I wake up to the sun shining through my window. I can’t smell the coffee going, which is weird. Usually Dad already has the coffee and breakfast going before I’m awake. I wander around, wondering where Mom is until I remember that she stayed overnight at the hospital with Gram last night after she had her heart surgery. I get up, walk downstairs to the kitchen. I don’t see any food at all. That’s really strange, so I begin to search for Dad. I stop in Abby’s doorway for a moment, watching her as she sleeps peacefully. I remember my search for Dad, and continue down the hall to his room.

“Daddy?” I call out his name as I walk into his bedroom. My heart starts to race when I see the state of the room. The dresser is overturned, there are clothes everywhere, the comforter is hanging off the corner of the bed, and the mattress is turned from its normal position. I begin to worry about what has happened, when I see the blood. My heart stops as I follow the trail of tiny blood droplets to the window. I scream for my father, making myself snap out of my dream in a cold sweat and frightening my little sisters out of their sleep, too. I wait until my breathing is under control before I get up. According to the clock on my bedside table, it’s 6:30 in the morning, and it should start screeching at me any moment now. I hurriedly turn it off before it has a chance to make any noise, and begin to get ready for the day. I’m almost done deciding what to wear when Abby walks in.

“Did you dream about Daddy again?” The concerned face of my eight-year-old little sister makes me smile. She always looks so little and innocent when she does things like this, and it looks so odd to see such a little girl worry about such big things like this.

“Yeah, but I’m okay now, and I’m sure Daddy is too, wherever he is,” I tell her, trying to assure her that she doesn’t have any reason to worry about me. Abby leaves me alone, and I get dressed, throwing on an outfit consisting o my favorite pair of blue jeans, an old volleyball t-shirt, and my new band sweatshirt. I walk into the kitchen and can tell that Mom’s already gone. The coffee is still warm, there are dishes from her breakfast in the sink, and her car isn’t out front. She’s probably already out of town on her way to Chicago, and won’t be home until Thursday night. I’ve sent Abby to go wake up Hannah, my other little sister. She’s almost ten, and hates getting up. It’s a Monday, and that just makes it worse. For some strange reason, she doesn’t get as mad at Abby as she does if Mom or I try to wake her up. She finally gets up and comes into the kitchen, just as I’ve finished making our breakfast. She sits down as I put scrambled eggs, toast, and a glass of orange juice on the table for each of us. I finish eating quickly and wash the dishes, both ours and Mom’s, before doing my hair. Since I went to bed with wet hair last night, my hair curled up and had decided to be unruly today. I don’t have time to straighten it today, so I just pull it back into a messy ponytail. I manage to brush my teeth and turn off all the lights before the bus comes and my sisters and I run out the door.

When we pull up to the school, I immediately start looking for Joe. He’s my best friend, and he knows me better than I know myself. It only takes me a few minutes before I find him at the vending machine in the lobby. It’s mechanically challenged and never seems to take your paper money. As I walk closer to him, I can hear him staring to get frustrated with it. He kicks it and yells at it before I call out to him.

“Joe, I’ve got some quarters,” I offer, knowing automatically what the problem is. He trades me his dollar for my four quarters, and he finally gets his everyday breakfast consisting of a package of sunflower seeds and some chocolate Pop-Tarts. I hold the seeds while he eats his Pop-Tarts and head down the hall with him. He tells me about his dream in between mouthfuls of food. It was an absolutely bizarre dream, and I laugh at the thought of our math teacher slipping on a pencil in the hall and falling onto some sixth graders. He finishes his story about his dream, but knows better than to ask about mine.

“Do you want to come over tonight? Survivor’s gonna be on,” he invites as I hand him his partially eaten pack of sunflower seeds. He knows I love Survivor, and it’s the night of the week that we normally hang out.

“I’d like to, but Mom’s gonna be in Chicago until Thursday night, so I have to stay home with the girls. Those are kinda salty today,” I reply as he shoves a handful of seeds into his mouth. He nods in agreement with me as he chews, and then shoves in another handful before answering me.

“You can bring the girls. Mom won’t care. She loves your little sisters and hasn’t had anybody to play Life with since Artie figured out that it’s not cool to play board games with your mom at age 10,” he assures me. He proves a very good point. I’d much rather spend my Monday night at Joe’s, making fun of the people on some island in the middle of nowhere, instead of sitting at home with two bickering sisters and about four loads of laundry that need to be done. Besides, Joe’s little brother Artie flirts with Hannah, and that’s a blast to watch.

“Okay, do I need to fix supper before we come?” I ask, hoping to get out of cooking for the night. I think he picked up on the hint of pleading in my voice.

“Nope, it’s spaghetti night, and I know how much you love Mom’s spaghetti.” I start to grin when he says this because it is such an understatement. “I’ll just tell her that you guys are coming so she’ll make enough for all of us. I think the three of you eat as much as our entire family,” he teased. His mom’s spaghetti is my birthday present every year, and I love it. The warning bell rings, telling us to finish eating and talking. Joe and I part ways.

The day goes by in a blur. I hate our math teacher, mostly because I hate math, and I try to hold back the giggles as I remember Joe’s dream. Thinking about Joe’s dream makes me think about my nightmare, and I can tell that I won’t be able to get any sleep tonight for fear of dreaming about that morning again.

After math, I rush out to the bus, anxious to get home. If I’m lucky, I’ll have a bit of time before Aunt Jessica drops the girls of at home. Since it would be impossible for me to beat the girls home if they rode the bus, Aunt Jessica has them dropped off at her house and keep them for a while as they do their homework and play at the park for a couple hours or so after I get home. There is hardly anyone on the bus today, so I get home quickly. Aunt Jess and the girls won’t be here for almost an hour, so I decide to go clean out the den. The bookshelves haven’t been dusted in months, and I need something to read, but I’m too lazy to go to the library and find something, so I’ll borrow a book from Dad’s collection. Mom won’t notice. She hardly ever goes into the den since it was mainly Dad’s room. I look through each book as I pull it off the shelf to dust both it and the shelf below it off and find that Dad had a very interesting taste in books. I never knew that Dad had Wuthering Heights, and my English teacher has been telling us all year that it is a great book, so I set it aside and finish cleaning the shelves. When I’m done, I glance up at the old grandfather clock that sits next to the desk, and I see that I still have a good twenty minutes before the girls should be here. I know that I should probably start the laundry, but I decide to read instead. Before I know it, I’m completely lost in the world of Heathcliff and Catherine.

Twenty minutes and forty pages later, I’m brought back to the real world when the doorbell rings. I hurriedly look up at the clock. It tells me that it’s nearly 4:30, time for the girls to be home. I jump up and run to answer the door before the ell can break the wonderful silence in the house. I open the door to Aunt Jess standing on the front step with the girls. Abby’s hand is frozen halfway to the doorbell, ready to ring it again. I thank Aunt Jess and take the girls inside. The first thing they ask me is what we’re having for supper. They get so excited when I tell them that we’re going over to Joe’s for spaghetti. They love his mom’s spaghetti just as much as I do. Most of the time, they eat more than I do.

The house is mostly quiet again because Abby ran upstairs to take a shower and Hannah is in the living room watching television. I take this opportunity to curl up on my bed in my room with Wuthering Heights again. I look at the clock and tell myself that I can read for an hour before I have to start getting ready to go. Supper is always at 6:00 at Joe’s house. I sit down and engulf myself in a fantasy land.

I’ve read for almost forty-five minutes before I stop to look up at the clock. It’s nearly 5:15, and I need to start to find a good place to stop. I finally finish my chapter and put my bookmark in place. A few places ahead of me there is something between some pages. It feels like a piece of paper that has been folded in half. It’s starting to bug me, so I flip forward to find out what it is. It’s a letter, and my heart starts feeling like it’s going to beat out of my chest when I recognize the handwriting on the front. It’s Dad’s, and then I realize that the script on the front reads ‘Jennifer’. My head is spinning and the world feels like it has stopped turning as I open up the letter that my dad wrote to me. I start to cry as I read the letter, though I am careful not to wet the page with my falling tears. It reads:
My Dearest Jennifer,
I’m sorry that I have to put you through this, but it was necessary. I had to leave to protect you. I angered some very powerful people before I had you, or even your mom, and they have caught up to me. They’ve given me clues that they are coming for me, and I have to give them what they want. If I give myself to them, they won’t hurt you. I’ll be okay eventually, no matter what happens, but I can never return. I’m sorry, but please forgive me. Don’t tell anyone, or these people will come after you, too. Please always know and remember that I love you, and that I always will. Don’t show this to your mother. I’ve hurt her enough already. I’m sorry and I love you.
Daddy

As I finish reading this, I realize that he probably risked his life for me, and our family, whatever happened. He probably risked it even more so by leaving me this letter. I’ll probably never get the answers that I want, but I can always hope that he’s okay. More importantly, I know that he didn’t just leave us, and that he loves me.

As I prepare to go to Joe’s, I know that this won’t lessen the pain, but it will certainly help. I’ll probably turn the house upside down searching for more answers, though I’ll know in the back of my mind that I won’t find any, I gather myself and turn to leave the den; I turn around and whisper into the empty room,

“I love you, Daddy.”