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She points to a cardboard box wrapped in brown paper. It has to be the camera he wanted to give me. Instead of mailing it, he drove it here. In a way, that’s typical Dad. I open the box and pull out the camera. It's an old Canon digital with a zoom lens. The batteries are good, and I look at Amanda on the small screen.
She scowls back at me. “I offered him a blanket, but he said he was fine and would wait for you.” She continues to frown. “Wait. Were you on a date?”
My expression tries to rat me out, but I hold onto my cool. “I went out with a friend.”
She frowns, not satisfied with my vague explanation, but she can ask more questions later. The conversation dies as soon as my dad enters the kitchen.
“Olivia, there you are.” His hands are on his hips as he looks me up and down, and whatever Amanda saw, I hope he doesn’t notice.
“Thanks, Dad.” I hold up the camera. “But you didn’t have to make a trip down here to give this to me.”
“I hadn’t seen you in a while,” he replies. “It was a good excuse to visit.”
His lips tighten in a look of concern, and I start to fidget as my shoulders start to hunch over. My father is a tall man and still slim from his years in the Navy. He keeps his silver hair cut close to his scalp and his mustache trimmed, which he grew after his honorable discharge. He never really adjusted to civilian life and decided that the best way to handle any problem, including his divorces, is with rules and routine.
Amanda is watching us intently, so I decide to walk across the room and hug my dad. My family is rarely demonstrative. We love each other, but physical affection is saved for special occasions on set dates throughout the year. I hug him quickly and practically jump back.
“Do you need a place to sleep?” I ask. “You can use my bedroom.”
He laughs. “I have a room at the local courtyard near the campus. I've already picked up my keycard. I just wanted to see you first and give you the camera. Do you have morning class?”
I nod. “But I’m free in the afternoon.”
“Good. I’ll see you back here at twelve hundred hours, and then we’ll go out to eat.” He reaches out and sweeps his finger under my eye. He frowns. “You could use some sleep.”
Dad left soon after that, and Amanda was blown away that he had waited until I got home. Then she marveled at how he didn’t call for a car, choosing to walk back to the courtyard, located past the engineering school on Route 21.
“Your dad is hardcore,” she says, “You must have had a strict childhood.”
I sigh. “I love him, but there were moments when I felt like I was enlisted.”
***
Dad sent directions to a 24-hour diner not far from the main campus. I knew where it was located, but he offered to pick me up anyway. It’s funny how he forgets that I’ve been on my own for over a year. But I don’t mind being smothered for one day because, at some point, he’s going home. Over lunch, our conversation is trivial, and a response of “okay” or “good” easily covers everything.
“I’ll be back in the spring to see you play during the season,” he says.
“Really?” I gawk and then catch myself. “I mean, that sounds nice.”
My nerves are heightened as I realize that this is the perfect opportunity to ask. Finally, I can look him in the eye and ask him what happened that summer.
“Dad?” My voice cracks, and I start again. “Dad, do you remember Elijah Harlow?”
The background noise is sucked out of the room as if we’re the only two left seated. I wait for him to acknowledge that I’ve even asked a question. His eyes drill into me as I mindlessly play with my fork in my sweaty hands.
“Why do you ask?” he finally says.
I should have expected a question in response. “I heard his name again. Someone mentioned him. So, I was wondering whatever happened to him.”
Dad’s jaw tightens, and, surprisingly, he can speak. “Do you remember any more than that?”
“Than what?” I ask. I’m unsure where this conversation is leading, so I keep my mouth shut, hoping it will go somewhere.
“Sometimes people earn your trust, and then they take advantage of you,” he replies. “It’s despicable, especially when it happens to a child. People like that should be locked away.”
There are too many questions, so I ask one. “What do you mean by locked away?”
“Elijah did something that meant he should be locked away.”
