“I feel like getting turned on in public is just your thing.”
Someone approaches the tent to our left, but Eli ignores them as he leans forward and whispers in my ear, “Nah. I thinkyou’re just my thing.”
I try to keep my grin in control, but it’s too late. “You’ve got some customers to take care of.”
“Don’t go away yet.”
“I won’t.”
“Good.” He doesn’t hide from anyone when he kisses my cheek, then returns to work.
I’m still smiling like a kid as I browse the maple products on the other side of the alley when Keira calls me.
“Billie miss me already?” I say as I tuck the can of maple syrup under my arm and smile at the vendor; a white-haired man in a plaid shirt and a particularly impressive mustache.
“Cassie.” Her tone makes my stomach plummet.
“What happened?” My mind’s already jumping through scenarios like an Olympic gymnast.
“Where are you right now?”
“The Chowder Fest. What’s—”
“You need to leave.”
“What’s going on?” I ask, my mouth dry. Eli is watching me in my periphery, brows bunched, but I can’t pause to explain what’s going on. Even if she hasn’t said anything, I can feel something big is happening.
Around me, people are starting to stare, although I don’t think I’m making a scene. “Keira,” I say.
An elbow knocks into my left ribs. The scent of cheap boy perfume overwhelms me. Somewhere farther, someone shouts. It feels like I’m in one of those horror movies where the rooms close in on the protagonist, and they can do nothing but wait to be squeezed out.
“I’ll tell you when I see you. Just—”
She doesn’t have the time to finish her sentence. Doesn’t even need to tell me what’s going on. I feel it in the air first, a shift in the molecules I’ve come to recognize. Commotion comes from down the kiosk alley, and the hairs on my arms rise. Every stare feels like a brand burning through my flesh, each sound too loud.
That’s when I see him—long salt-and-pepper hair. A scruffy beard. Pale, stick-like arms. He’s in a corner of the market, indifferent to the loud whispers and horrified looks thrown his way. One of his hands is in the pocket of faded jeans I recognize as well as my own while his other is holding something out to Crazy Al, a man we were always told to avoid.
The rules never applied to my father.
I can’t think, can’t breathe as I stare at him. I was never supposed to see him again. He should be in jail. Why thefuckisn’t he in jail?
More people brush past me as they walk away, a lady even pulling her kid by the hand like it’s dangerous to stay here, all the while looking at me with a mix of pity and disgust. I remain frozen in the middle of the way.
Crazy Al taps him on the back, and then he’s turning my way. His eyes crinkle at first like he’s not sure he recognizes me, and while I want to run and hide from his sight, I can’t.
Whatever he was doing with Crazy Al is over, and I take too long to react and hide from him.
“Cassie-O!”
My mind becomes a field of white, and it’s as if I leave my body and see the scene happening from above, like a floating ghost. My arms loose at my sides, knuckles getting cracked one after the other. My parted lips. My blank gaze.
“My girl,” he shouts as he staggers my way, already out of his mind on whatever substance he could put his hand on. He’s probably been out for less than a day, and he’s already back to his shit.
There’s motion to my left. Eli pulling Zoe behind him, even when she cries out to ask what’s happening.
I have felt a universe of emotions when it comes to my father. I’ve gone through all the stages of grief with our relationship, time and time again. But the shame I feel now, seeing Eli protecting Zoe from him? From us? It tops it all.
The whispers get louder, blending into white noise as my father opens his arms to hug me. Even so, I hear a few clear words.Shameful. Disgusting. Trash family.And even with horror suffocating me, I still can’t move.
