“Well, what if we meet new friends waiting in line for one of the shows?” Paige asks. “And we end up staying in the same hotel as them. And then one of them has a birthday. We would want to decorate their hotel room door, wouldn’t we?” She grins and holds up the plastic bag. “Thus, balloons!”
I’m pretty sure Karen’s head is about to explode. Shopping with these two has been eye opening. Paige may be a little more ditzy than I first gave her credit for. I’m starting to wonder how someone as no-nonsense as Karen puts up with her.
I decide to try and smooth things over. “Well, if that happens, we could just take the car out in whatever town we’re in and find balloons. I’m sure there are Wal-Marts pretty much everywhere we’re heading.”
Paige’s face falls. “I guess you have a point. No balloons then.” She sets the bag down, looking pretty sad, until she spots a set of sparkly gel pens. “Oooh!”
“Let’s get out of this aisle,” I say quickly. “I want to get a car charger for my cell phone.”
We head over to electronics. Thinking about my cell phone makes me wonder how many times my dad has called since I set it to silent. I slide it from my purse and glance at the screen. Five missed calls. I stifle a sigh. I had to add an extra session last week so that Dr. Jacobs could help me build up the courage to tell him about the road trip. He reacted exactly the way I thought he would: with a flat-out refusal.
“No. You’re not ready for something like that, Daisy,” he said.
“Dad, come on. It’s been almost a year since Horizons. I have to start making friends sometime.”
“Friends are one thing. You traveling halfway across the country with complete strangers is another. Besides, I’m not sure I like the idea of you spending time with the Ransomes. They’re pretty high profile. What happens if you end up in the public eye?”
I shuddered, not wanting to admit to him that I had the same fear. I couldn’t get the image of photographers out of my mind. What if they followed Daltrey wherever he went? I couldn’t be seen with him.
He might not even want to be seen with you, I thought. You need to minimize your expectations. You’ll probably chat a few times, maybe get to say hi to his brothers, and that’s it.
“This isn’t about Daltrey,” I told my dad, ignoring the niggling voice in my head that said that wasn’t exactly true. “It’s about doing something that sounds fun with some girls that have been really nice to me over the last few weeks. I want to do this, Dad. I feel like I need to.”
He was quiet on the other end of the phone for a long time. I pictured him sitting in the kitchen of his empty condo, probably still dressed in his suit from work. The image made me feel sad. “I don’t know, Daisy. I don’t like it.” He doesn’t have to tell me that he doesn’t trust me for me to hear those doubts in his voice.
I decided it was time to pull out my ace card. “Dad, Dr. Jacobs thinks it would be really good for me. She asked if she could give you a call.”
He had no argument for that. My dad trusted Dr. Jacobs implicitly. It was no coincidence I went to school only a few blocks away from her private-practice offices instead of back in Ohio near his place. I knew he remembered the early reports from my treatment at Horizons. The way I was silent and refused to participate in any kind of therapy, how I refused my meds and had to be housed in a totally “sharps-free” environment. Dr. Jacobs was the person to first inspire some progress in me, so he looked at her as a savior. The fact that she was a very expensive doctor added to his respect. In my dad’s eyes, price was an indication of value.
Later, Dr. Jacobs called him and convinced him normal social interactions were an important part of my recovery. She also casually mentioned that helping me to feel trusted would likely make me behave more trustworthily. So he changed tactics, calling me several times a day to encourage me and give me tips on how to handle myself and how to stay safe.
I know he’s just scared, and I don’t blame him. When I was at Horizons or settled in my apartment, he knew exactly where I was and what I was doing. Using his well-paid contacts at the university, he could keep track of me and my well-being without ever having to see me or deal with me on a personal level, which I’m sure was a big plus for him.
“He’s still calling a lot?” Paige asked, watching me put my phone back into my purse.
“He’s freaking out,” I say. “It’s kind of annoying.”
“Well, you did the right thing. Putting the phone on silent and pretending it doesn’t exist is exactly how I like to deal with my parents.”