Try as he may, Dad couldn’t remember the fire.
“Guess so. You didn’t have to burn the house down to get a meal, you know. I would have made one for you,” I continued to tease.
He didn’t respond, and I tugged on his arm to get him moving. We stepped around the fans the water restoration company had set up and headed toward the bedroom he and Mom had shared on the opposite side of the house from my old room.
I set down the boxes I’d brought and started assembling them. Dad wasn’t going to be much help with his burned hand still wrapped, but I needed him to tell me what he wanted to take with him to Beckett’s.
“We can obviously come back and pick up more things if you forget something you really want, but let’s try to take what you’ll need to be comfortable.”
Dad stopped at the dresser, looking down at the frames scattered across it. His wedding photo was front and center with Mom in a fluffy, Cinderella-style dress and him in a tuxedo. The other pictures were a collage of memories. One was of my parents at the hospital, holding a newborn Chelsea. Another was of the four of us around a Christmas tree when I was a toddler. And next to it was one of my sister and me squeezed together in the tire swing after Mom and Dad had first hung it.
The ache in my chest grew, not only because of the sorrow on Dad’s face but at the poignant memories. Unsure how much more I could take, I stepped into his tiny walk-in closet, calling out, “Come tell me what clothes you want.”
“Where’s her jewelry box?” Dad demanded. His tone was brittle. Sharp.
I ducked my head back out. “What?”
Dad pointed at the antique vanity Mom had bought from a junkyard and repaired when it had seemed a lost cause. An ornately carved jewelry box had always sat atop it. I remembered tracing my fingers over the delicate butterflies and hummingbirds as a kid. It had been filled mostly withcostume jewelry, as we hadn’t had enough money for her to have very many expensive pieces. But Grandma’s wedding set and Mom’s engagement ring had been in there along with a set of real pearls.
Chelsea and I had always fought over the pearls whenever we’d played dress up, and she’d usually won. But occasionally, I’d played without her and draped them over myself, pretending to be a runway model.
“Did you move it?” I asked Dad.
He stood there, motionless, while I searched around the vanity, lifted the old, faded dust ruffle to look under the bed, and then moved back to the closet, hunting the years of accumulated items on the racks and shelves.
An ugly fear started to form in my head, thinking of the two large suitcases Chelsea and Gavin had taken with them, and the fact Beckett had said she’d cleared out her room. But not even Chelsea would do something so brazen and hurtful, would she?
“You can’t just take things, Maisey.” The anger rippling from Dad’s voice surprised me as much as his words. “I may be losing my mind and my job and my home, but you can’t just take what you want without asking.”
He thoughtI’dtaken it? Pain sliced through me. I came out of the closet again, and the dark look he sent me sent a chill up my spine.
I bit back my instant retort that would have been full of hurt, opting for patience I wasn’t sure I’d hold on to for much longer. “I didn’t take anything, Dad. I’d never take something from your house without your permission.”
Had he taken it and sold its contents, attempting to cover some of the money he owed the bank, and just couldn’t remember it? By some twist of illogical fate, he’d paid the house insurance five months ago, although it was due again in a month. It was a small blessing, meaning we’d get a check to cover some of the damages. But Beckett had been right, we’d need to do a lot of the repairs ourselves.
“Then where is it?” he challenged me.
Pain carved a fresh wound into my soul.
“I don’t know, Dad. You tell me what happened to it. You’re the one who’s been keeping secrets.” As soon as I said it, I regretted it, but I’d be damned if I’d sit there and have him accuse me of stealing from my own family.
“Don’t take that tone with me, young lady,” Dad hissed. “I’m still the father, and a father doesn’t burden his kids with his troubles.”
My patience snapped completely as I turned away from him and said under my breath, “Please. Like I wasn’t the one to pay all the bills after Mom died?”
“Don’t talk to me that way!” he yelled and then kicked one of the emptyboxes. I barely had time to put my hands up and deflect it as it came flying at me.
My hands shook as I righted the box just as Beckett’s deep voice asked, “What’s going on here?”
I looked up to find him in the doorway, frowning. Everything turned fuzzy. Unreal. As if I’d stepped into an ugly dream.
My dad sat on the bed. He said vehemently, “I’m not leaving. This is my home. I’m staying here. I won’t have more of her things stolen from me while I’m not here to watch over them.”
I rubbed a hand over my face and then tugged at the end of my ponytail.
“You can’t stay here, Dad. There won’t be any electricity until they can fix the wiring in the kitchen.”
“I don’t need electricity.”