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I make our tea.
He cooks our dinner.
I didn’t know he could. He’s a good cook. No Mam, no Nan, no Chef, but better than me. We eat filets of buttery haddock, chunks of Bayne beef made in a thick stew, and non-traditional dishes, including a yummy, spicy bowl of rice and beans.
Tonight, he’s attempting his first lasagna.
He’s had nary a drop of alcohol since the moment he came home to find me gone.
It’s just been the two of us all week. Well, the two of us and the daily vases of flowers arriving each morning. No more notes from that wee monster of mine.
And no apology.
The pasta turns out delicious. I’m so full afterward that I go to bed early, trying to read the book I’d left on my nightstand, but I have trouble focusing and fall asleep instead. I spend the next day with Dad, then go to my room in the afternoon to tackle the book again, only to fall asleep.
I wake to the sound of my phone ringing.
My eyes pop open, and my first thought is, could it be him?
It’s not. And my pitiful little heart falls. Pathetic.
It’s Carol Ann. She’s been so busy I rarely hear from her. She’s the distraction I so desperately need.
Her familiar voice calls through the phone. “Fiona! How goes it?” We exchange pleasantries then she says, “I’m in town just for the weekend. Do you have any plans for tonight?”
She has no idea what’s happened or where I’ve been. Does anyone on the island know? I doubt my father’s spoken to anyone. Bayne’s farm next door is run by tenants who keep to themselves. They’ll not have noticed Callum’s mafia dragging me away that day.
Funny. Do I tell her?
I don’t think I’m ready, and a night without thinking or talking about him is precisely what I need. I agree to her plans, and we confirm she’ll pick me up at eight.
I pop my head in the living room. “Dad. Mind if I go out tonight?”
He’s sitting in his chair, tapping his foot to the beat of his music, listening to his records, something he’s not done for years. “Please do! You deserve it, sweetheart.”
I give him the eye. “No booze?”
“Promise.” He crosses his fingers over his heart. “Go out. Be young. You’ll have fun. I’ll even water your plants for you if you want to sleep in tomorrow.”
“Aw, thanks, Dad.” I hug him tightly, dashing off to find something to wear.
Looking through my meager wardrobe, I ache for the pretty things in my closet—the closet—at his house. I choose a pink cardigan over a white tee and a black leather skirt that Carol Ann had left ages ago when she’d slept over.
I’d not thought to return.
Copying Freya’s work, I do my makeup and curl my hair as best I can. The makeup turns out well, with soft, rosy cheeks and lips, but the curls are a bit wonky. I pull my hair back, securing it with a pink scrunchie.
When I’m done, I like what I see in the mirror.
A flicker of hope rises in my heart, thinking tonight could be fun. The thought of actually meeting someone else turns my stomach. I do need a night out with a good friend, though.
If nothing else, knowing Carol Ann, it’ll be a laugh.
She meets me at the end of my drive at 8:10, popping out of her little black sedan to pull me into a big hug. The tips of her dark hair are now a bright teal, matching her cropped leather jacket. She wears white Doc Marten boots, a short black dress, and ripped fishnet tights.
Appraising my outfit, she frowns.
“What?”
