The Bookstore on the Beach - Brenda Novak Page 0,42
Taylor got the impression Sierra was embarrassed by what’d happened. “I’m fine.”
“But last night—”
“Was just another day of living with my dad.”
Taylor grimaced. “He’s always like that?”
“Only when he drinks.”
But he drank a lot. Taylor already knew that because Sierra had mentioned it before. Holding out one of the lattes, Taylor said, “I brought you this.”
“Thanks.” She swung the door wide as she took the proffered cup. “Come on in.”
Once inside, Taylor had the chance to look her friend over and was relieved not to see any cuts or bruises. “So...he didn’t hit you or anything?”
“No. Just tried to wash my mouth out with soap, but I wriggled away before he could, ran to my room and locked myself in. I swear, sometimes he still thinks I’m ten.”
Taylor remembered how mad he’d been. “Didn’t running away from him just make everything worse?” There was a glass pitcher lying broken on the floor. She pointed at it. “Please tell me he didn’t throw that at you.”
“No. We knocked it off when we were at the sink. Once I clean it up, chances are good he won’t even remember we had a pitcher like that.”
“I’m surprised he didn’t clean it up. Someone could get cut.”
“I’m the only one who cleans up around here, and I wasn’t about to come out of my room when he was in such a foul mood.”
Taylor sipped the foam from her latte, scarcely tasting it. “What’d he do when you locked yourself in?”
She pulled up one of the straps on her tank top that had fallen off her shoulder. “What could he do? He couldn’t reach me so he stomped around, yelling about what a lazy, no good, ungrateful daughter I am and took my phone, which I had to leave behind when I made a dash for my room.”
That explained why Sierra hadn’t answered any of her texts. “Where is it now?”
“My phone?” She ran her fingers through her short hair, making it stand up even more. “I’ll have to check the recliner. I think that’s where he slept last night. If it’s not there, he might’ve remembered to take it with him, which would suck, because then it might be a while before I can get it back.”
Taylor hated the idea of not being able to reach her. She walked over to look in the recliner herself. “I don’t see it,” she said, using her free hand to dig down the sides.
“Damn. Well, when he goes to sleep tonight, I’ll search for it. It might be in his car.”
Taylor didn’t think she should make him mad again. “I wouldn’t do anything to piss him off.”
“He’s mostly talk,” Sierra said. “It’s best to just ignore him when he gets like that. I have one year left at home—that’s it. Then I’m gone.”
Taylor couldn’t imagine living with someone like Mr. Lambert for another three hundred and sixty-five days and suddenly felt like a big baby for feeling sorry for herself over her dad’s disappearance. She missed him. It sucked to have him gone. But she still had her mother, who was good to her. At least she wasn’t living with someone who got drunk and flew into a rage. “I drove by last night,” she said. “But the house was dark, so I didn’t dare come to the door.”
She fixed the lid on her latte, which was coming off. “Are you the one who called the police?”
Taylor hated to admit it. She didn’t want Sierra to be mad if she shouldn’t have done that. But the thing she admired most about Sierra was her honesty and courage. She wanted to be just as honest and courageous. “Yes. Did they talk to you—or just your dad?”
“They insisted on seeing me, so my dad had me come out.”
“What’d you say to them?”
“That I was okay.”
“You didn’t tell them what happened?”
“No. Why would I? There’s nothing they can do, except take me away, and that would be even worse. Do you think I want to go into foster care?” She rolled her eyes. “No! It’s not like my dad beats me.”
“I thought he was going to.”
“He’s just lonely and miserable, which is why he drinks. And when he drinks, he becomes the worst version of himself. He’s not always that bad.”
“But...what if he does hit you one day?”
“He won’t. For the most part, I know how to stay out of the way.” She finally managed to get her lid on straight. “I’ve been doing it long enough, right?”