After a minute’s hesitation, I had decided the greater threat was to their physical rather than emotional well-being, so I had led them up the hotel stairs to the spot we now stood.
I finally rapped on the door, and it swung open immediately. I stared into the face of my father.
Red McConnell’s hair had thinned in the past six years, and the crevices under his eyes had grown more pronounced. He moved forward as if to hug me, but something in my face pinned his arms to his sides. He nodded in greeting instead.
Audrey stepped forward. “You’re my grandpa,” she said. “The other one. Not Daddy’s. His name was Frank, but he’s dead.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“We went to visit him on his farm when I was little. Grandpa Frank grew beans, but he also had chickens. Can I watch your TV?”
“Of course.”
Audrey grabbed the remote off the bedside table and jumped up onto the bed, creating a nest for herself out of pillows. Leo dropped himself in a chair, earbuds in, eyes attached to his phone. They both gave the appearance of normal, though I noticed the signs: Audrey’s voice, an octave higher than usual, and Leo’s stare, glazed and distant. They hadn’t cracked, but they were close.
“I tried calling your cell,” Red said.
“I have a new number.” I gave it to him, with instructions to call only in emergencies, and even then from a pay phone.
He raised his eyebrow at that, and I could tell he wanted to ask. I was grateful he didn’t.
Red watched his grandkids, and I could guess what he was thinking: How much should he say in front of them? The silence between me and my father grew more awkward the longer we both pondered that question.
I spoke first. “You didn’t have to come.”
“You needed me. Where else would I be?”
I bit my tongue to keep from asking: What about when Audrey needed you?
He answered the unasked question anyway. “I know there have been times I could’ve done more, and I’m sorry for that. You smell like smoke.”
“Long story.” I planned on telling him—I’d come primarily to warn him and tell him he was safer at home—but I couldn’t yet find the words. “Did Sue come?”
“I suppose she might have, if we hadn’t broken up three years ago.” Intended as a joke, the words instead served as a reminder of all the time lost. Even Red couldn’t work up a smile.
“Seeing anyone new?”
“Not really.”
Another pause in the conversation. Mentally, I prepared my best small talk—it’s probably colder here than Arizona, right?—but before I could speak, Red said, “I didn’t fly seven hundred and ninety-eight miles to talk about my failed relationships or the weather.”
Parents were sometimes telepathic like that.
“Seven hundred and ninety-eight miles, huh?”
“I Googled it.”
For the first time since entering the room—and maybe for hours before that—I smiled. “You would. You probably prepared a speech too.”
“Wrote it on a napkin on the plane.”
“Practiced it?”
“My seatmate pretended to be annoyed, but I think he really developed a secret crush on you.”
“That must be some speech.”
“I might’ve also shown him photos.”
I thought again of the time we had lost. “I’ve changed a lot in the past six years.”
“Not so much, and the photos were more recent than that.” When I arched my eyebrow in query, Red said, “Sam emailed me photos of you and the kids at the beach last year.”
Sam had been in contact with my father? Before I could ask him to elaborate, Red asked, “About Sam . . . do they know?” I strained not to look at Audrey and Leo.
“Some.”
For most of my childhood, it had been just the two of us. While it felt good to fall back into the familiar rhythms, talk of Sam and his secret conversations with my father sobered me. It reminded me of how I had felt looking into an infant Audrey’s jaundiced face after Red told me he wouldn’t be tested because he hated needles and, besides, Sam or I would probably be a better match anyway.
“I’m still angry with you.”
“I know. But that doesn’t mean I can’t be here for you now.”
I glanced at Audrey in her nest of pillows. “She was really sick.” She had nearly died. But I couldn’t add that last part, especially in light of all that had happened in the past couple of days. It seemed dangerous to release that thought into the universe.
“If you had been that sick as a baby, I wouldn’t have survived it,” he said. “You’ve always been stronger than me.”
I didn’t feel particularly strong. I felt as if one misplaced footstep would drive me to my knees. “Apparently, since I don’t mind needles.”
He winced at the jab. “Fair.”
“Sam really sent you pictures of me and the kids?”
“I think since his own parents are gone, he’s more keenly aware of what I gave up and what our distance might cost you.”
His phrasing surprised me. “What you gave up?”
Red moved closer but didn’t touch me. “I can say I’m sorry or that I handled it badly, but we both know any apology wouldn’t be enough. What I can do is help you now.”
“I miss him,” I said, my voice low. “I’ve heard some horrible stuff about him in the past couple of days, but I still miss him.”
“Whatever you’ve heard isn’t true. Sam is a better father than I’ll ever be, and I’ve never seen a man more in love with his wife.”
I looked for signs he meant what he said, because I wanted to believe in the Sam he described.
“So are you going to tell me why the kids are still in their pajamas and you smell like a campfire?”
I grabbed Red’s hotel key card off the table and led him outside. Once the door was closed, I told him everything. I might have been angry at him but, other than Sam, there was no one I trusted more—which was why his betrayal six years before, and Sam’s now, left me so unsteady.
After I finished, I said, “I need to find him.”
“Like the police said, most married men leave voluntarily.” He was quieter now, less on Sam’s side. Understandable.
“So you believe he was having an affair?”
“Don’t you?” Though he had been certain of Sam’s fidelity before hearing my story, he had doubts now. “But that doesn’t mean he won’t come back. I know better than most that men can be idiots.”
“Even if he was cheating, that doesn’t mean he left voluntarily.”
“In which case, the police are looking for him.”
“I get the impression that they’re looking less for him than at us as suspects.”
“If they’re searching for suspects, then that means they think there’s been a crime. They’re not going to ignore that.”
“I know Sam better than they do.” Did I? My father’s doubt was contagious.
“I’m sure you do.”
I couldn’t be certain Red believed what he said, but the words nevertheless gave me comfort.