One & Only (Canton) (26 page)

Because I spent so little time at home, I hardly saw my dad at all, which was fine by me. Every time we met, I thought of Hannah. I wanted to ask him how she was doing. How was her thyroid? How was her heart? Did her breakup with Dylan still sting? But of course, I didn’t.

“Your mother tells me you have a boyfriend,” he said to me once as I was folding laundry on the couch. It was a rare moment for the two of us to be alone. Dad rarely dropped by unless it was to hang out with my mother. “How’s that going?”

“Fine.” I hoped Mom hadn’t told him that the boyfriend’s name was Dylan. “He’s a junior at Canton, like me.”

“That’s nice.” He hesitated. “Your mom says he’s very polite. I hope he’s treating you right.”

This was a point where a normal father would tell his daughter that he wanted to meet this man who was coming after his girl. But of course, that was off the table for us.

“He is treating me right,” I replied coldly. “I’m in a committed, monogamous relationship with a man who isn’t lying to me or anyone else. It’s everything I could ask for.”

Dad didn’t bother responding to my comment, and I didn’t see him again for more than a week.

I knew it couldn’t last forever. Eventually I’d have to tell Dad what Dylan’s name was. Maybe if and when I got the job in Colorado for the summer and had to inform my parents I’d be living with my boyfriend. Maybe if, next fall, we decided to continue the arrangement in an off-campus apartment here in Canton. Maybe a few years down the road, if things got really serious. If we got married.

I probably shouldn’t get ahead of myself there.

But someday, Dad would have to meet the man in my life, wouldn’t he? Had my parents ever bothered making up rules for that?

Still, I rarely let thoughts of my father or Hannah intrude upon the new bliss I’d found in Dylan’s company. Everything seemed brighter now: my shifts at Verde less arduous, my crush of schoolwork simpler to handle, my dwindling bank account easier to bear. There were even nights when we went out with friends—Sylvia had decided she loved him, and even Elaine had grown friendlier. Elaine had gotten the hang of her classes, and her competitive streak had died down somewhat. I finally felt like I had a group of friends in the Bio-E department, a social circle at Canton.

Dylan, of course, was endlessly optimistic. In his mind, we’d win the symposium, get me my money, get matching jobs at Solarix and matching 4.0 GPAs. Every night he told me he loved me and every night I repeated the words back to him, like it was some sort of talisman against an unknown future. I tried not to think of what would happen if it didn’t turn out that way. If I didn’t get the job, if we didn’t win the symposium, if my mom mentioned the name Dylan to my father and he put two and two together…

But that wasn’t how it happened at all.

Even after we’d finished our project and turned it in for departmental review, the work didn’t let up. Final exams were upon us, and Dylan and I spent every spare second studying. My mom was out late at a monthly arts salon meeting, and Dylan had come by the apartment with takeout Chinese and textbooks. And that was where we were—me curled up on the couch, Dylan in the kitchen fetching drinks—when I heard a key in the door. I barely had a chance to look up, when the door opened and there was my father on the threshhold.

“Oh, hey, Tess,” he said. “Is your mom—”

There must have been something awful, something unspeakable and terrified on my face, because his voice stopped liked I’d changed the channel on him. And then Dylan was there, holding two glasses of water, and he was staring at my father.

“Mr. Swift?” It was a simple question. Just like that.

“I’m sorry,” Dad said abruptly. “I must have the wrong house.” And then he was gone, the door clicking into place behind him, nothing disturbed and everything smashed to pieces.

My knuckles were white as I held my pen, and my tongue seemed frozen to the roof of my mouth. My brain spun like wheels on an icy road, fifty thousand RPMs and not a single useful thought.

Dylan turned to me, his face twisted with confusion. “Do you know that man?”

“No,” said a voice that sounded like mine. I was very far away, tumbling down a black hole of imploded rules.

“He came into your house.”

“Apartment.” I looked down at the textbook in my lap. “Just had the wrong door number. Happens a lot. All those doors look the same from the outside.”

When I dared to look up again, he was blinking at me, even more mystified. Had he heard Dad call me by name? Ask for my mom? His scientist brain was reviewing the data, trying to fit it to my hypothesis. I knew it never would. “But how did he get in?”

“Huh?” Perhaps play dumb. “I must have forgotten to lock the door after you came in.” I prayed he didn’t hear Dad’s key jingling in the lock.

“It locks automatically.”

Damn. Trust a genius like Dylan to notice a detail like that.

I shrugged. No. Not right. I was acting too calm for a girl who’d just had a strange man walk into her house. I stood up and crossed toward the door, wheels spinning, wheels spinning. I turned the deadbolt, threw the chain. “Oh, I guess the lock didn’t catch. It sticks sometimes. Piece of junk.”

When I turned around, Dylan had put the glasses down on the coffee table and crossed to me. I backed against the door, wishing I were on the other side of it, scared he’d see the rules broken all over my face. He certainly wasn’t buying anything I’d said so far.

“Tess.” There was something flat in his tone. “You don’t know who that is?”

I swallowed. Shook my head. “Nope.”
Wait, maybe I should say yes. He’s a client of my mom’s. I think I saw him once on TV. An alumni function…
“I’m a little scared, that’s all. Some guy just broke into my house.”

“Burglars don’t wear three-piece suits.”

“I didn’t really take stock of what he was wearing.”

Dylan was shaking his head at me, very slowly, as something—
God, please don’t let it be the truth
—worked itself out in his head. “That’s my girlfriend’s dad.”

My breath caught in my throat. “
I’m your girlfriend.
”

He stared at me, still, silent, and after what seemed like forever, he swept his hair off his brow. “Sorry. Yeah, I meant ex.” But he’d been right the first time, too, even if he hadn’t known it. That
was
his girlfriend’s father. “That was really weird for me.”

“Yeah,” I replied. “Me, too. It was my house some strange dude just came in.”

And it remained weird for the next hour. Even though we were discussing the geometries of unsteady state transport, I could see unrelated questions in my boyfriend’s eyes. He was asking himself why Steven Swift was at my apartment building, why he’d just walked in the door.

All the Chinese food was gone when Dylan’s phone rang. He glanced down at the display.

“It’s Hannah,” he said flatly.

My heart stopped pumping blood through my body. It was the only explanation for how cold I suddenly felt.

“Hello?”

As close as we sat on the couch, I could hear every word she was saying to Dylan. She was crying. “I’m really sorry—I wouldn’t do this if I had any other option—”

“Hannah,” he said, “calm down.”

“…can’t get the car to start. I think the battery’s dead. My mom is out of town—”

“What’s happening?”

“My dad,” she sobbed. “They just called me. My dad was in a car accident.”

Oh my God. Dad.
Daddy.

“Okay.” Dylan’s voice sounded very far away, but his tone was warm, like a blanket. “It’s going to be okay. I’m on my way over. I’ll take you to the hospital.”

Without realizing it, I was nodding my head.
It would be okay. He would take me to the hospital.

He hung up the phone and looked at me. “This just keeps getting weirder. Hannah’s dad was in a car accident. It must have been after he left here.”

I swallowed. Like maybe he was so distraught at seeing Dylan in the apartment that he’d had an accident? If so, then it was my fault. My fault that I hadn’t warned him in advance that my new boyfriend was his real daughter’s ex. My fault for breaking the rules so completely that they’d fallen on his head.

“Take me with you,” I blurted.

“What?” He shook his head, distracted. “No, Tess. I’m just taking Hannah to the hospital so she can be with her father.”

There went my head again, nodding like it all made perfect sense. “Yes. Take me with you.” And I needed to text Mom. She could meet us there.

“No,” he repeated. “That’s ridiculous.”

Reality crashed in on me. Of course. Of course that was ridiculous. My mother and I couldn’t visit Dad in the hospital, no more than we could visit him at work or at his home. We weren’t family who could stand by his bedside. I lowered my head, my face burning with shame. Right, right. My boyfriend could go be with my father right now, but not me. Never me.

Dylan was scowling at me, completely misinterpreting the look of anguish that no doubt graced my face. “Don’t be difficult about this, Tess. I’m giving her a ride to the hospital. Hannah and I are over. Come on—you’re not the jealous type.”

“Oh?” I scoffed, because otherwise I would cry. “I’ve never been more jealous of Hannah in my life.”

His eyebrows furrowed, but then, for the second time today, he sighed at me and shook his head. “I don’t have time to talk about this right now. You’re being really petty. I have to go take Hannah to the hospital.” He grabbed his things and left.

I plopped down on the couch. I wasn’t being petty. Petty would be resenting Hannah for everything she’d been given all her life. Petty would be resenting her right now for having Dylan by her side while she went to see our father.

I couldn’t get past the idea that I’d had something to do with the accident. I was to blame. If I’d warned Dad in advance that I was dating Dylan, if I’d made sure to bolt the door so he didn’t walk in on us…. We’d been so careful all these years that no one, not even childhood friends like Sylvia and Annabel, knew that the famous Steven Swift was my father. There was a reason I so rarely had people over to my house. And there’d been no reason for Dad to suspect I’d bring Dylan by today, either. By mutually unspoken agreement, we’d been avoiding each other ever since our last pointed exchange.

Oh, God. I hoped it wasn’t our last. Hannah had been crying, but she’d given no indication of how serious Dad’s injuries were.

I jumped to my feet and started pacing the floor. I called Mom, but there was no answer. Either she’d forgotten her phone in her car or she was ignoring it during the salon. Both, for Mom, were par for the course. I texted her.

Dad’s in the hospital. Car accident. Waiting for more info.

We might wait forever. There was no plan in place to deal with situations like this. The best source of info I had was Dylan, and he thought I was acting like a brat. Maybe if I’d gotten hold of my mother, she would have talked me back from the ledge. Maybe she would have explained to me that she and Dad had prepared for what would happen if he was hurt. Maybe my mother was somewhere on the phone tree in his office, listed under something innocuous and discreet.

But all I could think about were the last words I’d hurled at my father. All I could think of was the shock, the utter horror on his face when he’d seen Dylan standing inside our apartment. All I could think of was that no matter what kind of screwed-up half-relationship we were forced to have, he was still my dad.

Dylan had gone to pick up Hannah. If I left now, I might be able to beat them to the hospital.

I didn’t give myself time to think, just rushed to the car and drove.

I didn’t see Dylan’s car in the parking lot, nor a silver BMW that meant Hannah had managed to get hers started. I practically sprinted into the emergency room, then up to reception.

“Steven Swift?” I panted at them.

The nurse at the desk nodded at her computer screen. “Are you family?” she asked mildly, not even looking up.

“Yes.” Somehow, I expected the word to choke in my throat. This was the biggest rule of all, and I’d just broken it. But the nurse didn’t ask for proof, for ID. She didn’t demand to know our relationship. She didn’t even seem to care. I scribbled my name on a sheet and followed her directions down the hall.

Dad was asleep on the bed. His face was bruised badly, and remnants of blood had caked in his hair and along the curves of his ear. One of his arms was wrapped in bandages, and the other was strapped to his chest.

I should probably go. He wasn’t going to die on us tonight. He looked hurt but okay. He wasn’t even plugged into a heart rate monitor or anything. No machines beeped near his bed. No IVs stuck out of his arm. I should probably go. We could see him later. I could apologize some other time.

Instead, I approached cautiously, like trying to sneak up on a wild animal. “Dad?” I whispered.

His eyelids fluttered open. “Tess,” he croaked at me. His eyes seemed unfocused, probably from pain medication. That was why they wanted Hannah here. Not as a bedside vigil. Just to pick her father up. It was silly to have come. Silly and dangerous. Hannah and Dylan could show up at any minute.

“I’m so sorry, Dad. I should have warned you about—”

“What are you doing here?” His voice slurred, but his tone was one I’d heard before. This was against the rules. This was all, all against the rules.

“I came to see you!” Tears blurred my eyes. “I was worried you were really hurt. When Dylan heard you’d been in an accident—”

“You have to leave, Tess,” he said. “You can’t be here. You’re not family.”

I
am
, I wanted to shout, as petulant as a child. I wiped ineffectually at my eyes, hoping he was so out of it that he wouldn’t be able to see.

“I appreciate it,” he went on. “More than you know. But you can’t be here. Go home, Tess. I’ll call when I can.”

Was that what he said to my mother?
I’ll call when I can? I’ll let you be a part of my life when I can?

I didn’t want to be his daughter
sometimes
. I didn’t want to sit at home, twiddling my thumbs, while his real daughter went to his hospital bed. Maybe that was enough for my mother, but it would never be enough for me.