Chapter 17

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

DANIEL

I'm going to get her to admit it today. I don't like games. She might as well tell me how she feels now because it's not like my feelings are going to change. I can't stand her.

As I wait at the entrance gate for her to show up, something behind me rattles against the ground. There's a cat jumping on top of a metal garbage can. The lid is what hit the ground. Now the cat is digging in the trash.

I take a step closer.

The cat jumps to the ground. The hair on its back raises, and it hisses at me.

"I wouldn't touch it if I were you," Margo says behind me.

I lift the lid and put it back into place. "I don't want it to get hurt. You never know what people throw away."

The cat slowly backs up before fully scurrying down the alley.

"What if it hurts you?" Margo asks.

I shrug. "Then I get hurt."

She's wearing a bright blue windbreaker and her iconic earrings. These ones are smaller and don't hang down. Her pants are stuffed into a pair of red combat boots, and she's holding on to a fuzzy plaid purse. I have to admit, it's not the type of outfit I think of when a girl is trying to get a guy's attention. However, this is Margo; she doesn't do what other people do. This fits her personality to a T . "I thought you like to wear fruit earrings?"

"Tomatoes are a fruit, and that's a hill I'll die on. And I don't always wear fruit. Sometimes I change it up."

"Like what?" I don't know why I'm encouraging her to talk.

Her face scrunches in thought. "Well, I have a pair of donut earrings. And there's this really cute pair of bumble bee earrings I saw the other day that I'm thinking about buying."

"Wow. Daring."

She scowls. "I don't have to explain myself to you. Now, show me where the storage unit is."

I lead her to the gate where I punch in my access code, and we walk past at least twenty units before we get to Grandma's. There's a lock at the bottom. I fish the key out of my pocket and unlock the unit. I push up the door, and it rattles as it reveals all of Grandma's old furniture piled on top of each other.

My heart drops. It's been months since I saw any of these things. I refused to help fill boxes or move them into the storage unit. I couldn't. The house Grandma owned for years—my home—was being stripped in front of my eyes. Every time Laura asked me if I wanted to bring something to her house, my answer was always the same: no. I didn't need reminders of my life being destroyed.

Grandma didn't tell me she was selling the house. I came home one day to the sign in our yard. That was the same day I found out I'd be moving in with Laura. I didn't get a choice. She didn't ask me how I felt about it because it didn't matter. Grandma had made up her mind, and what I thought wasn't important.

"Where should we start looking?" Margo asks. There's a narrow clearing in the center she steps into.

I blink, refocusing and forcing myself to step forward. "I'm not really sure. Her stuff could be anywhere. It used to be in our attic."

Margo starts opening boxes and peeking inside. "Do you remember anything else?"

"It's in an old maroon trunk."

"That shouldn't be too hard to find," she says. She takes out her phone and turns on the flashlight. The daylight helps, but it's still dark in here, making it hard to see the farther we go in. "I think we're going to have to move some things." She reaches up to grab one of our dining chairs that's stacked upside down and pushes it into me. "Here you go."

My hands wrap around the wood, and I walk backwards until I find another spot for it. I flip it right side up and set it outside of the unit while we continue looking.

"Do you have any idea where it would be?"

"You're the finder. Go find it," I say.

"Fine. I will." Margo starts climbing on top of the kitchen table. She's on her knees, getting ready to stand. The table shouldn't have been saved. It's old. The legs are uneven, and there's a crack running through the center. It wobbles and tilts to the side. She's going to fall.

She shrieks.

I rush back toward her, put my hands out, and catch her around the waist.

Her arms wrap around my neck. She's so close I can see every shade that makes up her big brown eyes. They widen even more.

Did she do this on purpose? Did she want me to catch her? Does this mean I'm right?

Why is my face starting to warm?

"You can put me down," she says.

"Right." I lower her to her feet. I scratch the back of my head and look away. "Don't get on that again. You're going to get yourself hurt."

"Then help me move it," she says. "I think I see something on the shelf in the corner."

I take one end, and she takes the other. We move it about a foot, just enough for her to slip through. She moves some boxes, setting them on the table. I keep them steady so they don't fall the same way she did.

She almost closes herself in by rearranging everything. "Ah-ha!"

"What?"

She tugs on something large. "I think this might be it."

I'm on the other side of her wall, and I can barely see her. "What does it look like?"

"It's big and maroon."

"That's it." I've seen it countless times while growing up. More than once, I sat in front of it in the attic, but I was never brave enough to open it. My mom didn't want a kid, and I was afraid I'd find proof of how much she regretted me in that trunk.

"It's kind of heavy. I don't think I can lift it."

I start moving more boxes out of the unit so I can clear the path enough to squeeze past the table too.

Margo kneels in front of the trunk and flips it open. It's full of clothes and shoes .

I bend down next to her, but I don't touch anything.

"Could you hold the light please?" she asks, handing me her phone.

I aim it to shine directly into the trunk.

Margo rummages through it, pulling out my mom's things. As she gets closer to the bottom, there's a stack of photos. Margo flips through them quickly and sets them to the side. Then, she goes back to digging in the trunk. Before I know it, the trunk is empty.

There's nothing. No clues. No proof of my dad. There isn't even anything that would show I was a part of her life. She didn't hold on to a baby outfit or pictures of me. It's like I didn't exist in her world.

Margo sits back, chewing on her lip.

"Are there any other boxes with things from your mom?"

I shake my head. "Grandma didn't keep reminders of my mom around." My mom wasn't exactly a role model. Grandma only kept a couple family pictures from when she was younger. Everything else was in this trunk.

"Well, let's put this back, and I'll look around a little more. Maybe there's a clue somewhere." I can tell by the tone in her voice she isn't hopeful.

She starts to put the clothes and shoes back in, but when she gets to the photos, she pauses.

"What is it?" I ask. The pictures are just of my mom, young, with friends. None of them are guys.

She holds up a photo. "Do you know who this is?"

"No."

She smiles. "Well, we need to find out."

"Why?"

She shakes the photo a little. "Look at this. Does anything look odd? "

It's just a picture of my mom and her friend on their graduation day. There's nothing special about it. I shake my head.

"This isn't the same size as the other pictures. Look closer. Someone's been cut out."

I take the photo and study it. She's right. There's an extra hand around my mom's waist like someone else is supposed to be in it.

"We need to figure out who your mom's friend is because I'm ninety-nine percent sure whoever got cut out of this photo is your dad."

My heart stops.

Could she be right? Are we really that close to finding him?

"Well, what do we do now?" I ask, knowing Margo is already five steps ahead of me. She's like a chess player already seeing the win in sight.

"We could show your grandma the picture. Maybe she'll recognize the girl. I mean she's in half of these, so your grandma has to know her."

"It just depends on the day."

Margo chews at her lip. "Is there anyone that would know? What about your cousin?"

I shake my head. "My mom lived in Seattle growing up and hardly saw them. They didn't move here until I was born. I doubt she knows anything."

"It wouldn't hurt to ask. But if she doesn't, we have other options. I don't know anyone who doesn't have a digital footprint. There's always a trail. We just have to find it." She starts to put away the boxes she moved. "Let's get this mess cleaned up. I have to be home by four. "

She wants to leave already? I thought we were on to something. I figured we'd keep looking. This feels too soon.

"You have plans later?" I don't know why I asked. Of course she does.

"Annie and I are going to the movies. I promised her, and I don't want to be late."

That's a perfectly reasonable excuse. She's not trying to get away. She has no choice but to leave. She made a promise, and I respect her for keeping it. Most people I know don't know how to keep those.

"You can head out if you want to. I can put everything back so you aren't late."

She laughs. "I made the mess. I'm not about to ditch." She moves quickly, not very gracefully, but it's entertaining. "Here," she says, loading up my arms with loose items and boxes. "Those were over there." She points to the far corner.

I stack them and wait for her to hand me more. Once we have the majority put away, we get ready to move the table. Margo's face strains as it lifts, and when we set it down, she leans against it for a moment. Her face seems a little pale.

"Are you okay?" I ask.

She nods. "Yeah," she says, breathless. "I just need a second." After a moment she stands taller and smiles. "I'm good."

"You sure?"

"Mm-hmm." She maneuvers around the table. "All we need to do is put that chair back."

We walk out of the unit and Margo waits outside while I set the chair on top of the table. When I come back, her cheeks are pink. Did she blush? If she did, why? Was it because of me ?

I shake it off, pretending not to notice. I bend down and lock the door. "You have the picture, right?"

She nods and hands it to me. I put it in my pocket.

We walk back to the front gate and I make sure to close the gate behind us. As we walk farther down the sidewalk there's a rustling in the alleyway, and I stop. "Do you hear that?"

"No."

I hold my finger to my lips and look around.

There's a faint whimper.

I follow the sound until I find the cat from earlier huddled behind a dumpster. It has blood dripping down its leg, and there are plastic rings around its neck from a six-pack. The plastic is also caught on a jagged edge of the dumpster, trapping the cat.

I take a step closer, and it hisses at me.

Margo pulls my arm. "What if it bites you?"

"Then it bites me. Someone has to help it."

She grips tighter. "Isn't there someone we can call to help? There are people who take care of strays."

"No!" It comes out much more harshly than I meant. Then I say a little quieter, "Everyone knows what happens to strays no one wants."

She lets me go. "Okay. You're right."

I inch closer to the cat. "Hey, buddy."

Its hair stands up and its back arches as it tries to get away from me. Its hissing only increases.

"It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you," I say. I reach into my jacket for my pocket knife. Then I slip my jacket off. Quickly, I throw it over the cat, leaving a small spot bare so I can stop it from hurting me while I cut the plastic. The cat thrashes about, and I feel it biting through the fabric .

I wince, but stay focused until the plastic is completely removed. Then, I jump back.

The cat scurries away the second it's free. It slows halfway down the alley and tilts its head from side to side as if it finally realizes it's free.

I smile.

"Daniel?"

My gaze shifts back to Margo.

Her brow furrows, and she reaches out to me. "You're bleeding."

Her touch throws me off, and I tug my hand back. "It's fine. I don't even feel it." Who cares if there's a little blood? I was raised to be tough. This is nothing.

She takes my hand again, and this time I don't pull away. She brings it close to her face, looking it over. Then her soft gaze shifts up to me. Her usual hard expression has melted away. She stares at me with genuine concern and says, "Just because you can't feel it doesn't mean you aren't hurt."

My heart stops. There's a lump at the back of my throat, and I force myself to breathe. I watch her eyes, looking for any sign of deception, but there isn't any. She wholeheartedly believes what she said.

Is that the kind of thing people say when they care about you?

She shuffles through her bag. "There's a corner store a couple blocks down. Let's go there and get some disinfectant and Band-Aids."

My jacket is still lying on the ground. I grab it and wrap it around my hand. "It's fine. I'll take care of it when I get home. I don't want you to be late."

She crosses her arms and shakes her head. "No." Then, she takes hold of me by my arm and starts to march back down the alleyway. "You deserve to be taken care of too."

Margo leaves no room for argument.

I let her lead me away.