And with Dad working so hard and being upset, someone had to look after things.

On this thought, her stare at her brother became a glare and she suggested acidly, “You could help out.”

His brows flew up. “With what?”

“It’s your turn to vacuum this week,” she reminded him.

“So, I’ll do it on Saturday.”

“You should do it now so it’ll be done when Dad gets home. And the dishwasher needs to be unloaded. I ran it when I got home from school.”

No studied her and she knew why. Usually they both had to be reminded to do their chores and sometimes they had to be reminded more than once. And also, neither of them did anything extra unless they were told. Like running the dishwasher.

“What’s your gig?” he finally asked, his eyes flicking back to the hamper before again coming to her face. “It’s not your week to do the laundry. It’s Dad’s.”

“Well, if you haven’t noticed, I have. Something is up with Dad.”

His eyes grew more alert and she knew he’d noticed. Then again, they were both children of divorce and their parents’ marriage had gone from bad to really bad and stayed that way a while before it was over. They were unconsciously attuned to their parents’ moods like kids from happy homes were not. And when you learned something like that, unconscious or not, you never lost it.

She finished, “He’s workin’ late so I’m helpin’ out. You don’t wanna, fine. After I finish with the laundry, I’ll run the vacuum and I’ll unload the dishwasher.”

And with that, she turned on her foot, flounced out of the room and down the hall. She carried the clothes upstairs and put hers away. The ones that were No’s she just put on his bed. His room was a disaster, it wasn’t worth the effort and if he pulled his finger out, he could put his own clothes away.

She was walking back downstairs when she heard the vacuum go on and she grinned.

Her brother could be a pain. But they both were old enough to know what was going on when their parents got divorced. They also were old enough to know what was going on when their Dad got full custody of them. And they both wanted to live with their Dad. Mom’s apartment was small and even now when they were with her they had to share a room which sucked big time. First, because No talked under the covers to his many babes on his cell. Then, he talked in his sleep. It drove Clarisse insane.

She knew if he was in the mood, No would help out. They’d both do anything for Dad mainly because Dad proved he’d do anything for them.

Because the house wasn’t as big as their old one but it was still big and took forever to vacuum, feeling generous, Clarisse went to the kitchen and unloaded the dishwasher. Then she wiped down the countertops. Then she walked back downstairs and got the hamper loaded with the folded bundles of her Dad’s clothes and took it upstairs to his room.

When it was her turn to do the laundry, she always put her Dad’s clothes away. No would put the hamper on his bed but Clarisse put them away. This was because she liked spending time in her Dad’s room. It was big and roomy. It smelled like his aftershave. His bed was enormous and had gorgeous sheets and a beautiful comforter that had swirls of taupe, tan and chocolate. He had an awesome balcony leading off it with super comfy Adirondack chairs. Both the balcony and chairs she loved.

This was because she and her Dad would often kick back out there, talk, he’d tease her and he’d listen to whatever she had on her mind, him drinking a beer, Clarisse drinking a pop. She loved the view of the Holliday Farm across the way not only because the yellow farmhouse with its white curlicue woodwork was sweet but because Finley Holliday lived there and he was hot. And in the summer, if she was on the balcony, it was a good possibility she’d see Finley on a tractor. And if it was hot, which it often was in Indiana in the summer, there was an even better possibility she’d see him on the tractor without his shirt on. And seeing as he was seventeen and on the football team, Finley Holliday without his shirt on with a tan in the summer was a sight to see.

She hoped when she got married she had a room just like that. And she kinda hoped when she got married, she’d get married to a guy who looked a lot like Finley Holliday.

As she started shoving her Dad’s socks in his sock drawer she heard the vacuum closer and knew No had moved to vacuum the stairs.

That’s when she found them. Two books with girlie covers shoved in the back.

Her brows drew together. First, her Dad wasn’t girlie in any way. He and No were both total guys, through and through. Second, she’d put socks away in that drawer more than once and she’d never seen those books before.

Biting her lip and listening to the vacuum coming up the stairs, she looked to the opened double doors that led from her father’s room to the hall.

Then quickly, she snatched up one of the books. She opened it to a random page and froze, staring at a pretty picture drawn in pastel pencils across both pages. She’d never seen anything like it. It was colorful and she liked the swirly pattern. If it was bigger, to replace the vampire posters, she’d like all sorts of pictures like that framed and put up on the walls in her room.

Still, it was weird. Was her Dad drawing pretty, swirly pictures? That couldn’t be right.

She flipped to the front of the book and froze again.

There was a name and a date on the inside front cover.

Dusty Holliday and the year was years and years and years before.

Dusty.

Dusty Holliday. Holliday.

Dad’s babe.

Dad’s babe was a Holliday.

Clarisse cocked her head to the side as she felt something funny fluttering around her heart. Her Dad’s babe had given him her diaries from when she had to be a girl. Clarisse didn’t know what to think of this but it felt like she thought that was kind of sweet.

The vacuum went off and Clarisse knew that meant No was unplugging it downstairs so he could plug it in upstairs.

Quickly, she shoved the book back in the drawer and finished with his clothes. Then she hung out in her room while No finished vacuuming upstairs.

She knew he was done when he stuck his head in her door and asked, “Happy?”

“Ecstatic,” she replied.

He did a hand gesture that was rude and if Dad saw it, he’d not be happy but he did it grinning so Clarisse knew No was just being a dork which No could be (often). Then he disappeared.

When he did, Clarisse immediately went to her door and listened. If No was in his room, even if he was doing his homework, he listened to music. If he wasn’t doing his homework, he’d be playing keyboard, guitar, banging on his drums or talking to one of his crew or one of his babes. She didn’t hear that. Just the TV coming from downstairs. This meant No was downstairs.

So, racing, she ran to her Dad’s room and grabbed the books in his drawer. Closing it carefully, she ran back to her room and closed the door.

Then, lying on her bed with her back to the door so if her brother walked in he wouldn’t see what she was doing, she started with the book that had the earliest date.

And she couldn’t believe what she read.

And she also had absolutely no clue what to think about it.

Her Dad came home before she could finish. Working quickly, she shoved the books between her mattress and box springs and went downstairs to glory in his approval that she and No had his back while he worked. As usual, since Dad noticed everything, he noticed and he was surprised. He was also pleased. This meant he gave her some loving. No didn’t get any, Dad just threw him a grin. But she got loving before he went to get a beer.

So it was all worth it.

* * *

Between cleaning the bathrooms, doing her homework, making dinner, keeping the kitchen tidy, doing the ironing, hanging with her Dad on the weekend and trying to hide the fact she wanted to be holed up in her room with the diaries by hanging with No and Dad in front of the TV, it took five nights for Clarisse Haines to finish Dusty Holliday’s teenage girl journals.

She read every single word. Sometimes, she read whole passages over and over again. And she studied the drawings closely. And more than once, she kinda cried.

And when she was done with the last one, she knew three things.

One, Dusty Holliday loved her Dad, like, a lot. And she’d loved him that way for years and years and years.

Two, Clarisse thought it was beyond awesome that after all these years they were finally together. She liked that for her Dad, someone loving him like that when he’d had so long of the way her mother treated him. And she liked that for the woman called Dusty because, after that creep (and Clarisse knew him, everyone knew about Dennis Lowe) did what he did to her, she needed a good guy like Clarisse’s dad. Her Dad would look out for Dusty. Her Dad would never let anything like that happen again. Her Dad would make Dusty happy.

And three, Dusty Holliday, when she was a kid, thought a lot like Clarisse. Sure, Clarisse didn’t have her talent. She couldn’t draw. But she liked to write stories and used to do it all the time. She stopped and she didn’t know why. Maybe it was because No was so good with his music, everyone talked about it, Dad, even Mom, their grandparents and all the kids at school went on and on about it. She knew her stories weren’t as good as the way No was with music. Though, she’d never shown them to anyone. Not No, definitely not her Mom, not even her Gran who she knew liked reading and she knew even more that her Gran loved Clarisse. And not her Dad. But Dusty didn’t think anyone “got her” and Clarisse felt the same way. No one got her, these days, not even her Dad.

Dusty Holliday had called her honey in a real way that felt nice. Dusty Holliday had said “you take care, you hear?” and Clarisse thought the way she said that in her really pretty voice was cool. Dusty Holliday had a cool name that was way cooler even than No’s nickname.

And Dusty Holliday loved her Dad from when she was even younger than Clarisse.

So Clarisse couldn’t wait to meet Dusty Holliday.

Dusty Holliday, Clarisse knew, would get her.

And Dusty Holliday, Clarisse knew, would make her Dad happy.

Finally.

No, she couldn’t wait to meet the woman with the cool name of Dusty.

She could…not…wait.

* * *

The morning after she finished Dusty Holliday’s journals, Clarisse was heading downstairs to breakfast and stopped dead two down when she heard her father say, “No, Merry, I haven’t heard from Dusty. It’s done.”

Weirdly it felt like someone had punched her in the gut.

How could that be?

She didn’t know when it started but she was guessing it hadn’t been going on that long and when she heard her Dad talking on the phone with Dusty, his voice was all soft and nice. And Dusty loved her Dad, like, bunches. Everyone who knew him did. And Clarisse hadn’t even met her yet! How could it be done?

She stayed still and listened as her Dad went on, “I’m not goin’ over this.” There was a pause then, “Man, seriously, do not talk to me about this shit when you haven’t sorted yours with Mia.” Another pause then more annoyed, “I told you, I was a dick to her, three times. The first I was totally out-of-line, the last I don’t even wanna think about. She’s made it clear she’s done. I’ve called her three times. No returns. So it’s done. She’s already got some asshole makin’ her life a misery right after her brother died. She does not need two.”

Her Dad was a dick to Dusty? That couldn’t be possible. Her Dad wasn’t a dick, not even to her Mom and she deserved it.

And Dusty had some asshole making her life a misery?

Clarisse didn’t like that.

She refocused when her Dad continued, “Yeah, I told you she was The One. Problem is I made it so I wasn’t The One for her. And unfortunately, I live in The ‘Burg, she lives in Texas. I got two kids to look after and I don’t have the cake to fly down there and throw myself on my sword. And she doesn’t need that shit anyway. She was here, I could make that effort and maybe break through. She’s not here.”

She lived in Texas, that’s why they never met her and Dad was talking to her on the phone.

And if she was here, Dad could win her back.

He’d break through, Clarisse knew it.