Almost Perfect - Brian Katcher [99]
When people are stuck in frightening and confusing situations, they don’t want advice. They want someone to tell them what to do. To be ordered, commanded. I needed someone to march in and tell me what the next step was in such a way that I couldn’t wimp out.
And I could talk to no one. Jack, Tim, even Brenda … they might be able to advise me, and at this point, I was desperate enough to tell them the truth. But I couldn’t violate Sage’s privacy like that.
The phone rang and I lunged for it. Maybe it was Tammi, or even Sage.
“Hello?”
“Logan?” said a gravely, unpleasant voice. Someone who I never expected to call me.
“Mr. Hendricks?”
There was a pause, and I hoped we’d been disconnected. Then: “Can you come over to our house now? I want to talk to you.”
The last time we’d talked, he’d tried to break my face and said he’d kill me if he ever saw me again. How the hell did he expect me to answer?
“I’ll be right there.”
Sage’s truck was parked in the driveway. Next to it stood my bike, where I’d abandoned it after taking her to the hospital. There was no sign of anyone.
Why had Sage’s father asked me over? Maybe he’d told the cops I was the one who assaulted her and was luring me here to be arrested. Maybe bruising my face wasn’t sufficient, and he’d decided he really wanted to work me over. Or maybe Sage had insisted he try and make peace with me.
Whatever the reason, it was dumb for me to be here. But this was my only connection with the weird girl who’d put me on a four-month emotional roller coaster. I had to find out how she was doing. I rang the bell.
“Come in,” Mr. Hendricks growled from inside.
I almost bolted. It was my desire to see Sage again that forced me to open the door. There were almost no lights on in the house, just a dim glow from the kitchen. Fully expecting a crowbar to the head, I slunk through the dining room.
Sage’s father sat at the table, a lone fluorescent light reflecting off his bald head. He was leaning on his elbows, his eyes on the table, a mostly full bottle of beer in front of him.
“Get a soda,” he ordered. I was reminded of those police shows, where the cop offers the suspect a coffee before grilling him. Warily, I grabbed a generic lemon lime soda from the fridge and sat opposite him. He still hadn’t looked up.
“Sir?”
Mr. Hendricks held up a palm, and I shut up. After a moment, he spoke.
“I guess I owe you an apology. Tammi said you drove Sage to the hospital that night. I was angry and overreacted. Sorry.”
The apology was sincere, but completely lacking. It was like he’d forgotten to feed my cat or had been brusque with me over the phone.
“It’s okay,” I said, mentally not forgiving him.
He took a sip of beer, or at least appeared to. The liquid level didn’t really change. “Logan, you didn’t tell me the truth about what was going on with you and Sage. Don’t deny it.” He wasn’t accusing me of anything, just stating something he already knew.
Every time I’d lied recently, I’d only made things worse. I decided to tell the truth; it wasn’t like Sage’s father could hate me more than he already did.
“Mr. Hendricks, I wasn’t lying when we talked that time. Sage and I weren’t dating. All I wanted from Sage was friendship.” I was careful to avoid feminine pronouns. “But after a couple of months, we …”
He held up his palm again. “I’m not interested. So you dated my son. Great. And now look what happens. You know whose fault this is?”
Ah, this is why he wanted me over. To blame me for Sage’s beating. To have a face he could hate, a name he could curse. I wasn’t about to deny it. Sage’s father couldn’t have a lower opinion of me than I did of myself.
“I guess I was …”
Mr. Hendricks banged the table with his fist, and I stopped. He looked up, and I was shocked to see his face. It was like he’d aged from forty to sixty since I’d last seen him. His eyes were bloodshot like he was drunk. Or had been crying.
“Logan, you didn’t do this. I wish I could say this was all because of you, but it wasn’t.” He took a drink, a real one this time. “Four years ago, Sage told me