A few seconds later, Anna skipped out the door and down the driveway, holding a Frisbee and wearing a rainbow backpack. When she spotted me, she dropped the Frisbee and ran to my side.
“Rose, Rose,” she yelled, hugging my legs. “Is Rose coming?” she asked Dad.
Dad shook his head.
I leaned down and hugged Anna. “I want to,” I said. “But Dad won’t let me.”
“Why not, Daddy? Why?” Anna burst into tears. “I want Rose to come.”
Dad’s jaw tightened. “Get in the car, kids,” he said, never taking his narrowed eyes off me.
Sophie and Billy Jr. stood limply while I hugged them goodbye. The kids climbed into the SUV and began arguing about whether they were going to play a game first or watch a movie. Anna was the only one bothered by my absence. Here I thought they had all accepted me.
“I really, really want to join you,” I said to Kim, making one last-ditch effort. I hated the pleading tone in my voice.
Kim didn’t say anything. She tilted her head and watched me. Her eyes rested on the ends of my hair, which by now grazed my shoulders. The kids had grown quiet in the car—eavesdropping, no doubt.
Dad broke the silence. “What did you say the name of your doctor was?”
“Dr. Stanton,” I said. “Why?”
“What street is his office on?”
“Kinney,” I answered. A bead of sweat formed at my hairline.
Dad pulled out his phone. “Why don’t we give him a call,” he said, impassive, “to make sure he’s okay with this?”
I gnawed on my bottom lip, heart beating faster. “He’s on vacation this week,” I said. “Out of touch.” I didn’t like where this was going.
Dad touched a few buttons on his phone. “There must be an assistant or nurse we can talk to.”
I snuck a peek at Kim. She wouldn’t meet my gaze. I had to get out.
“Maybe you guys are right,” I said. “Maybe this is too big a trip for me. I’ll get out of your hair.”
Dad and Kim watched me, both tense.
From the car, Billy Jr. gave me a small wave and sad half smile. Now that I too had been on the receiving end of Dad’s meanness, he was willing to acknowledge me. I bet it wasn’t often someone else served as Dad’s punching bag.
I glared at Dad for a minute. He was supposed to be kind, a decent man. “I thought you cared,” I spat, and marched down the driveway toward my van.
Before stepping into the street, I heard footsteps behind me. Dad grabbed my arm. I turned around, hoping my cheeks weren’t as red as they felt.
“Rose, listen, I’m sorry,” Dad said, and he did sound contrite. “I’ve been under a lot of stress, but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. I care about you. I do.”
I waited for him to continue.
“I know I’m the parent here, so maybe I’m supposed to know what to do. But there’s no rule book for getting to know your long-lost daughter. I feel like I’m botching things every step of the way.” He rubbed his face, and for the first time, I saw how exhausted he was by all of this, by me. “Why don’t you and I get together once I’m back from this trip?”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. He gave me an awkward hug before retreating to Kim’s side. I waved to both of them, plastering a fake smile on my face. They waved back, studying me.
In my car, I pretended to get something from the glove box so they couldn’t keep watching me. What parents wouldn’t let their cancer-riddled daughter go on the family trip? Who the hell did they think they were, deciding my capabilities for me? Dad had already abandoned me once—now he was trying to do it again. But they weren’t getting off that easy. When their car doors slammed, I sat upright.
Dad started his car, so I did the same. He was waiting for me to drive off, but I waved him on to let him go first.
I couldn’t let the Disney on Ice disaster happen again.
They were not taking this trip without me.
The garage door closed. Dad eased the Explorer down the driveway. He honked when he passed me. Kim stared straight ahead. I watched them drive down the street and halt at the stop sign. I put the van in drive and followed them.
Ten minutes later, we reached a two-lane road with a bunch of strip malls on either side, and I realized Dad and Kim were watching me in their rearview mirror. I pretended not to see them. The first highway they needed—US-30 W—was coming up on the right. I’d memorized the twenty-four-hour-long route so I could help Dad navigate if their satellite signal didn’t work.
But the SUV didn’t get on the highway. Instead, Dad changed lanes. I did the same. Then, without much warning, he turned on his left blinker and pulled into a Subway parking lot. I pulled into the auto repair shop lot across the street and watched the Gillespies traipse inside Subway. Sophie glanced over her shoulder at my car. They all knew I was following them.
I gripped the steering wheel until my hands hurt. Mom once told me about her own childhood camping trip in Pokagon State Park. On the second day, a white skunk had wandered through their campsite. Her dad jumped onto the picnic table and froze, trying not to alarm the skunk. Mom said that was the one time she saw him scared. After the skunk moved on, the rest of the family burst out laughing at him. He looked, my mother said, like a robot turned off mid–dance move. They laughed until their stomachs hurt, until tears dripped off their faces and onto their melting sticks of ice cream. Weeks later, someone dubbed the close call “Pepé Le Phew.”
I wanted my own close call, my own inside joke, a story retold at every family gathering. I wanted the bonfire smell to get stuck in my jacket—I’d been planning not to wash it for at least a couple months so I could sniff it every day back in Deadwick. I could almost taste the crunchy exterior of my roasted marshmallow, then the gooey inside as my teeth dug further. I was already sitting on a log, listening to Billy Jr. tell ghost stories, with Anna on my lap.
I thought I’d done everything right. I’d been polite and funny and laughed at all their jokes and gone out of my way to help them every chance I got. When Kim mentioned blisters from gardening, I’d bought her a pair of gloves. I told Dad over and over how lucky I was to call him my father. I’d helped Anna learn to love something she thought was ugly about herself; she wasn’t scared to go to school anymore. How did they decide when I was good enough to be one of them and when I wasn’t? Why wasn’t I ever enough for anyone?
Don’t get mad. Get even, she hissed.
Her instructions cleared my head. First I had to get rid of this van. It was too big, too recognizable. I googled the nearest bus station.