For a few seconds, neither of us moved.
Then he lowered the phone onto the table and sat down heavily.
The anger drained out of his face as quickly as it had arrived.
I pulled out the chair beside him.
“Dad.”
He stared at the bacon on his plate.
“I was going to tell you today,” he said.
“Tell me what?”
“That I was going to disappear.”
My hand stopped halfway toward his shoulder.
He rubbed both palms over his face.
“Not die. Not exactly. Leave town for a while. Let them believe I had gone somewhere they couldn’t reach.”
“Why?”
He looked at me then, and the answer seemed to frighten him more than Vanessa’s call had.
“Because I finally understood what they were willing to do.”
I sat across from him.
For two days, Dad had stayed at my house under the excuse that his furnace had failed and that he needed a quiet place to recover from a bad spell of dizziness. I had believed him because he had arrived with one overnight bag, his blood pressure monitor, and the stubborn expression he wore whenever he didn’t want anyone to fuss over him.
Now I noticed the details I had ignored.
The bag had been packed too carefully.
His important medicines were lined up in the bathroom cabinet.
His wallet contained no receipts.
His truck had been parked around the corner instead of in my driveway.
“Why did you come here?” I asked.
“Because you were the only person I trusted to ask questions before opening your mouth.”
The words hurt, even though he hadn’t meant them to.
He saw it immediately.
His shoulders softened.
“I’m sorry.”
“You should have told me.”
“Yes.”
