For Good

Chapter Three

Isabella sipped from her water bottle and downed two painkillers. She was sitting on a stool in the hotel laundry room waiting for her clothes to finish. She adjusted the setting on her Ovira and leaned back against the wall, gritting her teeth. Her cramps were always terrible before and after a guiding dream; proof that God was either a man or had a weird sense of humor.

She checked her phone; two texts from her dad. He was getting better. In the past he would have called several times and left at least one voice mail if she didn't check in. Isabella decided it was best to end his torture and give him a call.

"Hello? Isabella?

"Hi, dad!"

"Hey, girl. Thanks for giving me a call.."

"You're welcome. I'm doing laundry at the hotel and figured I would give you a call before I head out today."

"I forgot they even had laundry rooms in hotels. You know you could have stayed with someone in the Cities, right? We have a lot of friends there. It's not like it was for you in Philly."

"I just needed some space," Isabella said.

"What happened?" her dad asked.

How does he do that? How does he always know?

Isabella knew she couldn't lie to her dad. Both out of principle and simply because he would know. She knew that the story would come out, that she would tell him what Dylan had done, what he had tried to do. The details were fuzzy, as if the events had occurred to someone else, but she knew the truth, and she told him. She told him everything.

At first she stated the facts. Isabella knew that hysterics would do her no good. Soon, she found herself speaking at a rapid pace and then realized that she was hyperventilating. It felt like she was back in the car with Dylan, scared for her life.

"He was going to-," she choked back a sob. " Dad, I knew what he was going to do, what he wanted to do to me. It was terrible. It was disgusting. I hate him!" She screamed. "I'm glad we crashed and I hope he's dead!"

Isabella's head throbbed and her heart raced. She could feel the warmth of her flushed cheeks. Her skin burned and the hairs on her body stood up. She wanted to scream at the top of her lungs. She wanted to break something or hurt someone. She wanted to have revenge. Her father was silent.

Isabella heard him take a deep breath, preparing to impart some of his famous wisdom on her.To her surprise, he exhaled and his breathing became ragged, his words hoarse and slow.

"I am so sorry this happened to you. Thank God that you made it out of there okay. I wish more than anything that I could be there for you now. Sometimes I wonder if it was a mistake to-"

"Dad, it's not your fault. It's not mom's fault. It's not anyone's fault. We all knew there would be risks involved and we agreed that I had to do this."

"I know, amor. I know you're smart, you're tough, and you've got God looking out for you. It's just a little harder to trust everything will be okay when your daughter is out there by herself, and you can't even see her or know what's going on."

"Good to know you have so much confidence in me," Isabella teased.

"Of course I do," her dad said in a lighter tone. "You're my daughter after all, and none of us are that easy to get rid of," he laughed.

Isabella smiled. Her dad knew how to cheer her up. He listened, he encouraged, and he made his dumb, and slightly dark, jokes. There was something about the way he spoke, with genuine concern and love, and with empathy. He wasn't perfect, he made his mistakes, but Isabella had never doubted that he cared.