“The mower blade?”
“Your father taught me to change one the first summer after we married.
Nobody outside the family knows the story.”
The line crackled.
“Mark?”
“Emily, listen carefully.
Your father may be trying to protect you.
He may also be protecting himself.
Until we know which one, do not let love make the decision for you.”
The call ended.
I sat there staring at my reflection in the windshield.
Then another vehicle entered the gas station.
Black sedan.
It passed the pumps once without stopping.
My pulse jumped.
I closed the laptop, started the car, and drove.
Ten minutes later, Ben called.
I answered without speaking.
He said, “Your dad still claims Mark holds the mower blade upside down.”
I nearly cried.
“That’s the phrase.”
“I know.”
“Where is my father?”
“Safe enough for the moment.”
“What did he do, Ben?”
Ben hesitated.
“Ask him yourself.”
“You just told me to stay away from everyone.”
“I told you to stay off the grid.
I didn’t say he wouldn’t come to you.”
I felt cold despite the heat blasting from the vents.
“What does that mean?”
“Drive north.
There’s an old service road off the next exit.
No signs.
Gravel entrance.
Stop beneath the second overpass.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because your father has been trying to get out of his own house for the last twenty minutes without bringing the wrong people with him.”
Then Ben disconnected.
Every instinct told me not to go.
Mark’s note sat on the passenger seat.
Trust no one, not even your father.
But Mark had also told me to use Ben’s phrase.
So I drove.
The service road was narrow and dark, edged by bare trees.
Concrete pillars rose ahead beneath the highway.
I stopped under the second overpass with my headlights on.
For thirty seconds, nothing moved.
Then a figure stepped from behind one of the pillars.
My father.
His birthday shirt was half untucked beneath his coat.
One sleeve was streaked with soot.
There was a shallow cut near his temple.
He looked twenty years older than he had when I left his dining room.
I did not unlock the doors.
