From Angels to Demons (gxg)

1

Her dad never picked her up. 

But here he was, gripping the wheel with white nuckles, eye shifting away from the road to glance at the dashboard clock every few seconds. 

She couldn't remember the last time she'd ever seen him like this, so antsy and unfocused. 

Something was up.

They were almost home now. From her school, by car, it was 15 minutes on the dot. It took her nearly 35 on her dingy old bike. She hated that ride, and tried to make every peddle more menacing than the last.

Their volkswagen crawled up the gravel road, and she could see the beginnings of their little sheep pen in the distance. Ireland remained a dull gray for the better part of the year, and this one was no different. The grass was subdued, the sky downcast and cloudy. The sun was already beginning to set. Her dad glanced at the clock again. 

"Pappy," Phoebe relented, "What's going on?"

His grip tightened for a moment, then he sighed and adjusted his cap. "Just... trust me, alright love?"

Phoebe swallowed thickly, and they rounded the curve and pulled into their driveway. 

Her dad paused, looked at her again, and then frowned in that way he did when something was bothering him. He always gave her that look when she fucked up at school, but she'd been on her best behavior for the past couple weeks. It couldn't be that.

Could it? No. But...

 Well, it really did seem like those nuns were out to get her at times... 

But it's not like they would just fabricate something out of thin air. 

Or would they?

She pushed open her door while her dad popped the trunk and grabbed her school bag. 

Phoebe stared at him for a moment, mind spiraling with possible things she could have done wrong. Then she shifted her attention to the backseat, and realized her haphazardly-placed bike was still shoved back there. After wrestling with the old hunk of metal, she walked it to the side of their ancient little cottage, and leaned it agianst the house. 

"Oi! Come on, Phoebe girl!" Her dad called from the porch, school bag in hand, and Phoebe hurried over. 

They entered the house, her father placed her bag on the counter, then glanced at his watch again. 

"Ermm... let's sit," He said, and they both moved to the living room, sitting down. The air felt stiff.

"Am I in trouble?" Phoebe blurted, smoothing her stupid uniform skirt.

Her father furrowed his brows, "No! ...Have you done something?"

She frowned, and the famaliar spark of anger made her clench her fist. In, two three, out, four five. That's what Ms. Linda always told her to do. 

She wasn't sure what he'd be able to do if she had really done something. He'd tried old fashioned punishments, like moving hay bales and scooping sheep muck, then therapy (with Ms. Linda), then group therapy (back to Ms. Linda), then he'd moved her to a Catholic girl's school, then back to sheep shit, and finally he'd resorted to vague threats of what her future would look like if she didn't clean up her act, and a whole lot of "Well what would your mother think!"

At her prolonged silence, her dad let out a breath. He took his cap off to run a hand through his thinning hair, then placed it back on his head. "No, it's not anything like that." 

He glanced at his watch once more. Phoebe frowned, beginning to get antsy and annoyed. "Well what is it, then?"

"Theres... eh, there's something your mam and I decided we would keep from you when you were born. Not forever, of course, just until you were old enough to understand. You were just so wee and little when you were born and I just couldn't..." He trailed off, clearly lost in memory.