His voice had a hint of emotion in it and Cassie suddenly missed him terribly. She knew he’d been a jerk of a husband, and sometimes a crummy dad, but he was all she had.
“What’s going on?”
Her throat thickened. God, she didn’t want to disappoint him. Sighing and wiping back tears, she said, “I guess I screwed up.” And then she told him the story. All of it…well, she kept out the fact that they’d been smoking weed and making out…no reason to send him into orbit…but she told him the rest, including the part about sneaking out with Josh, visiting the crime scene, and being hauled home by the sheriff.
All the time he didn’t say a word.
“That’s it?” he asked when she was finished.
“Yeah.”
“Learn anything?”
“Not to get caught?” she tried to joke, though tears ran down her cheeks.
“Well, I think you know better. Try to give your mom a break, would you?”
“Yeah.” She sniffed loudly. “Do you…do you think I could come home?”
A pause.
Cassie’s heart crumbled.
“For Christmas?”
“I meant for—”
“I’d love it!” he cut in before she could ad
mit that she wanted to move back to L.A. for good. “The deal is, we’re planning to go to Tammy’s folks’ vacation house for a few days. They’ve got a place in Tahoe, and I haven’t been skiing for years.” Not since the accident during the filming of White Out, she thought. “But I could check, see if there’s room…” He let his voice fade away and Cassie swallowed back more tears. He was trying to nicely get out of having her come. He didn’t say it, but having his daughter visit was inconvenient.
“Mom wants me and Allie here anyway—it probably wouldn’t work.”
“Maybe spring break…oh, hell, that won’t work. I’ve got a new project and we’ll start filming in March. Maybe I could find a couple of days to visit you. We’re shooting in Vancouver, B.C. Or you girls could fly up!” He said it with such enthusiasm. As if he meant it. He probably did. Right now. “I’ll work it out with your mom. Promise. So…you don’t give her any more trouble.”
“Sure,” she said, and managed not to sniff, not to let him know how much she hurt.
“So, is everything okay?”
Okay? Was he crazy? “Yeah,” she lied. But it wasn’t okay. It never would be.
“That’s my girl. Should I talk to your mom?”
“Nah.” She shook her head as if he could see through the phone lines.
“Okay. I’ll call soon. Love you…Oh, is Allie up? I should say something to her.”
That burned Cassie. Of course he should! “I’ll get her.” She walked into the kitchen and mumbled, “Dad wants to talk to you,” as she handed Allie the receiver; then, before anyone said another word, before she broke down completely, she flew up the stairs to her room and threw herself onto the bed. She wouldn’t cry. Wouldn’t. Not when her mother or sister could hear. Still the tears kept flowing, hot and wet, from her eyes.
She hurried into her bathroom, locked the door, and turned on the radio as loud as it would blare. She ran the shower and faucet, then held a wet towel over her face and let out little, tiny sobs, just enough to release some of the anguish, but not enough that anyone could hear her pain.
“Bastard,” she whispered as she thought of her father. The trouble was, she loved him. Somehow, she’d have to find a way to stop that ridiculous emotion. He didn’t care about her, not really. Hadn’t even fought for custody during the divorce. What a wuss! Sniffing, she dabbed at her eyes. Robert Kramer wasn’t worth all this torture.
What about Josh?
Good question. And a tough one.
If you still lived in L.A., would you even look twice at a boy like Josh Sykes? Or would you consider him someone to avoid, a person swimming in the shallow end of the gene pool?