And there is absolutely no way I am going to let that happen.
"Father, I'm sorry." My voice is the perfect blend of shame and reassurance: it's the voice of a daughter who knows she's messed up...but who also knows that she can soon make her father understand things are not as bad as they seem.
"My God, child! Where are you? Are you safe?"
"I'm safe," I assure him quickly.
"I would've called the police if I still didn't hear from you by today—-"
"I'm sorry, Father." My voice catches, and I angrily blink back tears that would only make my father worry even more if they end up falling. "I'm sorry for leaving—-"
"Where are you?"
I take a deep breath and then I hear myself say, "I'm in rehab."
A heartbeat of silence ensues, and then my father's voice cracks. "Sara. My God. Sara. You never seemed..."
"I h-hide it well."
"Why didn't you come to me?"
I can tell by his voice that he's already blaming himself, and this breaks my heart. "Because I didn't want you to suffer for my mistake. You did nothing wrong—-"
"I should have been there for you."
"You've been always there for me," I say fiercely. "This is just something I need to fix on my own, but I will be okay. And I'm already getting better so please...please Father, please don't blame yourself."
"Can I visit you?"
I find myself shaking my head even though I know he can't see me. "I'm sorry, not just yet. It's too early—-"
"I just want to see for myself that you're truly fine—-"
"I am, Father. I truly am. But I just...I just need to be alone for now, and it hasn't anything to do with you. It's just something I'm going through, and I just...I just want to be completely fine when we see each other again."
The silence from the other end is heavy, and my fingers tighten around the phone.
"Alright, Sara."
My body sags with relief. "Thank you, Father."
"But...I would truly like to know where you are at least."
I didn't expect him to press me like this about where I am, and I find myself fumbling for something to say.
Think, Sara, think.
I need to choose some place that's far away from New Jersey, but it also has to be somewhere that's particularly dry, like...
"I'm in...Arizona," I say finally. "That's all I can say for now."
Arizona is one of the states with the lowest percentage of water by area, and while I don't actually know where we are, I'm pretty sure supersized boats like the one I'm in right now can't physically sail into the cliffs and ridges of the Grand Canyon State.
"My God, Sara. Arizona?"
"It's a matter of symbolism," I say lamely. "Having the desert all around me drives an important point home. I can't and mustn't run away from my problems. I should, um, face them head on, which is what I'm doing now."
"I see."
He sounds so defeated, and my guilt grows. "Have you slept at all, Father?"
"A few minutes here and there. I don't even know what time it is."
"It's half-past five," I tell him after a glance at the alarm clock.
"Half...past...five?"
"It's too early, right? I'm sorry. I didn't notice—-"
"It's not that. I don't care what time you call. I only care about knowing that you're alright." There's a slight pause, and when he speaks again, his voice has become hoarser and noticeably strained. "Do you swear to me that you are truly alright?"
"I give you my word, Father. I—-"
—-have more things to say, but I no longer can because Raaf's old phone has run out of power.
I stare blankly at its screen, unable to believe that my conversation with Father has ended in such a terribly anti-climactic way. I don't even know what to think or how to feel, and while I want to believe that I've succeeded in reassuring Father...
What if I'm wrong, and something happens to him?
My heart is still troubled when I finally decide to go looking for Raaf, and I eventually find him with a little help from Cain. It's my first time up at the fly deck, and it's even more spectacular than I can ever imagine.
There's a long white leather couch facing a breakfast nook, and on top of the latter is an array of breakfast dishes and a laptop. On one end there's a fancy grilling station, and on the other end is a waist-high dipping pool that's built right next to the cockpit. And of course, standing behind its wheel is none other than Raaf.
He turns as soon as he hears my footsteps, and I feel ridiculously shy as our gazes meet.
"Good morning, my Sara." His voice is gentle and almost tender even; it's my Raaf in his dreamiest, and it has my senses fluttering so crazily that I can only croak out a greeting in return.
The way his bronze skin glistens under the faint rays of a partially hidden sun makes me think he's just had his morning swim, and allowing a few wet locks of his raven-black hair to fall over one eye makes him look adorably boyish. Or at least, as boyish as one can be, with the sculpted panes of his chest exposed over a pair of dark board shorts.