“I was hoping you wouldn’t hole yourself up in your room all day again.” He set the glass down. “Look. I know you’re scared. And I’m scared, too. And I would love nothing more than to wrap you up in bubble wrap and tuck you away somewhere safe forever. But I would be a horrible father if I let you waste your life away sitting in that window of yours smoking and ruminating about bad things.” I must have made a face, because he raised his eyebrows. “Yes, I know about the smoking. I wish you wouldn’t drop your butts in the flower garden, but that’s a conversation for another day.”

“I’m not ruminating,” I said, feeling my face flush, because of course we both knew rumination was something I specialized in. Nikki Kill, Professional Brooder: Guaranteed depression in six sessions, or your money back! If there was a market for that, I would be a rich woman. “Besides, I’m quitting smoking. And I’m not going to hole myself up. I’m going to the library.” I could actually see him struggle to keep his surprise in check. I hated libraries. So many colors, so much silence, and the atmosphere of every damn one of them the same boring pencil-lead gray. When I was in elementary school, I would fake stomachaches on library day—not that the nurse’s office was much better, but at least it was really only one color. “What? I can go to the library,” I said.

“I know you can. I’m just surprised that you are.” He came across the room and poked my ribs. I jumped, pushing his hands away a little too roughly, looking at my own hands with surprise, even as I did it. I didn’t trust the man—I already knew that—but since when did I not let him touch me?

“Everything okay?” he asked, looking concerned, his finger still in the air pointing at my side.

I folded a dish towel in half and draped it over the oven door, doing everything I could to keep from meeting his gaze. If there was ever a time for me to bring up what was going on—Mom, the locked box, his lies about Bill Hollis—this was it. But I wasn’t ready to confront him yet. I needed proof on my side. I needed to get into that damned box. If I told him I was onto him, he could empty the box before I could ever get inside.

“I’m fine,” I said. “Just . . . ruminating, I guess.” I gave him a thin grin.