Melissa (Daughters Series, #3) Page 3

  My parents are constantly rumbling around, saying things about me. They don’t like knowing that I’m twenty with no real future plans or goals and doing as little as possible to help myself. I live entirely off them. I don’t pay rent or buy food or clothes or do anything much different from when I was in high school. I keep getting whiffs that all of this is going to change pretty soon. Dad especially keeps blustering on about his displeasure with me.

  Imagine if he only knew half of what he doesn’t know.

  Sighing, I wander towards where Dad works. It’s going on four thirty in the afternoon on this last Sunday of November. The day is cold and cloudy, and the sky looks and feels as if it’s made of lead, sinking its weight to the earth. Dad is hammering away at the roofing patch he’s applying to the doghouse. We have five dogs currently. The wind blows here constantly and it managed to rip off the roofing on some of their houses.

  He pauses, standing up and placing his hands on his waist, poking his elbows out. “Hey, Missy.”

  “Hi, Dad.”

  “What are you doing? Out walking? No work today?” He waves at me and I just walk up all nonchalantly from the field of pastures. We own twenty acres and two horses. There are plenty of pastures for grazing and boarding the menagerie of farm animals my mother keeps. None of which are ever slaughtered for food in our house. My mother taught me to be a vegetarian.

  “Uh…” Well, crap. I am frozen. I might flex and tweak over what is right and wrong. I might avoid being truthful and some of my actions could be considered “bad.” But to outright lie to my dad? That is pretty hard to do. He’s got these brown, intense, truth–seeking eyes. And he always seems to know the truth. Anytime I’ve tried to get away with lying in the past, he somehow senses it and my punishment becomes far worse than whatever I lied about. Lying is nearly a treasonous offense in the Hendricks household. I lower my head, pushing my hands into the pockets of my short, black coat.

  “I didn’t go to work today.”

  Not a lie. I didn’t. I had sex with Anand two times before Seth caught us.

  I keep my head down. Silence follows my statement. I still keep my head down. He finally swears softly and throws the hammer back down onto the roof. It hits with a loud plunk! and slides downward to catch on the pile of removed roofing. I wince, still not daring to look into his eyes. I can lie to my mom, and Christina, and very easily to my younger sister, Emily. But not to my dad. He has this leftover, old–school, rigid, pretty uptight belief in the truth, which goes with honor and all that. Well, sure it does. But no one can be as truthful as Will Hendricks expects them to be. He doesn’t fudge on anything. No white lies even. And believe me, early on, I got that message, but the thing is, I sometimes fudge the facts. I tell white lies.

  Most of the time, I’m not really worthy of being Will Hendricks’s daughter. I think he knows that. I do for sure. It’s an unstated detail that I understand very well, and I believe he understands it too, even though he keeps trying to change it. And change me. But it hasn’t worked yet. I’m the living, breathing greatest failure of Will Hendricks’s life. His middle child, his middle daughter, is… shockingly, (gasp!) average, ordinary, and kind of easy to forget.

  Christina is Dad’s shining success to the world. She intends to practice as a speech and language pathologist. She is just now settling into a new job after receiving her masters to start work in her field. Max’s childhood speech impediment inspired her to choose that as her career. Noble, huh? Not being sarcastic either, it is noble. And the right thing to do. She finished her master’s degree with a three–point–eight GPA and maintained her relationship with Max throughout her education. She’s small, petite, and beautiful. She’s also opinionated and strong. The loveliest daughter Will could present the world. And Emily? Well, she’s the only one who inherited Will’s blonde hair and athletic prowess. She participates in some kind of a sport all year around. Soccer, track, basketball, tennis, swimming, she even took freaking golf lessons. Who takes golf lessons at age nineteen? She isn’t normal. Not only does she actively pursue the various sports, but she is also the star player of all of them. Her track scores managed to get her a partial scholarship to college. Her grades were almost as stellar. So you can imagine how proud my parents are of Emily.

  And then, there’s me. It’s hard to describe my place in such an admirable family. I’ve worked eight jobs since I graduated from high school. Starting with being a receptionist at my mom’s veterinary clinic, which she co–owns with my uncle Noah, there was no reason I shouldn’t have made it work. I quit that one. I couldn’t stand seeing all the injured, sick, and dying animals. I love them so much, and witnessing their pain, not to mention their deaths, ripped me all to shreds. So I left it and applied at the post office. That didn’t last long. I kept coming in too late. Or not at all. Or did things wrong… Anyway, suffice to say I’ve had a lot of jobs.

  “Fired, or did you quit?”

  I flinch. Dad’s voice is as cold as if he were interrogating a suspected terrorist. Did I mention that he used to actually do things like that? Or at least, I believe so. He doesn’t talk much about his youth. When he was my age, he was in the Army, and very athletic, rising to the top of everything he did, just like Christina and Emily.

  “Fired.”

  “For what?”

  “I missed two shifts in a row.”

  “Because?”

  “Because I took off and went camping.” Mostly, I was off getting drunk and high while having sex with Anand about twenty–five miles from here, which I refer to as camping. But really, we were just parked on a relic of a back road beside a river. Things got burned and ruined and we created a huge pile of trash. I was pretty messed up when we left, and felt guilty for the trash later on, after I sobered up.

  “I thought you told me you had those days off.”

  “Well… no.”

  “No. Of course not.” Silence after his sarcastic retort. Still, I don’t raise my gaze. He finally sighs. “I don’t know what the fuck is the matter with you. Do I really need to explain what you did wrong here? No wonder you were fired.”

  I wince. He rarely swears around us, and never when talking to us. Especially the f–word. Mom said he used it all the time when he was in the Army, but when he’s around us, his kids, he isn’t ever like the man Mom describes. It’s kinda hard to reconcile the two men that she describes as one and the same. I shake my head.

  Hearing a thump, I know he’s approaching me. I jerk up, shocked to see he’s right in front of me, nearly pushing me back a step he’s so much in my face.

  “What is the matter with you? Could you just tell me that? What did I do so wrong? What didn’t we teach you? Didn’t you grow up watching us work hard? Both your mom and me? How did you learn to be a spoiled, irresponsible brat who can’t even bother to show up to work?”

  I take another step back. I know my dad will never physically hurt me, but something close to fear ripples through me nonetheless. I keep my head down and bite my lip to hold in the sob and tears that beg for release. He tucks his hand around my chin and lifts my gaze to his. His brown eyes blaze with anger and reproach towards me. I can see his utter disdain. I flinch. It really hurts to see my dad staring at me with near repulsion. I never set out to do these things. I don’t realize that spontaneously going along with Anand when he asked and missing work would subsequently lead to getting fired, and having to tell my dad, gouging another notch on my belt of failures. Duh. Now I see it. I don’t understand why I failed to see it sooner.

  Dad leans in closer; now he’s right in my face. “You’re an embarrassment to me. My own daughter is too spoiled to keep a job. Or show up for work. I didn’t raise you to be like that. A twenty–year–old adult who lives here and does nothing positive to contribute. Just a spoiled brat who is unable to work or go to school or do anything. I abhor such kids and now I have one of my own? Are you too entitled to work? Obviously, we’ve made your life too easy. Ironically, we hoped to improve
your lives, our daughters’ lives, and make them easier than our lives were. Instead, we created you. A rootless brat who hasn’t finished anything in a decade. And don’t spill the big, fake crocodile tears or talk about how cruel I am to you. Your tears mean nothing to me anymore. Not after all the stunts you’ve pulled in the last few years. Know this, if it weren’t for your mother, you’d be living out of my house three jobs ago. Don’t count on her sympathy anymore or winning the argument about what to do with you forever.” Jerking his hand off my face, he spins around and walks away.

  I stare after him, and hot, salty tears, big ones, blind me. I suck in a short breath and step back until my body hits the side of the barn. I lean onto it for support. Dad’s back is rigid in obvious anger, and the contained energy seems ready to explode out of him. I want to reach out to him, my heart breaking with embarrassment and anguish. It horrifies me to hear what Dad just said to me. My dad… hates me. The sight of me repulses him. I see it in his eyes. And worse, I know deep down in the pit of my sinking heart, I deserve his hatred and rejection. I caused it all. I am exactly what he says I am. It isn’t a case of the parent not seeing the kid as she truly is. No. Oh no. I am exactly what my dad sees.

  The problem is, I don’t know why.

  The weight of his words as he walks away from me rips through my heart, like he shredded it. I don’t want to be my dad’s worst failure. I don’t set out to do that. I just… end up achieving it.

  It never occurs to me until now, however, that he’d stop loving me because of it. I saw something in his eyes that was close to disgust. I could not see any love there.

  I want to run after him and beg for his forgiveness. He’s so far beyond believing me. I clearly understand that. My actions are all he’ll listen to now and trust. Something hollow and empty fills my chest because I’m not sure I can ever behave well enough to earn his approval. I should be able to. I should control my actions. But somehow, I never manage to stay that way. I believe he’s going to kick me out of the house. I know he and Mom have argued about me more than once, I just never realized it was this bad. That too is another bad habit of mine: I don’t believe what I don’t want to be true. Perhaps I deserve it, but still, a deep ripple of unease jolts from my stomach into all my limbs. Where will I go?

  “Missy?”

  I am crying and bent over, holding my head in my hands and quite pathetic to witness, no doubt. Seth’s voice interrupts my self–flagellation. My self–pity. No matter how much I despise my own behavior, I don’t really believe I can succeed in changing it.

  “What do you want?” I don’t look up and my voice is hollow. Ragged. I’m unhappy, so why not pass it around? My maturity isn’t above that either. “Come to remind me some more of what a hopeless slut I am?” Good Lord, imagine if my father knew about that.

  Seth clears his throat and I glance up at him. He stands several paces away from me, obviously trying not to crowd me. He keeps his head down and his hands tucked into the loose cargo pants he wears. “No. Um, I feel bad. About what I said. I was coming to apologize…”

  And he must have heard my father. That part’s obvious. I lift my head up, sniffling back my snot and tears. I glare at him. “The offer still stands. We can get you fucked, good and fast, right in there.”

  I don’t know why I do that. I don’t know why my bravado and sarcastic, rude statements fly from my mouth. Especially right now as I am crumpled against a building, after my father has all but washed his hands to wipe away his scorn for me. And yet, Seth obviously feels sorry for me and is hesitant in his effort to engage me, and that is my reply? I nearly screech out loud. Why am I so awful? I kick the barn building behind me with the flat of my foot.

  Seth doesn’t react at first, but eventually raises his hands up in surrender. “Whatever, Missy. I wonder sometimes what’s real with you. This? Or the girl crying her heart out over her father’s rejection? I don’t know, to be honest. I fear it’s the first one, and the second is how you protect yourself with that vile act you insist on performing with anyone who asks.”

  I stare at him. He stares at me, shaking his head and spinning around to leave me. I want to call after him. I want to deny it, renege on everything I said. Instead, I remain silent and wonder which girl is the real one.

  Chapter Three

  ~Seth~

  I shouldn’t have even bothered. I know better with Melissa. Even when I feel guilty or like I’ve gone too far reacting to her, I soon learn, no, nope. I have not. But I never expected to come around the barn and find her nearly flattened against the wall with Will right in her face. I’ve never seen Will do that before. In fact, I’ve always held Will to a higher standard than most men. He always seemed super–human, permanently in control of his emotions and upstanding in both his opinions and how he raises his kids especially. If he had been anyone else nearly strong–arming Melissa against the building, I most likely would have intervened, in all honesty. That’s how vulnerable she appeared at that moment. Nearly squished against the wall beneath a bigger, stronger man who was blocking her in, and his facial expression revealed only anger and disgust. She was nearly cowering, hanging her head, letting her hair fall, which was still half wet. She was pathetic at best. Like the photos you see to advertise for lost teens or runaways or missing persons, telling you to call a hotline. She looked exactly like one of those lost teens.

  Tears fell over her cheeks and her lips trembled. Hearing Will’s harsh words, I stepped back so that he didn’t see me. Will shocked me into silence. He was so vicious. Sure, she might have deserved it. From me. And her last boss. Or any number of people, but seeing her dad so perturbed by her was a complete shock to me. Melissa was always the best version of herself with Will Hendricks. She was soft–spoken, never vulgar and she never referred to the subject of sex or advertised her interest in it to him. I believe Will didn’t fully grasp that part of her. Seeing how disgusted he was with her, even lacking that knowledge, yeah, I can understand why Melissa was panicking inside and stressing that he could find out.

  Her sunken shoulders and dropped head revealed her humiliation and hurt. But again, I guess I overestimate her.

  Again with the nasty.

  Sighing, I head back home to finish my night, relax, eat some dinner, and maybe even shower finally. All of Thanksgiving break was spent camping and climbing new places around the Cascades. It was far better than coming home to this melodrama. I’m done. I have classes tomorrow and there is nothing easy about my schedule. I’m earning an Individualized Studies degree which will give me hands–on experience in the field of biotechnology. In plain English, that means I’m learning how to use living systems and organisms to develop or make products. Sometimes they’re for medicine or environmental advances. I want to be on the front edge of discovering something new. Not just plodding away and reinterpreting other people’s research. To do that, however, there are other things I must accomplish, including the education that will take me there.

  The bottom line is, I don’t have any time for Melissa.

  I’m nearly to the stairs when her voice reaches my ears. “Seth! Wait.”

  I turn around, so done with this girl, and find her jogging after me. She stretches her hand out. “Your towel.”

  I roll my eyes. Yeah. Like every girl runs out into cold temperatures wearing only a towel. I take it and our fingers touch so I quickly yank it from her. I wish, sometimes desperately, that her outside features resembled her inside features more. She stares at me. I wait, nearly tapping my foot with impatience.

  Finally, she shakes her head. “It’s the second.”

  Again with the off–the–wall comment, another disconnected thought from an irrelevant conversation. “What is second? What are you talking about now?” What is she ever talking about?

  “The real me. It’s—it’s the second version you described.” Spinning on her heel, she literally starts running away from me. I stare after her retreating form, my mouth gaping in astonishment. I think she�
��s referring to my question about who she really is: the rude, brash, sarcastic, lazy brat she portrays? Or the crumpled up, defeated, heartsick girl I saw for a brief moment pressed against the barn wall? What is she telling me? That I don’t know her? That all I’ve witnessed and frankly, disapproved of or disrespected, is only an act? To protect what? The sad, crying girl against the barn wall?

  Actually, all her father is asking is that she do something constructive with her life. It isn’t like Will would ever abuse her. And it’s not exactly unreasonable to expect a twenty–year–old woman to support herself, or at least attempt to. I also realize a case could be made that I’m twenty–two years old and still receiving plenty of help from my parents. But I am also getting my master’s, and I have a distinct plan in mind after I attain it. I intend to hire on with a research lab where I can actually begin working. A job. A career. A profession. I’ve already spoken to several labs, scoping out my choices and the kind of work I’d like to pursue. Having completed two internships when I was receiving my BS in biology with a minor in engineering, I’m definitely a science guy. I love science. Computers. Everyone expected me to seek a career in computers. I can hack and write code and do all the nerdy stuff that follows that course. But it isn’t what I want to do. No, I want to discover something. Explore the world’s mysteries… and one area that’s relatively an enigma is the molecular world.

  Plus, my IQ registers in the genius range. I can’t help it. It just does. It manages to not only get me noticed but also sought after by various universities. Academically speaking, I received financial assistance for college and another for my master’s degree. I’m sure a PhD looms in my future. Central Washington University is no Ivy League school, but I came here because I needed a change of scenery and wanted to climb.