When You Come Back to Me (Lost Boys #2) - Emma Scott Page 0,113

customer wait. But that was then. This was now.

Julio met the customer while I went to the main office. Dad was in his usual spot, sitting over a pile of paperwork without seeing it. His hair was grayer than it had been a year ago, and his face had aged a decade. Grief did that. Amelia said we were Pod People from the Dark Crystal, and grief was the evil Skeksis, sucking the life force out of us.

I took her word for it.

Dad sure as hell looked like something vital and alive in him had been ripped away. The light in his eyes was dimmer now. In Amelia too. And me.

When I looked in the mirror now, the mask was back. The one I’d been wearing all my life. Only instead of hiding who I was, I used it to barricade the pain and to keep going for Dad and Amelia. Someone had to pay the bills, buy the groceries, and make sure Amelia didn’t flunk out of school. Someone had to make sure Dad remembered to eat. I took on all the jobs myself and filled every waking second with responsibility.

It was exhausting but easier than missing her.

And him.

“Dad?”

He jerked. “Oh, hey. I was just finishing up the McKlowski invoice.”

“I can do it. Maybe you want to go home and take a nap?”

“A nap? It’s one in the afternoon.” He gave his head a shake. “No, no. I got this. How’re things out there?”

“Great. We got the Chevy started.”

Dad pursed his lips. He still wasn’t sold on the idea of restoring cars; the turnaround was too slow for not a lot of payoff. He didn’t understand that I didn’t do it for the paycheck. With Julio’s help, I’d only restored one car so far, and turning the old wreck back to its former glory had been the best thing to happen to me since Mom died.

Since Holden left.

I brushed the thought away, but the pain whacked me anyway.

“I just hope our regular customers aren’t being neglected,” Dad said. “We have a reputation to maintain.”

“Yep,” I said tightly. He didn’t need to hear how our rep had already taken a small hit. Not that anyone in town blamed Dad; they all knew how he suffered. But he wasn’t 100% and it was obvious to everyone except him.

I just need to work harder.

Another customer pulled in.

“I’m on it. Mr. McKlowski will be back soon…” I glanced meaningfully at the paperwork.

He laughed lightly and waved a hand. “Get out of here. Your old man hasn’t lost all his marbles.”

I smiled faintly.

No, he’s just lost his wife and his lifelong dream for his son.

I went out and the phone in the pocket of my dark blue uniform pants rang. My shoulders sagged when I saw the number.

“River Whitmore?”

“Speaking.”

“This is Deborah from the office at Central High.”

“Yes, hi, Deborah.” I sat on the bench outside the main office, blinking into the bright sunshine of that March afternoon. “I drove Amelia to school myself this morning. I watched her walk in.”

She sighed. “Yes, her teachers reported her present for her morning classes, but it would seem as if she never came back from lunch.”

“Shit.” I rubbed my face with my hands. “Sorry.”

“It’s all right.” Deborah’s voice turned hesitant. “River…is it possible that your father might be able to exert some discipline? I know you’re doing your best, but…”

“But I’m just her brother.”

Over the last year, Amelia had started to give up and the school had given up on my dad. He missed parent-teacher conferences and forgot to return their calls. One of Amelia’s teachers brought in her Honda for an oil change and we got to talking. From then on, it was my phone number the office staff had on file.

“Her Algebra teacher reports that if Amelia doesn’t pass her midterm exam, she’s in danger of flunking the entire class and must retake it in summer school.”

I grit my teeth. “I understand. I’ll talk to her tonight.”

And take away her phone.

I’d already disabled the WiFi in the house after nine p.m. since she’d stopped doing homework in favor of watching TikTok videos.

“Thank you, River,” Deborah said, pity lacing her voice. “I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news.”

“No problem. I’ll handle it.”

I hung up and, as usual, I checked for a text or call I might’ve missed.

Nothing.

The phone went back in my pocket and I got back to work.

An hour later, as Julio and I stood together discussing a diagnostic on a ’17 Mazda,