As far as I was concerned, he could take whatever he had to say and shove it. Maybe all those out-of-town trips were visits to Florida where he slept with her too. It was gross enough for me to book an appointment for testing ASAP at the only gynecologist in town, the same one I had as a teenager. Lee was right as usual; I did risk itchy burny cooter disease with him. Nothing was out of sorts down there, but I wasn’t taking any chances.
Once I stopped for gas and checked my phone somewhere on US-7, there were 30 missed calls, 50 unread texts, and 36 notifications from Privately-all from Jason. While the tank filled, I uninstalled the app and deleted his texts in a batch, not willing to entertain his excuses. I turned the phone off for good measure, knowing he would drain my battery with the bombardment. I needed it to last heading into the Vermont wilderness. I still had a few hours ahead, and a dead phone wouldn’t do me any good if I got stranded.
Unfortunately, conditions deteriorated rapidly as I headed north, so the risk of running off the road became a real possibility, new tires or not. The sleet was relentless, mixing with fat snowflakes my windshield wipers could barely keep up with.
As the hours ticked by, I kept any lingering sadness at bay by brainstorming jobs, places to live, and future goals. I’d have something in no time. I handed out plenty of resumes at NorCon. Calls were sure to trickle in. Once I had a job down, I’d look at apartments in town, and go from there.
Maybe I’d take a girls’ trip with Lee in the spring somewhere warm where your blood was more rum than plasma by the time you flew home. Jamaica. Antigua. Any island with sand, waves, and sun would do.
After that, maybe I’d sign up for graduate school and earn my MBA. Screw it. Why stop there? Why not get a doctorate? Dr. Elena Julian had a ring to it.
The new me would kick serious ass. I was done being lied to, betrayed, and left out in the cold. I was a woman on a mission. I would clear the wedding debt, start a career I loved, and take my life back.
* * *
As I parked in front of my childhood home, a familiar warmth crept to my cheeks. I never felt at home when I was away despite my best attempts. I decked out plenty of apartments and condos over the years but never managed to replicate the comfort of my father's cabin. It was nothing that would be featured on a trendy home-decor show, but it was everything to me.
Dad raised me within the four pine walls, teaching more about life than any lecture hall or college degree had. It was my upbringing that forced me to be more practical and mindful of things.
He was there through the awkward years, scraping together enough money to cover my braces when insurance wouldn't and put off replacing his tired Chevy to make sure I had my first car. He fought me like hell on getting it, hating anything that wasn't GM, but he still bought it for his little girl. He repainted it too and spent a fortune fixing it when it inevitably broke down. He did it all for me.
I repaid him by moving to New York City for college, returning on holidays if it didn't interfere with my plans. I left him alone and literally out in the cold. Despite my selfishness, he welcomed me back each visit with open arms, offering love I didn’t deserve.
Now I was back again, crawling home. It was pathetic. At seventy, my father should be leaning on me for support, not the other way around.
He appeared in the doorway, still the old battle-ax I remembered, stepping out onto the porch. His salt and pepper hair was now a sheet of solid ash, his bushy beard following suit. Somehow he seemed to age decades since the last I saw him.
I stepped out of the car and felt the crunch of gravel beneath my feet, the crisp mountain air stealing my first breaths. There was fresh powder on the ground, the surrounding forest a winter wonderland. Overhead, the sky was a haze of clouds, the dark gray haze of the storm visible despite being nighttime.
Hank yowled as I plucked him from the backseat and padded toward the house, his carrier swinging as I balanced him and an overnight bag. As I ascended the steps, a tear escaped, a rush of emotions washing over.
Dad pulled me into one of his infamous bear hugs, squeezing out any bit of worry left. It was amazing how one touch could melt away the tension that held me hostage since Monica's campaign of public humiliation began.
“It'll be okay, honey.” He held me tighter, tucking my cheek into his chest. “You're home now.”
I could never tell him what happened. The pain. The humiliation. The things I allowed to happen to me. I told him I had to stay for a while, and that was all he needed.
“Come in out of the cold. A whopper of a storm is headed in.”
I nodded and followed his orders, shuffling into the house as he held the rickety screen door.
The inside was the same as I remembered, unchanged from my last visit. The wood-burning stove kept the cabin toasty; its crackle and pop forming a familiar backdrop. Pictures of Mom and I dotted the walls, smiling faces and milestones keeping him company when we were out of reach.
I set Hank’s carrier down and turned to face my father, the only man who never let me down, a fresh wave of tears burning. “Dad-”
“No need to talk, El,” he assured, stroking my head. “Hungry? I made a pot roast.”
* *
