The One That Got Away (14 page)

Back at home, she put down her school bag and headed toward the sounds of life coming from the kitchen. Jazz was playing on the iPod speakers, and the scent of something garlicky and delicious filled the air.

“Hey,” Marcus said, smiling when he spotted her in the kitchen doorway. “You’re home just in time.”

She took in the sight of the dining room table, bedecked in candles and set for dinner.

“Wow, what’s the special occasion?”

Izzy placed a basket of bread on the table. “He’s not telling. It’s some big secret.”

Marcus, looking ridiculously sexy in Ginger’s green gingham apron, smiled. “Oh, just a little good news. I’ll tell you when we’re all sitting down.”

With a pot holder in one hand, he removed a pan of lasagna from the oven.

Ginger inhaled and instantly felt hungry. “Anything I can help with?”

“No, just have a seat. Everything’s ready.”

Izzy sat down in her usual spot, put her elbows on the table and then, seeming to remember her manners, removed them again.

Marcus brought the lasagna to the table and placed it on a couple of extra pot holders he’d managed to unearth. Ginger had always liked the fact that Marcus knew his way around a kitchen, but this was his first time breaking out the domestic skills here at her house. He’d been so busy with the repair work, she imagined he hadn’t had the energy to do more.

She eyed the bottle of champagne Marcus produced and began pouring, and her stomach flip-flopped.
Champagne?

When he finished, he picked up his glass. “I’d like to make yet another toast, since that seems to be what we do around here.” His eyes twinkled, but he offered no further explanation.

Ginger lifted her glass, and Izzy, looking as perplexed as Ginger felt, raised her own flute of apple juice.

“You have to tell us what we’re toasting, you know,” Ginger said.

“Okay.” He paused, clearing his throat. “I got a call from my literary agent today. She said my publisher is offering me a big, big contract to write a memoir of my experience living with the death threats and being shot.”

“Marcus, that’s great! Congratulations!”

They toasted, and then Ginger thought to ask, “But wait, is this a book you didn’t even pitch?”

He shook his head. “Me? Write a memoir? It’s not exactly my chosen genre, but for the money they’re offering, I think I can work up the enthusiasm to do it.”

“Wow.”

“It’s great timing. I’ve been starting to wonder what my next project would be.”

“You mean working on my house isn’t satisfying your creative urges?”

“It does, actually—which scares me,” he said with a wry smile.

Izzy was listening to their exchange quietly, and Ginger wondered what the girl was thinking.

Marcus continued. “They also want me to pick up my book tour for
Seven Grains of Sand
here in the U.S. now that I’ve recovered.”

Finally, Izzy spoke up. “What does that mean?”

“It means I’ll be traveling for a while, maybe six months.”

Ginger stared at him, aghast. Did he understand what this meant for Izzy? He was smiling, clearly oblivious to the fact that his daughter shrank back in her chair at his words.

“But—”

“It’s much safer to do a book tour here. I don’t think we have to worry about a repeat—”

“What about Izzy?” Ginger blurted before realizing she probably should have asked this question in private.

“I don’t know. We’ll have to figure that out. You could stay with Nina while I’m gone, right? Or maybe here with Ginger?”

He didn’t get it. He was so drunk on his good news, he really didn’t get it.

Izzy glared at him, saying nothing. The only sound in the room was Lulu’s toenails clicking on the hardwood floor as she moved around.

Then, as if in slow motion, Izzy raised the hand holding her juice. The glass flew across the room and landed against the wall with a crash. Their second smashed drinking glass in a week. At the impact, time went into fast-forward. Izzy racing from the room. Marcus staring at her, stunned, a reprimand frozen on his lips.

And Ginger understood him perfectly in that instant as she rose and followed Izzy. He was frozen in terror, both literally and figuratively—afraid to assert his authority as a father, because doing so would make him one not just in name but in fact.

Running away on a book tour was by far the easier option.

The cowardly option.

The option he’d always chosen.

Izzy’s door slammed just before Ginger reached it, and she heard the click of the lock.

“Izzy, please let me in,” she called, but wasn’t sure what she’d say if she was allowed in.

Yes, your father is an idiot. Yes, he’s an ass. No, he’s not really father material at all.

Your mother was right all along to have left him out of the equation.

Ginger pressed her forehead against the cool, grooved wood of the door frame, her hand resting on the knob. “Izzy?” she tried again.

Nothing.

Marcus came down the hallway and stopped beside her. “Open the door, Izzy,” he said. “We need to talk.”

But even Ginger could hear the uncertainty in his tone, as if he wasn’t quite sure he belonged there, telling her to do anything.

First chance he had to return to his glamorous literary life, and he already had one foot out the door?

The writer in Ginger recognized the lure. Didn’t every writer at times long to escape the complication of human interactions for the self-centered pursuit of one’s own creative vision?

Over the years, Ginger had matured. She’d come to see her writing for what it was—one facet of her life, not more or less important than any other part. And in truth, it was often less important to her than the everyday, unglamorous act of helping a student find his or her own writer’s voice.

Marcus tried to grab the doorknob, and she let her hand fall away. Who was she to interfere now? Doing so hadn’t helped anything so far.

As he shook the door, she turned and walked toward the living room. She went out the French doors onto the deck and leaned against the railing. Lulu followed her, so she scooped up the little dog and held her close.

“All this drama,” she whispered. “You’re the only one here who stays calm.”

Marcus stepped outside a moment later.

“She’s got to stop with these tantrums,” he said, shaking his head as he sat down on an Adirondack chair.

Ginger bit her tongue. What did she know about raising a teenager, anyway?

When she looked at Marcus, her heart split in two. One part had always foolishly loved him, and one part, the wiser part, saw his ugly side and loathed his selfishness.

“So you’re just going to
dump
her with someone and go on a book tour?”

She couldn’t bite her tongue, after all.

Pure fury was rising up inside her. It was the fury of a mother bear protecting its cub.

He stared at her, shock registering in his eyes. “You think she’s better off with me? Look what just happened. We try to have a nice dinner, and a glass gets smashed against the wall. She storms off and locks herself in her room.”

“That’s called having a teenager. A teenager who just lost her mother, by the way.”

He shook his head, his shoulders slumped. “I’m not cut out for this. I thought I could handle her, but I can’t, okay?”

Ginger wanted to shake him. She wanted to slap some sense into him. But she couldn’t even find words.

He went on. “Besides, I have to earn a living, and the better my current book does, the better my next one will sell.”

“Grow up, Marcus.”

“What?” He blinked at her, incredulous.

“Grow the hell up! Stop thinking about your own damn ego and think about what’s best for your daughter for once!”

Ginger hadn’t meant to yell, but the fury had come bursting forth, and there was no stopping it now.

“Ginger—”

“You think the number of books you sell is more important than giving that child a chance to feel safe and secure and loved?”

“Of course not, but you can see that this isn’t working. I’m not giving her what she needs.”

“What happened to us becoming a big happy family? Wasn’t that your idea?”

His expression turned darker. “Does this feel like a happy family to you?”

“I don’t want you here anymore,” she said. “Izzy can stay, but I think you should leave.”

“Okay,” he said evenly. “Should I leave tonight?”

“No,” Ginger said, tears springing to her eyes. “Wait until tomorrow so we can talk to Izzy when she’s calm.”

How could she sit there and tell the girl she was about to lose another parent? How could Marcus?

She started to walk inside, but he stood and caught her by the arm. “Ginger, I’m sorry. I thought maybe this could work. I didn’t want it to turn into something ugly.”

And she understood then why he hadn’t pushed the issue of what their lovemaking had meant. After the initial rush of excitement, the messy details of figuring out whether or not they could work as a couple were too much for him. He’d taken the coward’s way out.

With that, she shook her arm loose from his grasp, turned and went inside. Lulu still in her arms, she went to her room and closed the door, lay down on the bed and cried.

She carried most of her things in a backpack, and had tucked Lulu into the doggy travel bag with her head peeking out. No one would hurt a girl carrying a tiny dog, right?

She’d also have to tell the person who picked her up that her dad was abusing her and that she was going to stay with relatives who’d keep her safe. That way no one would try to take her back to Promise and hunt down her parents.

This time of morning, with the sun just about to rise, was an odd time for someone to be hitchhiking, but she couldn’t have waited around any longer. She hadn’t wanted to leave at night, so she’d slept for a while, then crawled out the window at dawn, a few hours before anyone would check to see if she was awake.

The cool morning breeze caused her to shiver, and she tried not to think about how scared she was. That would only cause her to shiver more. No, she wasn’t going to be scared. It didn’t really matter what happened to her anyway.

No one cared all that much, so why should she?

Once she did get to L.A., she wasn’t sure what she’d do, but it seemed like the place to go if you were a runaway teenager. She remembered seeing what had seemed like hundreds of them in Hollywood when she’d visited there a few years ago with her mom. So at least she wouldn’t be alone.

But she did worry about money—she had only forty dollars, left over from her last birthday—and food. How would she get any? She’d have to ask the other homeless kids. There were soup kitchens that gave away free food to them right?

What about Lulu? Would they feed dogs at a soup kitchen? It didn’t seem likely, but she’d seen homeless people with dogs….

God, she didn’t want to be on the street. She didn’t want to go back to Nina’s, either. Marcus would find her there, and then he’d get to be all smug that she was being well taken care of. Like he’d done the right thing, leaving her with her godmother.

The longer she walked along the side of the road, the more things Izzy could think of to worry about. But she wasn’t going back. She wasn’t going to give Marcus the satisfaction of leaving her behind. She wasn’t going to let another parent abandon her.

She did feel bad about leaving Ginger, but Ginger would be fine. She could still adopt some cute little Chinese kid who wouldn’t argue or slam doors, and it would be a lot more fun than having Izzy around.

A car approached, and Izzy raised her thumb, only her fourth chance so far to catch a ride. But the white car just kept going like the rest had; the driver didn’t even slow down or give her more than a glance.

Memories of the night before invaded Izzy’s thoughts.

It was easy to tell when adults had bad news, because they didn’t want to look you in the eyes. They started acting weird, too, but they figured you were too dumb to know something was up.

Izzy had known something bad was about to go down as soon as Marcus started making dinner, acting like he’d drunk too much coffee. He’d let her help when she offered, but he hadn’t wanted to tell her why he was in such a frenzy.

For a short, foolish while, she’d kidded herself into believing maybe he was going to propose to Ginger. Or that he’d already proposed and they just needed to break the news to Izzy that they were getting married.

God, she could be so stupid.

So, so stupid.

But it hadn’t taken long for her to realize that whatever was going on, it wasn’t good news for her. If it had been, Marcus would have looked her in the eye. And he’d have told her what was happening. He wouldn’t have kept her waiting.

Lulu whimpered, and Izzy stopped walking to cover the dog with the little blanket she’d wiggled out of.

From behind her came the sound of another car approaching. Then headlights appeared, rounding the bend in the road. She could see now that it was a truck, not a car. A big semi. As it passed, she stared at the driver and motioned with her thumb.

And something miraculous happened.

The truck slowed, then pulled to the side of the road ahead of her and stopped.

Izzy’s heart pounded about a mile a minute. She wanted to puke. God, was she really going to do this? Get in that truck with some stranger?

What other choice did she have?

She jogged to catch up, and as she got closer, the truck’s passenger door popped open. She climbed onto the step below the door and peered in at a gray-haired man with a beard and a big belly.

“Can I…um, have a ride?”

“Where you headed?”

“L.A.”

“I’m going as far as Bakersfield. You’re welcome to ride along.”

Bakersfield. Where was that? North? South? Did it matter? She’d figure it out later. For now, this was the only chance she had to get away from Promise.

Izzy climbed into the truck and shut the door.

“Hi, I’m…Josie,” she said, giving the name of one of her best friends from childhood. “And this is Lulu.” She nodded at the bag. “You mind having a dog in the truck?”

“Don’t suppose I do,” he said as he pulled out onto the road again.

And that was it. She was on her way. Somewhere.

Away from Marcus.

Away from Ginger.

Away from everything that was never going to be.