Chapter 2

I had totally forgotten about the entire conversation, assuming it was just some law-enforcement stuff, until Dad came home with a bloody nose and a huge welt on his forehead.

"What happened to you?" I demanded as he stomped through the door.

"It's not important," he tried to reassure me. "Go get the bruise cream, will you?"

I complied, but insist on patching Dad up. I'm sort of the doctor in the family; if someone has an injury or they're sick, I go all Mother hen on them and patch them up. Dad, as always, protested, but unfortunately for him, I can give the same dirty look that he used to stop an argument between James and I.

Speaking of James, she came in just as I finished putting the cream that would speed up the healing by a tenfold. I was surprised that she didn't come sooner-she's a Daddy's girl through and through. She opened the door to the stairwell with a bang and froze there, seeing her beloved father for the first time. "Daddy, what happened?"

James was only ten and a half years old, named after my late-grandfather, and it was obvious where she got most of her genetics from. She had Dad's wavy brown hair and piercing green eyes. They had the same square jaw line, the same nose. The only thing that she obviously got from Mom was the very pale skin that we both shared. Me...most people assume I'm adopted because I look almost nothing like Dad. I had Mom's wavy black hair, the slightly puckered, always rosy lips, and the small, slightly upturned nose. I had more of Dad's jaw line, but otherwise...I was the spitting image of my mother before the accident.

Dad smiled at her. "It's nothing, baby. Is there any corndogs? John's coming home late, and I don't feel like cooking."

"I think so," I said as James said, "I'm not in the mood for corndogs."

"There's noodles," I suggested. "I can make pasta."

James pouted. "We had that last week."

"James..." Dad said warningly. James could be a spoiled brat at times, but Dad usually gave her the same amount of leeway that I got when I was her age.

She sighed dramatically. "Fiiiine. Can I help with dinner?"

"Sure," I said. "You can stand in the kitchen and not make any noise."

"Viiiiioleeet!"

"You wanna be a big help?" Dad interrupted. "Go get me the laptop."

"Okay!" James darted back up the stairs. I could hear her stumble on one of the stairs. I locked eyes with Dad, who said, "You should go get dinner started."

Ookay. So he wasn't trying to get rid of James so he could talk to me in private. I shrugged and went to the kitchen. I tried not to think about how bruised and beatened Dad looked. Maybe there had been a particularly resistant time criminal. No big deal. It's happened before.

Dad still sat in the living room, poring over the glowing square over the laptop. It wasn't anything like the original ones in the early twenty-first century-it was basically a little strip of plastic that projected the screen and keyboard. He seemed so absorbed in his work that he didn't look when when I called his name a couple times. I had to walk over and shake his shoulder roughly before he acknowledged that I existed. We ate dinner in silence, then I sat in the screened porch. Soon, Dad joined me. "Hey."

"Hey," I said quietly. "What happened?"

"Under law of confidentiality, I can't tell you," he replied. He sounded...guilty. Like he wanted to tell me.

"Understandable."

James poked her head out of the door. "Can I sit out here too?"

"Nope," I told her. "No one younger than eleven."

She stuck her tongue out at me and sat next to Dad on the wooden bench. I watched them. It was a selfish thought, but I couldn't help but wonder if Dad had a favorite child, even if he said otherwise.