The Drifter

C H A P T E R 4 7

C H A P T E R  F O R T Y – S E V E N
Answer Machine

"Why is there a movie playing on but no one's watching it?"

I bet you're wondering what a conveniently-timed interruption we had, right? We had to scurry to dress, trotting down the stairs while simultaneously endeavouring to straighten our outfits and tame our hair. All the while, Aidan's dad, Ethan Blake, was shutting the TV off and ejecting the DVD we had neglected which must have finished a while ago.

"Hi, Dad," Aidan announced. "I was just showing Addison to the bathroom."

It was an incredibly lame excuse and it was difficult to decipher whether his dad bought it or not. Aidan's dad glanced down at Aidan's arm and I realised his glower was aimed directly at Aidan's tattoo. Then he turned to me with a more softened expression. He even attempted a smile, astonishingly holding his hand out formerly to me to shake.

"I hope you feel safe here, Addison," he spoke, shaking my hand firmly like a proper businessman would. As he released my hand, he added, "I'm not staying for long. I just need to pack a bag and then I'll be on my way again. If there are any problems, I expect you to call me, Aidan."

"I will, Dad."

He smiled at me before strutting out the lounge and towards the stairs. As silence dwelt between Aidan and I, I realised Aidan's dad was quite a blunt man. He could be polite and friendly, but as he was involved heavily with business meetings and making connections, that persona crossed over into his personal life subconsciously. I wondered if it made growing up with a dad like him intolerable occasionally for Aidan, though I didn't want to voice it and cause awkward questions.

"Does he really not like your tattoo or something?" I murmured instead.

"Something like that."

***

We wasted the rest of the day away.

He told me more of his life as a drifter and how he was originally branded with that name. It was from a girl he once met. Only once. In a bar. He'd been working all day and in the evening he'd found this rundown bar at the edge of town and entered it, hoping for a quiet drink. The barmaid, young and spunky, asked him for his story. With a glance over his shoulder to confirm the bar was virtually vacant except for them, he confessed, expressing how he fled from town to town, never staying too long.

"I follow work," he'd told her.

How little work was there for him in his home town that meant he had to keep trekking across various towns?

She gazed at him almost wondrously, he told me. "So you're like a drifter, huh?"

Her. The nameless barmaid coined the term for Aidan.

"I guess you could call me that."

And that was that story.

"Did your dad never try and contact you? I mean, you're back with him now," I said to him once that story was over, confused with pieces of his story.

Surely his dad wouldn't have allowed him to leave at eighteen without even a glance over his shoulder? Aunt Mia certainly wouldn't have given me her permission to do that, but I wasn't quite as defiant as Aidan to test that theory out.

"Things had been strained during that point," he admitted, leaning his head against mine as we sat on the sofa, our legs a tangle of limbs. We were alone again so Aidan felt more comfortable with this display of affection. "And I just left. I changed my number and everything. I had no ties to my home in Fairview. Dad had no way to contact me. I don't know whether he hired private investigators to watch over me or not, but we didn't speak until I moved back before we ended up here in West Creek."