Leslie's Journal - Allan Stratton [51]
As we pull into Oakville she gives me money for a cab to Dad’s and a copy of the Watchtower, which she pulls from a small pile in her bag. I say thanks, and how someday I’ll drop by the Kingdom Hall and get more information. Then I run.
Thirty-Five
I don’t know what I expect from Dad. After the Brenda blowout, I told him that since he didn’t have time for me Saturdays, I didn’t have time for him Sundays. I only planned to make that punishment last a few weeks, but by then I was up to my ears in Jason.
Dad took me to lunch a couple of times. I ate fast, then said I had to go get ready for a date. He acted all smarmy, said he was happy I had a boyfriend and he’d leave it to me to let him know when I had time for a visit. By the time Jason and I broke up, I wasn’t seeing him much.
I’ve called, but it’s usually Brenda who’s answered. Lately, Dad hasn’t been home. “He’s working late.”
Like when he was working late with you? I want to laugh. Well, boo hoo. What you did to Mom, someone’s doing to you. But that’s not what I say. Instead, I go super sympathetic. “Gee, Brenda, I’m verrry, verrry sorry. You must be devastated.” (That’s way better—mean but polite, and points for vocab.) Then I hang up and picture her crying, all alone in what should have been Mom’s and my apartment.
But this is the problem of doing-unto-others—drop a turd on somebody’s plate and tomorrow you’ll be eating their leftovers. That’s what I’m thinking as I buzz Dad’s apartment. Because now I’m the one with the problem and she’s the one who gets to turn the screws.
“Who is it?” She’s even Cute and Perky over the intercom.
“It’s me. Is Dad there?”
“Dave, it’s Leslie.” Good, he’s home for once. Bzzz.
I open the door and go to the elevator. The lobby doesn’t smell so new anymore. But unlike at our place, the carpets aren’t crusty, the windows are clean and there are real plants, not just green plastic dust magnets.
Dad and Brenda are waiting by the elevator door when it opens. He scoops me out and hugs me. “Leslie. Your mother called. You had us worried sick.” He’s so embarrassing when he tries to act like a father. I want to say, “Chill out.” Instead, I hold on and cry. I don’t care who sees.
We go to their apartment. Dad gets me settled in the kitchen and asks Brenda to make some hot chocolate while he phones Mom to say I’ve been found.
“I wasn’t lost. And don’t call Mom.”
He kneels in front of my chair and holds my hands. “Leslie, we have to.”
“Why can’t I just stay here and nobody know?”
Dad looks at Brenda to see what to say, but for once she’s smart and keeps her mouth shut. For once he’s smart too. Instead of talking, he asks a question. “Leslie ... What’s going on?”
The air chokes up my nose. “Nothing.” An awful silence. He watches me sniffle. “It’s just ... we always fight. She always yells. I don’t want to be there. I want to be here with you.”
Another awful silence.
“Leslie ... What’s really going on?”
“Why? Don’t you want me?”
“Of course we do. But right now, we need you to tell us the truth.”
“You won’t believe me.”
“Trust us.”
I gulp and give Brenda a look. She gets the message and leaves, giving Dad’s shoulder a little rub as she passes. I look into his eyes. My lip trembles. I hear myself say, “A guy wants to kill me.”
“What guy?”
In the background, I hear Brenda calling Mom. I don’t care anymore.
“The guy I was going out with. Jason McCready. He knows where I live.”
Dad takes this in. “Leslie,” he says carefully, “sometimes people say things they don’t mean.”
“He’s tried!”
“Leslie?” He gives me a questioning look.
“I knew you wouldn’t believe me.”
“I do.” He doesn’t. “Why don’t we call his parents? Get to the bottom of this.”
What a dork. I pull my hands away, cross my arms and start to rock.
“We can call the police, too,” he adds fast. “Would that make you feel better? Maybe they can drop by, talk to him, straighten this out.”
“No! Talking won’t help.”
Dad closes his eyes for a second,