1. Meredith

1

MEREDITH

T he unbalanced fan above me and the old clock on the wall both seem to make a ticking noise at the same time, signaling the passing of the minutes as I sit on the couch in my dad's living room on a Sunday night.

I have no idea why I even bothered to come home for the weekend. I usually come to spend some time with my dad even though I'm swamped with piles of work, trying to catch up with college and life in general. But as usual, he's missing most of the time I've been here.

Heaven knows what he's out doing.

I can only guess, but I thought he'd gotten better lately. He always says that he wants a relationship with me and wants to do better.

That's just like sweet, forgiving Meredith. I always believe him and hope he'll come around again. I guess I just want a father. But it's too much to ask of a man like him.

Finally sick of sitting around and flipping through a million Netflix shows I've already seen or have no interest in, I decide to go ahead and take a shower and get ready for bed. I don't have school in the morning—I'm lucky to have Mondays off other than one class in the evening. It's the only day I get any kind of reprieve.

Instead, I'll be meeting up with the girls. I haven't seen Harlow in almost two weeks now.

As I strip off my clothes and make sure I have a towel and washcloth, I take my long hair out of the messy bun it's been in all day. I smile at the thought of seeing my best friend again while I step into the shower.

It's been hard going to college without her. I'm so used to having Harlow right by my side through everything.

Of course, Addy's around. But she's just as busy as I am. And she doesn't live on campus.

She lives across the street in an apartment her parents are paying for, and her major takes up much less time than mine. It doesn't help that I'm majoring in urban development and minoring in geology. I don't know what I was thinking other than the fact that I want to help people so badly. I want to turn this community into something great.

I turn on the showerhead and let the water fall over me like rain. I hope the heat will release some of the tension in my shoulders from thinking about where my father is tonight.

Where he's been all of these nights while I've been home trying to do my duty as a daughter.

My shower doesn't last very long, and neither does the distraction of the hot water. My thoughts are already swirling in my mind as I wrap a towel around myself and head into my bedroom.

Nothing has been touched since I left—I'll give my father at least that much credit. I always have a place to come back to if I want. It just may not be the ideal place for anyone.

Most people wouldn't guess that this is the kind of thing I'm going through. They see me as sweet and innocent. I don't speak up or complain a whole hell of a lot. Only Harlow really knows the depths of what I've been through with my family.

I take my time finding something comfortable to put on, and then I slide into bed. I make sure my alarm is set so I have enough time to get ready and go tomorrow.

As I shut my eyes, I try to sleep and focus on my excitement about the girls' day. Unfortunately, after thirty minutes of being unable to get any shut-eye despite it now being midnight, my phone rings, making me sit up in bed.

My heart races as I look at the number. I know it's local, but I have no idea who it is.

"Hello?" I say into the receiver, hoping it's not some hospital telling me my father's finally overdosed or died of alcohol poisoning or something crazy.

"Meredith?"

Familiarity scratches at my brain. I know this voice.

"Yes, this is she."

"Thank goodness. This is Nurse Hadley. We've met a few times."

I breathe a sigh of relief. If something is going on with my father, at least he's with someone I can trust. We've had many a run-in with him passed out from drinking too much. She's a nurse who happens to work at the ER nearby, and we've gotten to know each other on a first-name basis.

"Hi, is everything all right?"

Please don't let him be dead. Please don't let him be dead.

"Sort of. It's unfortunately kind of the usual. I happened to catch your father in a confrontation getting kicked out of the casino. He was gambling his money away, and he was knee-walking drunk. He was about to be arrested for being drunk in public, but I intervened."

I roll my eyes, realizing it's going to be a while before I get to sleep.

"Thank you so much for that. You really didn't have to. Where are you? I'll come get him out of your hair."

"We're at the corner of Fifth and Main. I got him some water to hydrate him. He's kind of sitting in my passenger seat right now."

I'm already standing up and grabbing some pants to slide over my pajama shorts. "I'll be right there. No worries."

I hang up before she can say anything sympathetic like she always does. I'm probably going to hear it when I get there in person, anyway. Every time I show up to rescue him, everyone's always so sorry for me.

It gets old.

I grab my keys and purse and rush out the door to my car, not even bothering to brush my hair or anything. I don't want her to have to deal with him if he ends up becoming belligerent as he comes to. I'm sure she deals with that enough in her day job, especially being a nurse in the middle of Vegas.

However, as much as I feel sorry for her, I'm extremely grateful that she's kept him from going to jail. As a college student, I certainly don't have the money—especially with him gambling all of his money away—to get him out of jail.

Traffic is light, so the drive doesn't take long. Sundays aren't as rowdy as Fridays and Saturdays, though it's Vegas so there's always some level of busy—other people gambling their life savings away and getting too drunk or too high. The difference is that most of them come from out of town on vacation. And they usually don't have their daughters coming to rescue them.

When I get there, I see he's practically unconscious. How much did he have this time?

He shifts around a little and moans every once in a while. He tries to say a few things under his breath as I put one of his arms over my shoulder so I can try to get him into my car. Nurse Hadley helps, and the effort of getting him to my passenger seat is so much that we don't talk.

It's a nice reprieve from what's to come. I really don't want to face the reality of his behavior and how it makes me look.

Sure enough, once it's done, she looks at me with those eyes—the eyes of someone who feels sorry for the girl with the drunk dad. I look anywhere but her eyes.

"Are you sure you'll be able to get him home okay? I can try to get him to the hospital and admitted if that saves you the trouble."

Just what we need, another medical bill because he needs to dry out.

I shake my head. "I'll run through somewhere and get him some coffee, try to sober him up enough so he can help me walk him into the house. I've dealt with this before."

Nurse Hadley gives me a nod, as if she knows intimately that I've done this before. Though I'm sure the number of times would scare her. Hell, it scares me.

"Well, if you ever need anything, you have my phone number now. It's my cell."

"Of course. You've done enough tonight. I really appreciate this, again," I say while climbing into the car, trying to avoid any further conversation. All I want to do is get to bed and go to sleep so I can forget the utter humiliation of this moment.

It takes almost an hour to sober him up enough to get him into the house without help. I manage to kind of lump him into bed and get his shoes off before he rolls over and starts snoring.

Usually, I stay in the room trying to make sure he doesn't puke and choke on it. But I'm so exhausted and angry at this point that I don't bother. This time, I slip back into bed, and while it's a restless sleep, at least I don't have a problem getting there.

The first thing I do when I wake up is make some coffee. It's instant, this blackish-brownish sludge that reminds me of something that would end up in a public toilet rather than in a cup, but it's what we can afford. And something about it always gets my father sobered up quicker than the fancy stuff.

I have every intention of having a conversation with him before I leave today. I can't keep doing this with him—he's too old, and I'm too busy. He needs to understand the impact he's having on my life and get one of his own. A safe and nice life. One suited for a man in his fifties.

He comes shuffling into the room thanks to all the banging I've done in the kitchen. The best way to get him in here is to take advantage of his hangover. He sounds like something out of Shaun of the Dead as he comes to get a cup of this foul-smelling sludge that I've put in his favorite mug for him.

"Why don't you sit down at the table this morning?" I suggest curtly, my lips pursed. My voice and expression make me feel like I'm acting like a mother more than a daughter. I guess I'm getting plenty of practice for when it's my actual turn to be a parent.

He gives me a look, but he must see something there that lets him know I'm not here to play. So, instead of shuffling over to the couch and falling back asleep, he slams his coffee mug onto the tiny dining room table with excessive force, dramatically slides out the chair, and sits down. The chair creaks a little under his weight, and I eye it. It's just an old folding chair that came with the card table set, probably close to the end of its life.

I grab my protein waffle from the toaster and my own coffee, the texture covered up with a ton of milk and sugar, and take a seat across from him. "Dad, we need to talk about last night. I can't keep coming to rescue you. I came here for the weekend so I could see you and spend time with you. Clearly, you've decided that can't happen, and have chosen to make things hard for me. I'm in college to make a life for myself, and I can't do that if I'm constantly having to rescue you in the middle of the night. I certainly can't do that if you gamble away all the money you have. So, what's it going to take? Is it finally time to force you into rehab? Should Nurse Hadley have let the cops get you?"

He gives me the evil eye and picks up his coffee, downing half of it as if it's some kind of shot. Setting it back down again, he finally speaks. "This is not the time, Meredith. Last night is not what you think. I was…I was dealing with some things. But now it's too late. You won't have to worry about it much longer. Not only am I going to be sober, but I won't be staying here anymore. And neither will you."

I stare like there's some kind of gigantic bug crawling on his face. "What the hell do you mean by that?" Usually, my voice is not this harsh, but I'm so fucking over it.

"I didn't stutter, Mer," he says, using what used to be a loving nickname but now tastes like poison in the air. "I'll be renting out the house in the short term, possibly selling it later. It's not safe here. Too many people know where to find us."

"Did you take something? What's going on?"

He drinks the rest of his coffee in one large gulp, then stands up and shuffles toward his room. Oddly, other than a hangover, he seems mostly sober. No glassy eyes.

His behavior is still off, and he doesn't respond. So, I follow him. "Don't walk away from me!"

"I'm not. I need to get to work. So do you." He's not looking at me when he says it. Instead, he's rummaging in the back of his closet and pulling out a small suitcase and a duffel bag. He starts filling the bag—a stash of cash I didn't know he had in his underwear drawer, and some clothes.

"What the hell are you doing?" I feel hysterical. I don't get what he's talking about. People knowing where we live? Renting out the house? And he seems to think that wherever he's going, I'm going too.

I have no idea what to do. It's like he's lost it. This doesn't seem like his usual drunkenness or hungover morning, though. This seems like something else.

My heart is racing with anxiety.

He just keeps going. "We have to go. Just like I said. They're going to come. And I can't have you here when they come either. We're going to get away from all of this for a while. Maybe if I have a break from this life…" He's still packing frantically, already zipping up the duffel bag.

I physically get in front of him, blocking him from the small suitcase. "Who's they ? Talk to me. You sound crazy."

He looks me dead in the eye. "There's no time to explain. It'll have to wait. We're both in danger. Let's go."

I purse my lips at him again. "Even if I believed you, I can't just up and leave. I have a life here. College. A future."

He shakes his head and actually pushes me out of the way. It's a little harder than I expect.

He's back to packing but shakes his head. "You can delay for a semester or something. Maybe you can transfer to wherever we end up, I don't know. But is it really worth your life?"

"My life? Seriously, Dad, what did you take? Who did you run into at the casino?"

I'm really scared. He's never acted like this before. Paranoid. Vague. But he just keeps on packing. When he's done, he goes into my room and starts pulling my clothes out of the closet.

"Dad!" I scream at him. I try to stop him, but he gets physical, shoving me so hard my back hits the wall. I will have bruises later.

"This is getting out of hand. If you keep it up, I'm going to call the cops. You're gonna go to jail where you can dry out from whatever the hell this is, and then they can put you in rehab when you're done serving for the assault. I'm so sick of this!"

My father stops, and looks at me. Something comes over his face, though I can't quite place it. "I warned you," he says before going back into his room only to grab the two bags he packed and then head out the door.

I watch him leave in stunned silence.