1. What’s the second reason you’re helping me?
2. What’s the third reason being with me is problematic?
3. Why will your friend help me?
4. Why does a priest have his own handcuff key?
5. Whose feet should I be sitting at?
6. Why does everyone at church think your name is Marcus Stearns and your Bible says your name is Søren Magnussen?
7. Why do you want me to obey you forever?
8. Are you a virgin?
9. I’m a virgin. Are you okay with that?
10. When will you keep your end of the deal?
11. Who are you?
12. Are you in love with me?
If she had the answers to all these questions, she knew she would know everything she needed to know about Søren.
She spent Thanksgiving Day alone with her mom. They had turkey and mashed potatoes and a chocolate pie Eleanor had begged her mother to make. Eleanor slept for four straight hours after their dinner. She blamed the turkey for her coma but she knew it was simple exhaustion. Going to school five days a week and then spending seven days a week at church had worn her out. She couldn’t complain, though. Better than juvie.
The day after Thanksgiving dawned bright and cold and painfully beautiful. She had to squint to see the sky for all the light shining down and reflecting off the snow. Her mother had to work that day, so Eleanor had the house to herself. Bliss. Utter bliss. She ate leftovers, wrote, read and tried not to obsess over the answers Søren would have to her questions. She would go to Sacred Heart this evening on the pretense of working on something. She’d water that fucking stick for the final time, go to Søren’s office and hand him her list of questions. And then she’d have something truly to be grateful for.
She lay down to take a nap. What if their conversation went late into the night? She needed to be ready for that. But as soon as she lay down on her bed, the phone rang.
With a curse and a groan, she dragged herself to the phone.
“Hello?” she said, trying not to sound 100 percent irritated.
“Happy Thanksgiving, baby girl.”
“Dad?” Eleanor’s heart dropped.
“Of course it’s your dad.” He laughed, but Eleanor couldn’t.
“Why are you calling me?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because I love my daughter and miss her? Maybe because I haven’t heard her voice in months and I knew her mom would be working today.”
“Dad, we’re not allowed to talk to each other.”
“Who said?”
“Mom. My lawyer. My … Everybody.” Her father definitely didn’t need to know about Søren.
“We’re not breaking any laws. A man has a right to see his own child.”
“What do you mean, see?”
“I want you to come see me, Elle. Please? I’m going to be sentenced soon,” he said, his voice now devoid of all levity. “I’d love to see you one more time before I have to go away.”
“Where are you?” she asked.
“I have a little place in Washington Heights. You can be here in, what, an hour and a half? We’ll have dinner and talk a little. You’ll be back long before your mom gets home. How about it?”
“That’s not a good idea,” she said, even as her heart broke at the thought of her father going to prison. She’d never forgiven him for abandoning her the night she got arrested. But the truth was, she never really expected him to come in like a white knight and save her. That wasn’t his style. He was still her father, though, and she knew how brutal a real prison could be.
“Baby, it might our last chance to see each other for years. You know that, right? Years. Your mom will never let you come visit me once I’m in. She always works Friday nights, right?”
She did. Eleanor was alone. And her father was right—her own lawyer had said her father would probably be imprisoned in another state hours away.
“I don’t know….”
“It’s okay. I understand.” She could tell from his tone how hurt and disappointed he was. “But write down my address anyway? In case you change your mind?”
“Okay, fine. Give it to me.” She figured it wouldn’t hurt for her to have it. She scribbled the address down on a scrap of paper.
“I hope you change your mind. I’ve missed you so much. You doing okay?”
“Good,” she said. “I’m really good.”
“That’s good, baby,” he said softly, with such tenderness in his voice she found her eyes filling with tears and her throat closing up. “I want you to be happy.”
“I am. Promise.”
“Good. And you know I’m sorry I got you mixed up in my mess.”