Into This River I Drown - By Tj Klune Page 0,92

how long he was in there. In the river.”

She was cornering me, and I growled at her, teeth bared, panic bubbling to the surface. She was trapping me, trapping me with her lies, her stupid fucking lies.

“Don’t come any closer,” I warned her in a low voice. “Dad’s in Eugene with his friends. He’s with his friends and hanging out.” Then something hit me. It was afternoon. Dad had told me he’d be back by the afternoon. He’d be at the house. Mom just got confused. She got confused with her lies. He’d be at the house. He was at home.

“He’s at home,” I said brightly, even as my heart shattered and my mind broke. “It’s afternoon and he’s at home.” I ignored the tears falling on my face, the way my nose ran. I ignored the way I sounded hysterical, the way hiccups interrupted my words. “He went home because he told me he’d come home in the afternoon.”

She stood a couple of feet away from me and reached out a hand before thinking better of it and pulling it back. “No,” she croaked. “No, baby. No. Big Eddie’s gone. Sweetheart, oh. Oh my God. How… I don’t know….” She started crying again and slumped against the counter. She’d be okay, I knew as I pulled my keys from a pocket. Even if she was a liar, she’d be okay because Dad was at home and I’d go get him. I’d go get him and bring him back to the store and she’d see. She’d see him standing so fucking big and so fucking tall he’d block out the darkened sky, and as she stood in his shadow, her tears would dry and she’d smile such a beautiful smile and she’d tell me she’s sorry. She’d be so damn sorry for all the lies she’d just told. She’d see. I’d show her if it was the last thing I did.

“I’ll show you,” I told her. “I’ll show you.”

She cried out after me as I hopped over the counter and ran out into the rain. I tore around back to where the Ford—

she’ll purr, benji, and you’ll know love because she’s so cherry

—was parked. I threw open the door and my cherry baby roared to life. “We need to find Dad,” I told the Ford. “Take me home so we can find Dad.” The tires squealed as I slammed on the gas, quickly righting the truck as the rear began to fishtail onto Poplar Street.

Even as I gunned the engine, I was pulling my cell phone from the console on the dash. Don’t you dare be talking and driving at the same time, Big Eddie whispered in my head. If I catch you, you’ll lose the phone. We clear?

I hesitated for a moment, but then realized he would forgive me. He would see the fear in my eyes and he would forgive me. And it was just a phone. So what if it was taken away. That’d be fine. I’d give up the phone. Right then, I would have given up anything.

I fumbled through the contacts list, barely keeping my eyes on the road. Then BIG EDDIE was highlighted. I put the phone to my ear. His voice immediately came on the line, and I cried out such a call of relief that I almost didn’t hear his words. And it took me a moment to process them.

“You’ve reached Big Eddie’s phone. Sorry I missed your call. Leave me a message and I’ll get back to you when I can.”

“Dad?” I choked out, even as I heard a beep in my ear. “Is that you? Hello?”

Nothing.

I hung up. And called again.

Immediate. “You’ve reached Big Eddie’s phone. Sorry I missed your call. Leave me a message and I’ll get back to you when I can.”

And again. And again. And again. Immediate message each time. The phone never rang.

I almost missed the turn to Big House. It was raining even harder by the time the Ford’s tires left asphalt for the gravel driveway. Mud slung up in arcs behind me. Rocks flew. I slammed on the brakes in front of Big House, almost skidding into the porch. I couldn’t see his truck, but that didn’t mean anything. It was afternoon. He said he’d be back. Maybe the truck broke down on the way home and he had to have it towed to a shop. Maybe he’d had a few too many beers hanging out with his friends and he’d had to hitch