Swarley sniffs his way around the yard, pissing on everything.

I jab my thumb over my shoulder. “Why is there a moving truck in your driveway?”

He gives me an awkward smile then shakes it off. “Did you drive by yourself? From L.A.?”

“Yes. Are you going to let me in the house?”

He steps out of my way.

“But, I’m here now. I’m safe. So there’s no need to lecture me about—” I stop three feet inside the front door. There are boxes everywhere. “Are you moving?” I whip back around to face him.

He deflates. “Yes.”

“When? Why? Where? Were you going to tell me? Does Sydney know?”

“Calm down. I haven’t told Sydney yet either.” He frowns. “Sweetheart, what happened to your hand?”

I hold out my bandaged hand like I’m noticing it for the first time. “Nothing … Swarley…” I shake my head several times “…I don’t care about my hand. I want to know what’s going on with you. Oh my gosh! Are you moving to California?” The possibility chases away my fatigue and ignites hope in my broken heart. “That’s it, isn’t it? You were going to surprise Sydney and me? Dad … gah! You have no idea how happy that makes me. I need you right now. My life is a mess and—”

“Avery?” He grabs my face and forces me to focus, which is difficult with so much caffeine still racing through my body. “I’m not moving to California. I’m moving to Milwaukee.”

My nose wrinkles. “Milwaukee?”

“Yes.” He steps back, clasping his hands behind him and rocking back and forth on his heels. “I met someone.”

I lean forward. “Excuse me, what did you say?”

He grins like someone … No. No, no, no … he’s not in love. He’s not standing two feet from me looking all giddy and gaga. It’s exhaustion. I’m hallucinating. After a long nap, this will all make sense. The moving truck will disappear. The boxes will vanish. My hand will be healed. And I’ll have more than designer handbags and shoes to show for my two years with Anthony.

“Deedy.” He sighs while his mouth settles into contentment.

“What’s a deedy?”

“Not what, Avery. Who. Deedy is the woman I met online. She lives in Milwaukee. You’re going to love her.”

Wrong. I hate her already.

“She was in the Peace Corps for a little while, years ago. That’s where she met her husband. He died three years ago. We connected through her church’s chatroom. Now she organizes mission trips. I’m going to go with her after we get married.”

What. The. Actual. Fuck?

“Is it a brain tumor?”

Dad cants his head to the side. “Is what a brain tumor?”