talk to me? I hadn't made things easy. After avoiding her at the awards night, and then yelling at her in the public bathroom, I wouldn't want to talk to me. Thinking back on that encounter, I remembered the pained look in her eyes and her expression. Perhaps it was somewhat apologetic, but in my opinion, at the time it just seemed cold.

I glanced up at the top shelf of my bookcase. The journals holding memories of woeful times, triumphant escapades, and the chaotic emotions of my childhood stared back at me. One of them held a photograph, a polaroid I refused to look at and hadn't laid eyes upon since I stuck it between the ink-sodden pages.

I reached for that very first journal. It was pink, and adorned with a unicorn sticker and a lock to keep all my secrets hidden. The security measures taken by my eight-year-old self were dismal. The key was hanging right there. I didn't even need to detach it from the latch because the string was long enough to reach the bottom of the lock.

The edge of the pages were slightly discoloured from the sun that usually beamed through my window, but the ink inside remained untouched. I ran my fingers across the pages, some words jumping out at me as I flicked through. Sad. Betrayed. Abandoned. Did I still feel those emotions now?

When I reached the last page, I paused before turning it. The edges of the polaroid picture had made an impression on the paper. I traced the square slowly, the pressure behind my eyes building, and then took the plunge.

It was an image of a happier time, a family portrait from the Christmas before Caroline left. We were all smiling, sitting in front of our tree, me nestled in my father's lap. There was also a tear through the middle of the photo, cutting Caroline's face off from ours. I'd done it during one of my angrier moments, believing she didn't deserve to be in such a happy family portrait. I also threw both pieces in the bin. I then found them a few months later in my dad's desk when I was rummaging through his drawers for a pen. He'd taped it back together. It seemed odd for him to keep this vandalised picture. I knew he had albums full, hidden away where I couldn't see them. I took it and pasted it in my journal, not really sure why at the time. Now I imagined Dad had kept it and left it there on purpose, knowing I would find it.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I reached for my phone and dialled her number. Waiting for her to pick up was excruciating. Each ring allowed more time for my sense to return. Maybe she wouldn't answer.

"Hello, Caroline Hart speaking."

I stopped breathing.

"Hello?" she repeated.

I cleared my throat, praying I could stay strong. "Hi-hi, Caroline." No such luck with the being strong thing. My words came out in a muddled squeak as I tried holding myself together.

"Elizabeth?" She was surprised, but contained herself quickly. "Elizabeth, is that you?"

"Y-yes." I choked on an unsteady breath. The pressure behind my eyes gave way and the tears I'd held onto for so long finally flowed.

"Oh, Ellie."

Oh, sweet Ellie-bean. How do you think things will happen for her from this point?

If you've made it this far, thanks so much for your continued support. I hope you are enjoying this story as much as I enjoy writing it. There's only seven more chapters to go!

Kate