Chapter 2 - The Trip That Never Included Her
I didn't cancel immediately.
I almost did.
My finger hovered over the button while Vanessa threw drawers open in our bedroom upstairs.
But something stopped me.
If the resort had been booked for three people from the beginning, then Vanessa's entire story about rising prices was a lie.
I needed to know how big that lie was.
I called the airline.
A woman named Denise answered after eleven minutes on hold.
"How can I help you today?"
"I need to confirm something about my reservation."
I gave her the number.
She read the passenger list.
Three names.
"Was there ever a fourth passenger attached to this booking?"
I asked.
"No, sir."
"Never?"
"Not on this confirmation."
"What date was it purchased?"
She told me.
Four months and two days ago.
The same week Vanessa had announced the vacation at dinner.
I remembered Ava jumping from her chair.
"Can we see dolphins?"
Caleb had laughed.
"I'm not swimming with anything bigger than me."
Vanessa had smiled at them.
At both of them.
"We're going to make memories."
Now I felt sick remembering it.
"Sir?"
Denise asked.
"I'm here."
"Would you like to make a change?"
"Not yet."
I hung up.
Caleb had disappeared upstairs.
Ava hadn't come back down.
Vanessa returned wearing jeans and carrying her suitcase.
"What are you doing?"
I asked.
"Going to my sister's."
"Why?"
"Because I'm not standing here while you punish me for making one practical decision."
I looked at her suitcase.
"Four months."
Her face changed.
"What?"
"The hotel was booked four months ago for three guests."
She said nothing.
"The flights were purchased four months ago for three passengers."
"Darren—"
"There was no price increase that forced you to remove Ava."
"I never said I removed her."
"You said the budget got tight."
"It did."
"When?"
She looked away.
I stepped closer.
"When did the budget get tight, Vanessa?"
"This is ridiculous."
"No. What's ridiculous is that my twelve-year-old daughter packed for a vacation she was never going on."
"She didn't know until this week."
"That makes it worse."
Vanessa dropped the suitcase handle.
"Fine."
That word again.
Fine.
The word people use before telling you the truth they think you should be ashamed for making them say.
"I wanted one vacation without everything revolving around Ava."
I stared at her.
"What does that mean?"
"It means every family decision becomes about what Ava needs."
"She's twelve."
"So is Caleb almost! But somehow he's expected to adjust."
"Adjust to what?"
Vanessa laughed bitterly.
"Your guilt."
My jaw tightened.
"What guilt?"
"Rachel."
My late wife.
Ava's mother.
The room seemed to lose all sound.
Rachel had died six years earlier after a sudden brain aneurysm.
Ava had been six.
I had been thirty-two.
For nearly a year, I barely knew how to keep myself upright.
Then I'd met Vanessa.
She had been kind.
Patient.
She had brought Caleb to the park with us.
The children had become friends before Vanessa and I had become anything else.
At least that was what I'd believed.
"Don't use Rachel."
Vanessa shook her head.
"You still parent Ava like you're trying to make up for her mother dying."
"I parent Ava because she's my daughter."
"And Caleb?"
"He's my son too."
"Not legally."
The words landed hard.
Caleb was standing at the top of the stairs.
Vanessa didn't see him.
I did.
His face crumpled.
"Vanessa."
She kept going.
"You know exactly what I mean. Caleb has me. Ava has you. Sometimes I need to choose my own child."
Caleb slowly stepped backward.
I pointed toward the stairs.
"Look."
Vanessa turned.
Her face drained.
"Caleb—"
He disappeared.
His bedroom door slammed.
Vanessa closed her eyes.
"Great."
"Don't you dare blame me."
"I'm not."
"You just told him he isn't mine."
"That's not what I said."
"It's what he heard."
I walked upstairs.
I knocked once.
"Caleb?"
Nothing.
"Buddy, open the door."
The lock clicked.
He was sitting on his bed.
"I'm sorry."
I stepped inside.
"For what?"
"I didn't know Ava wasn't coming."
"I know."
"Mom told me she wanted to stay with Grandma because she gets nervous flying."
Ava loved flying.
The first time I'd taken her on a plane, she'd spent half the flight staring out the window.
Caleb rubbed his eyes.
"She said Ava didn't want me asking questions because it would embarrass her."
I sat beside him.
"None of this is your fault."
He stared at the floor.
"Are you still my dad?"
My throat closed.
"Caleb."
"I know you're not, like... technically."
I turned him toward me.
"I've been packing your lunches since you were eight."
He tried to smile.
"I taught you how to ride a bike."
"You yelled the whole time."
"You rode directly into a trash can."
That got a tiny laugh.
I squeezed his shoulder.
"You don't stop being my kid because your mother and I are angry."
His expression became serious again.
"Is Ava mad at me?"
"No."
"I should talk to her."
"Give her a minute."
He nodded.
I left him and went to Ava's room.
She had unpacked.
Everything.
Her clothes were folded back into drawers.
Her new sneakers sat in the closet.
The suitcase was empty.
She was sitting on the floor beside her bed.
"I cancelled it," I said.
She looked up.
"The trip?"
"Nobody's going."
Her face tightened.
"Dad, you didn't have to do that."
"Yes, I did."
"But now Caleb loses his vacation."
"Caleb agrees with me."
That surprised her.
"He does?"
"He didn't know."
She looked toward the wall separating their rooms.
"Oh."
I sat on the floor.
"I need you to tell me something."
She picked at a thread on her sleeve.
"When you said you're always the expensive one... what did you mean?"
Her fingers stopped.
"Ava."
"It's nothing."
"It isn't."
She took a slow breath.
"Sometimes Vanessa says things."
"What things?"
"That dance costs too much."
My chest tightened.
I knew she'd quit dance last winter.
Vanessa told me Ava had lost interest.
"What else?"
"School clothes."
"Your clothes?"
"She said Caleb grows faster, so he needs more."
I remembered buying Caleb three pairs of shoes.
Ava had said she liked her old ones.
"What else?"
She whispered, "My birthday."
"What happened on your birthday?"
"She said the restaurant I wanted was too expensive."
"We went to that Italian place."
"Because she picked it."
I stared at my daughter.
She didn't sound angry.
That was the worst part.
She sounded practiced.
Then she reached beneath her bed and pulled out a small notebook.
My name was written on the cover.
"Dad."
"What is that?"
"I started writing things down."
"Why?"
Her eyes met mine.
"Because Vanessa kept telling me they didn't happen."
She handed it to me.
May you like
I opened the first page.
And the date at the top was almost two years old.
