Page 232 - My FlipBook

L IS A J. L A W R E N C E

If she woke him, she’d never know why Roger was texting her
from their basement. She wanted to know, she realized, and
see his face again.
Be right there, she texted back, then switched the phone
to silent in case he responded. She couldn’t risk this being the
one time that Ash, who slept like he’d been euthanized, woke
up and followed her. She padded out the door and through
the kitchen, still wearing her clothes from earlier that day.

When her hand touched the door handle to the basement
staircase, her chest exploded, catching her breath in her
throat. Her dad was at the bottom of those stairs. Her bare
feet registered the shift in temperature with each dropping
step, dread now mixed with the cocktail of fear, excitement
and adrenaline pumping through her blood.
Roger. He sat on the sofa with a blanket across his lap, ADVANCE READING COPY

wearing a baseball cap and a winter jacket. Only Roger. Silver
in his unshaven whiskers, joy on his face. She loved it. Hated
it. Pausing at the bottom of the stairs, she checked him over.
He stood up, the blanket dropping to the floor, wearing a pair
of jeans that looked like they could walk to the laundry on
their own. He was shorter than she remembered, thinner.
Older. One of those rubbery sponge toys that grows in water
but shrivels outside it. Could a person shrink in two months?
“Greta!” Roger burst toward her, his feet getting tangled

in the blanket. Then he stopped, either because of the blanket
or because she didn’t budge.
“Dad.” She nodded in response. Cool. Formal. She would
give him nothing.

222