One Night Only by Catherine Walsh

34

Two weeks later

“Try it again, honey.”

I turn the key, waiting for the noise of the engine. The noise of freedom. It doesn’t come and a moment later the hood drops shut with an echoing clang revealing my dad wiping the sweat from his brow.

He shakes his head at me through the windshield and I pull the key back out.

“Aren’t you glad I taught you all those survival skills now?” he asks as he trundles back to the driver’s seat.

I smile as he gets in, the truck dipping slightly under his weight. We’ve just finished three days of camping off the Delaware River. After working up the courage to tell him about what happened with work, he insisted I come out as soon I could to get my mind off things. It was the right decision. I didn’t realize how much I needed to get away from everything, how much I needed not to think until I was out in the open air.

I usually hated the stilted conversations with my dad but this time I was grateful for the silence. And he seemed to sense my mood, leaving me in peace.

An hour ago, we’d packed up the campsite to drive back to the train station when his truck gave out on a back road. The thing was older than I was, so I wasn’t too surprised, but Dad spent the last twenty minutes trying to get it going.

Now he reaches behind him to grab one of the many bags of chips left over from the trip. He always overpacks, like we’ll get stuck out here. Which, I suppose we actually are now. The road ahead and behind us is deserted, with thick trees on either side. There’s the odd passing car, but no one who can probably help with an engine as ancient as this one.

“There’s a mechanic forty minutes south of here,” he sighs, taking out his phone. “I’ll get them to send someone up.”

“I better let Claire know I’ll be late,” I say, taking out my own phone. I send her a quick text, trying to sound extra friendly. The last time I saw her we’d had a big argument.

“Do you know what the final stop on the self-pity train is?” she’d yelled at me as I left the apartment. “It’s you finding a new roommate because I don’t want to live with this crappy version of you. Talk to him.”

Talk to him. As if it was that easy.

I couldn’t blame her for being annoyed with me. I’d been moping around ever since I broke things off with Declan. Alternating between lying in my bed and lying on the sofa, watching twenty-four-hour news stations and sitcoms from the eighties until Claire put the television in her room and threatened to unplug the Wi-Fi. Then I just stared at nothing.

“I hope you don’t need to rush back for an interview,” Dad says, peering out at the road.

I shake my head. “I haven’t applied for anything yet. But I’m keeping an eye out,” I add, trying to sound positive. “Maybe I’ll try something new.”

“Anything in particular?”

“I’m thinking about becoming a celebrity nanny.”

“Glad to see you’re finally thinking big.”

“I’ll start applying seriously when I get back,” I say. “Soraya says she knows someone at a startup who’s looking for project managers, which is basically my job anyway. It’ll work out.”

Dad says nothing, munching on his chips.

“Will says he’s thinking about quitting,” I say. “They’ve put a junior designer at my desk who keeps asking him if he’ll be their mentor. He says he’s losing his mind.”

“Sounds like he misses you.”

“He does. He told me. That’s how I know it’s bad.” I pause, remembering how he tried to warn me about Matthias. “He’s a good friend.”

Dad clears his throat and I wait for the question. The one he always asks. He hasn’t brought it up the whole trip and now he turns to me, his voice unbearably soft.

“Are you alright, Sarah?”

“Of course,” I say, surprised. “I’ll be fine. I’ve got savings.”

“I don’t mean about the job. You’ve been quiet all weekend.”

“You always tell me I talk too much when we go camping.”

“And this time I didn’t have to tell you that once,” he points out.

“Only you would complain about not having anything to complain about.” I run my finger down the torn leather of the seat, finding the spots where the stuffing pokes through. I might as well tell him. “I met someone.”

Dad eats another chip. “That so?”

“Over the summer but… I think I might have ruined it.”

“Ruin is a very serious word,” he murmurs. “Do you want to talk about it?”

No. Yes. “I think you already know the ending.”

He shrugs. “We’re going to be here for a while. It’s either that or I put on Moby Dick again. I know where you hid the cassette tapes.”

I roll my eyes, but Dad just waits. “I found out he was married,” I say finally. “He’s not anymore. They’re separated but…”

“He didn’t tell you about her.”

I shake my head. “Even though he knew about Mom.” I pause. “He said he was going to.”

“Do you believe him?”

“Yes,” I admit.

“But it still hurts,” Dad surmises.

I nod, focused on the stuffing. He sighs. “That’s a shame.”

“We talked about it. He explained everything. But it still didn’t feel right.”

“Why not?”

“She’s very pretty.”

“So are you,” he says automatically.

“It’s more complicated than that.” I run briefly through what happened when Fiona and I met. “Do you know who I became when she showed up?” I ask at the end. “I was the bad guy. She was the beautiful, kind, clumsy heroine and I was the woman on the side.”

Dad frowns. “I don’t like you talking about yourself like that.”

“But it’s true,” I insist. “I was the other woman. She was nervous around me. She panicked around me. And I don’t know what he told her, but he must have made it sound like he cared about me a lot more than he does.”

“And why would he have done that?”

“I don’t know,” I mutter. “To make her jealous?”

Dad’s silent for a long time. Besides making him tell me how his retirement party went, this is the most we’ve talked about all weekend and I’m just beginning to wish I had never brought it up when he speaks next.

“I sometimes wonder if I should have shielded you more after what happened with your mother,” he says. “And other times, if I should have been more honest with you about how hard it was.”

I don’t say anything. I don’t even breathe. We never talk about mom. He never talks about mom.

“I loved your mother very much,” he continues. “A part of me still does. And when she left it broke my heart.”

“I remember,” I say quietly.

“But do you understand?” he asks. “You were so young at the time and ever since… I don’t blame your mother for what happened, Sarah. Not anymore. She was unhappy. I knew she was, but I pretended not to see it. Pretended it wasn’t there, just like she did for a long, long time. She had a job and a kid and—”

“Responsibilities,” I interrupt. “She knew what she was doing was wrong and she did it anyway.”

“She wasn’t much older than you are now when it happened,” Dad says. “Do you feel like you know everything?”

“I know better than that.”

“Maybe,” he says. “But she didn’t. She wasn’t happy so she sought happiness where she could. I can’t blame her for wanting that.”

“But she broke your heart,” I say, my voice very small to my ears.

“She did,” he says. “But it healed.”

“But it didn’t,” I say, trying to make him see. “You haven’t been with anyone since mom. You don’t date, you don’t…” I trail off at his look of surprise.

A short silence fills the truck as he struggles to speak. When he does, he almost looks amused.

“You think I don’t date?”

“I know you don’t.”

“It took me a few years,” he admits. “Not until after you left for college. I was too busy trying to raise a moody teenager. But once you were gone, I put myself back out there.”

My mind is blank with shock. “But… you never said anything about dating. You never told me.”

“Yes, I did.”

“When?”

“I didn’t tell you about every time I took a woman to dinner, but I told you about one or two when it was serious. You met Julia, didn’t you?”

Julia? I have vague memories of meeting a bubbly, petite woman at his birthday party one year. “Your physiotherapist?”

“I said she was a physiotherapist. Not mine.”

“You were dating her?”

“For a few months,” he nods. “It didn’t work out.”

“Who else?” I demand, feeling faint. “Who… Clem?” I stare at him, open-mouthed. How many times had I seen her on our video calls the past few months? “Are you dating our neighbor?”

“We’re taking things slow.”

“Oh my God!”

“I thought you knew this was happening,” he says mildly. “She had dinner with us last time you were home.”

“Because she’s your friend!” I splutter. “Because…” I lean back against the seat. “Oh my God, I’m an idiot.”

“I’m beginning to think so.”

“I just thought… I didn’t think,” I say. “Maybe I didn’t want you to…”

“It’s not so hard to understand,” he says quietly.

“Is there anything else I’ve blocked out?” I ask. “The kid who mows your lawn isn’t my half-brother is he?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

I groan and reach behind me for a snack.

“Now, obviously I’m not one to be giving out relationship advice,” he says as I start shoveling them into my mouth. “But as a father to his daughter, I think I can give you some life advice. I don’t know this boy. But if it makes you this upset to break things off with him, then I think you need to see if you can make it right. You owe it to yourself to try.”

“How?” I ask weakly.

“Talk to him. Listen to him. And if you can, trust him. But don’t shut him out because of what happened between your mom and me. Don’t give up on your happiness just because you’re scared it won’t last forever.”

I swallow the mush of salted potato chips in my mouth. “I can’t believe you’re dating Clem.”

He smiles. “She’ll find this funny. What did you think I was doing all these years? Sitting in the basement playing solitaire?”

“Kinda.”

We both look up as an engine roars in the distance and a second later a tow truck appears around the corner.

“Finally,” Dad mutters, climbing out. “Who knows what else would have come out if we were stuck here.”

I toss the empty packet on the dashboard as he goes to meet the mechanic, wiping my hands on my already filthy jeans. My initial shock has faded, along with the misery that enveloped me the last two weeks. For the first time I feel something lighter, something warmer. Something a little like hope and as I follow my dad in hopping out of the truck, I blow out a shaky breath and call Annie.