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“Oh, just to meet some friends.”
I nodded once, slowly, thinking of my father’s friends and not coming up with anyone but his good friend Joe, who lived alone with five cats. “Where are you guys going?”
“Oh, out. Not sure yet.”
Those alarm bells started ringing again. My dad was acting funny, and his shifty eyes and shaky hands made me nervous. I bit my lip and closed my eyes.
Calm down, Laura. You’re making this into something it’s not. You’re just reacting to the past and allowing it to interfere with the present.
“I’ll see you later, honey,” he said and walked out the front door.
As soon as the door closed, I rushed into his room. I opened his dresser drawers and ransacked each one, looking for a syringe, a bottle, a packet of pills. Anything that would prove my father was doing drugs again.
When I didn’t find anything, I inhaled deeply, nearly faintly from the relief. With my hands on my hips, I scanned his room. There was an old jewelry box of my mom’s on the dresser. She’d left it behind and he usually kept his watch and old wedding ring inside it. I hadn’t opened it since I was a kid, but something in my gut drew me to it. Taking measured steps toward it, I lifted the lid. A gold band was nestled between the velvet rolls, but the watch wasn’t there. He was probably wearing it. But there was a compartment underneath this one, so I pinched one of the velvet rolls and lifted the tiny shelf.
Oh god.
It wasn’t drugs.
It was worse.
Rolled up in an elastic band was a thick wad of cash. It felt heavy in the palm of my hand. Flipping through the twenty-dollar bills, I estimated at least a thousand dollars.
What the hell? How did my dad get his hands… no… god… no.
“What are you doing?” my father asked from the open doorway. His voice was eerily calm.
I jumped and dropped the money onto the floor. It landed with a thud as loud as a bomb in the silent room.
My father reached down for it. “You have no business going through my things, Laura.”
“W-where did you get this kind of money?” I asked, taking a shaky breath. I felt a panic attack coming. Closing my eyes, I inhaled and counted to five, holding my breath before releasing it slowly.
“That’s none of your business.”
My eyes flew open. Anger surpassed panic at that moment. “None of my business? None of my business?” I couldn’t believe his words. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Watch your language.”
“Oh, now you’re the parent again?”
“This isn’t what you think, Laura.”
“I really hope so, Dad, because I can’t do it again. I won’t go through that again.”
A flashback of my father on the kitchen floor, barely breathing, his pupils dilated and me pounding on his chest, crying. I shook the memory away as the feelings it brought back tore through my chest.
But another memory quickly replaced it. Handcuffs around my wrists, police officers crammed inside my bedroom, leaning over me, suffocating me. This time, my legs gave out and I slid down to the floor.
“No,” I cried. “I can’t…” I sobbed.
My father fell to his knees in front of me. “Shh, don’t cry, Laura. You’re jumping to the wrong conclusions. I’m not into drugs anymore.” He wiped the tears falling down my cheek. “It’s not like that. I promise.”
His face blurred behind my tears, and while I recognized the sincerity in his voice, his face confused me. His eyes were wary and the muscles on his face spasmed. He was lying. I could feel it.
“I’ve got to go,” he said.
“Don’t go,” I pleaded. I grabbed onto his shirt. “Please. Stay here. I won’t go to work. Stay with me.” My voice broke. My heart raced, waiting for him to choose me.
