Phoenix Flame - Sara Holland Page 0,18
I can. So I do, picking my words carefully and twisting the story a little: how Marcus came down with a horrible flu and I had to run the inn in his absence, how reports of a mountain lion on the grounds were freaking everyone out. How Brekken’s soldier training—in my story, he’s started basic training in Wyoming—kept him distant, but a new friend, Taya, helped distract me. And that she had to leave the inn early for a gap year.
Dad follows along with bright eyes, nodding and hmm-ing and asking questions that I then have to improvise answers to. I don’t know why I don’t just outright lie to him—that would be a lot easier—but the truth is, Dad is my best friend outside of Havenfall, lame as that may be. I want him to know what’s going on with me, even if it’s a simplified, watered-down version of the truth.
In turn he tells me of the drama among his neighbors in the home park (debate over the same leaf blower I can hear in the distance now), my grandma’s insurance company (it’s doing well), and Marla’s problems at work (an overbearing new fellow nurse who’s competing with her for the promotion). Normal, everyday problems, and hearing about them makes me feel more normal. It’s not that they’re simple or unimportant—just that no one will die if the other nurse rubs Marla the wrong way, no worlds will be closed off if someone’s leaf blower is too loud. This is what life is supposed to be like, where not every moment is a balancing act on a tightrope, and not every moment can lead to catastrophe.
So why do I miss the inn so fiercely? Why, even as I speak, do my eyes stray out the westward-facing kitchen window, as if I might be able to make out the mountaintops beyond the orderly slopes of our neighbors’ roofs?
Here, life—at least my life—is safe and predictable and lonely. No one expects anything of me except to stay out of trouble. Dad and Marla love me, but they spend most of their time at work, and I don’t have any other friends to speak of (perks of being the Murder Girl). It’s easy to let the days pass, but each one is more and more stifling, and I’m terrified that if I can’t have Havenfall, this is all that my future will hold.
It’s an uneasy reminder that Marcus has a point. As much as I want to drop everything to hunt down the soul traders and bring them to justice, if the Silver Prince takes Havenfall, I’ll have nothing at all left.
“Got something for you,” Dad says, breaking into my spiraling thoughts.
I look up at him, trying not to let my alarm show in my eyes, the darkness of my thoughts. “What’s that?”
“Follow me.” He pushes back from the table and leads me outside. I follow, trying not to let my sudden panic show.
We head around back, where Dad’s usual handful of car projects shelter under a plastic roof. He stops by his old green Toyota Camry—the one he used to drive before the engine gave out a couple of years ago. It’s a little rusty around the edges, but clean, the paint shining under the late morning sun. The car has been fitted with new tires.
He tosses something at me, and I catch it before realizing to my surprise that it’s keys.
“What is this?” I ask dumbly.
Dad shrugs modestly, but he can’t help but grin. “I fixed ’er up. I was planning to sell her, but … when I heard you were coming home, I figured you could use it more.”
“Wow. This is amazing!”
I stare at the Camry in shock, wondering what made my dad give up on his long-held rule-slash-bribe that I could get a car when I went to college. What expectations will counterbalance the gift? But whatever they might be, I’m not going to turn down a car. I grin and give Dad a hug. “Thanks so much, Dad.”
“My pleasure,” he says, beaming. Then the smile dims a bit. “I figured you could use it tomorrow, so you don’t have to take that early bus. You know how I hate you riding when it’s still dark.”
Dad knows that I’m planning to see Mom. I told him when I originally called from Havenfall to arrange the visit. Just like he doesn’t like my going to Havenfall, I know he’s not a fan of the fact that after all these