Barking Up the Wrong Lead - A Gallagher Girls Story

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Three

It took exactly twenty-eight minutes for me to calm down again and it probably would’ve taken longer had my dad not found me.

I leaned up against him, his arms still wrapped around me.  The flame highlighted the grey in his hair.  The shadows cut deep at the lines around his eyes and the start of tomorrow’s scruff was already tracing his jaw.  I couldn’t shake the feeling that if Clark Kent could age, he’d end up looking just like my dad.  Then I remembered that, as far as superhero dads go, mine’s about as close as it gets to the real deal.

He was looking around the room in the way that people sometimes did when they had been there before.  I thought I could see him comparing this reality to an image in his head, trying to see what—if anything—has changed.  I wondered when he had ever come back here and what reasons had drawn him to this massive space.  Had he been like me?  Had he needed some place to run or had he come back here for a whole different reason entirely? 

I didn’t know.  All I could do was watch as some sort of memory replayed in his head.  I wished I could watch it with him—get a sneak peek into whatever story he was seeing right then.  The memory was everywhere to him, filling the room so completely and then, all of a sudden, he turned to me, the same glazed look in his eye.  It was as if I were a part of that memory.  A part of that part of his life.  “Do you come back here all the time?”  he asked.

I nodded against his chest, looking over to my wall of information—now just a wall of useless paper scraps and wasted potential.

“Why?” The word sounded strained.  Concerned, maybe.  Like he couldn’t possible comprehend what his daughter would be doing in a place as cold and dark and lonely as this.

I thought about my answer, not because I was being particularly careful about it, but because I honestly didn’t know.  Who would want to be back here?  No one.  But then again, maybe that was the point.  No one wanted to be back here and I had needed no one around.  “It’s quiet,” I said after a long while.  “I can think.”

He shook his head, the answer not enough for him.  “Wouldn’t you rather be with your friends?  With Alice or that pair of Williams?”

If he had asked me that question a few months ago, the answer would’ve been yes.  But a lot of things had changed when Mom went missing and it was about time for me to admit that I was no exception.  “No.”

I felt him let out a breath, hugging me tighter as if promising never to let go.  He put his chin on the top of my head, just like he did when I was younger.  “I really dropped the ball, didn’t I?”

“Yeah,” I said, because even spies need to tell the truth sometimes.

He was quiet then, thinking something over. 

I listened to the sparks of the flame as the oil started to run low, casting off a pale blue light instead of the normal warmth of gold.  “Am I any good at this?”  he wondered.  “This whole ‘dad’ thing?”

To me, the answer was obvious.  No more difficult than an arithmetic problem conquerable by a preschooler.  But when I looked up at my dad I realized that he didn’t know the answer.  That even when they’re one of the brightest minds the country has to offer, dads can be pretty stupid.  “Do you remember when I was little and Matt would pin me down and hang a loogie over my face?”

Dad laughed at the memory and I couldn’t hold back a smile of my own.  “Back when I could still carry him to his room over my shoulder.”

I thought of a younger version of Matt, trying to kick himself loose from Dad’s grip.  The sight had once felt just, accompanied by a righteous humph from my younger self as my brother got carried into his much deserved timeout.  Now, it was nothing short of humorous.  “One time while he was in timeout, I told you that I hated him and I asked you how I was supposed to love someone who was so mean to me.”