The signal sucked, at our little winter wonderland cabin, and so I found myself faced with the necessity of holing up in my room with a landline, staring at the buttons while I pointedly didn't make the call I'd come up here to make.

After deciding we were done playing in the snow, Adrian had suggested we clean up (warm up) and grab some downtime before dinner.

He asked me if I wanted to read together, but I'd been brave. I told him I had a phone call to make, and he immediately understood, and got me the phone—it might have been a landline, but it was cordless, excuse you—and promised to come get me for dinner.

"Or just…you know. To check on you. Or whatever," he mumbled after, and I'd just made sure to give him an extra hug before he left the room.

Loved that boy.

But now, after procrastinating as much as possible anyway, changing out of my (appropriate clothing) snow stuff, and back into my pajamas—and seriously, I needed to have a discussion with Adrian about the level of weird it got to when he packed my suitcase for me and chose the things I would have chosen myself, because no one should be that in sync—I had re-braided my hair and now…here I was. Sitting cross-legged on the bed, the phone in front of me while I picked at the end of my braid, fishing for split ends.

And it was so stupid. Like. If I called and the number had been disconnected (again) that…kind of was that. I mean, I'd call Emma, next, then Sarah, to see if they knew what was going on—best case scenario…he was still in rehab?

(This…I doubted. Even with Emma's fiancé kicking in funds that my dad very much lacked to get him placed in a legit facility, with rules and mandatory therapy and whatnot…they still priced up the wazoo by the month. One of the nicer options I'd found when I was researching them would hold the bed for him for a deposit of $15,000. And a monthly "rent" of $13,000 (not counting the transportation fees to middle-of-nowhere Utah, of all places.) Realistically, they'd probably arranged a 6k, 60-day deal. In which case…he was either out, clean, and fine…or…you know. Not.)

And that traitorous, little-girl, bleeding-heart part of me…hoped he was okay.

I groaned. This was stupid. This was so stupid.

I stood up. Picked up the phone. I punched in the numbers. I pushed the call button. I held the phone to my ear, listening to the line connect. Waiting.

Then I realized I had absolutely no idea what I would even say, if he answered.

I hung up.

I sat on the floor, instead. My back rested against the solid bedframe—it was…maybe oak? Oak seemed sturdy. And expensive. It was probably oak.

My hands were shaky, and my breath shuddered, and it was so stupid, to let myself get so freaking emotional over a stupid—

The phone chirped, in my hand. The screen was old-school, but it still had caller ID, and I wanted to roll my eyes at how extra Adrian's stupid dad was, to shell out the additional money for caller ID for a landline phone in an isolated cabin he didn't even come to.

I answered it.

Because as much as I didn't want to answer it, the thought of someone else answering it and calling for me was worse.

"H-Hello?"

"I'm sorry, the call disconnected. Who is this?"

"Lindy. Um. Linda Owens. Who are you?"

Because…it was a girl's voice. Like, a young girl. A teenager, like me. I pulled my knees up to my chest, tracing my fingers over the paisley hearts of the fuzzy pajama pants I'd been favoring.

"I'm Ashley….the baby-sitter? Um, did you want to leave a message for Mr. or Mrs. Thorpe?"

"Oh. No, that's…that's fine, I was…actually looking for someone else," I said faintly.

We spoke for a little longer—the girl—Ashley?—was super nice, and trying to be helpful. When she realized I was looking for whoever had this number before the Thorpes, she even graced me with an explanation I didn't really need, about the nice family who had just moved in, and their cute kids—twins, wouldn't you know? Shayla and Kara—and the baby, Quentin.

Five minutes talking to her I knew more about their life than many of my acquaintances from Tuttle, and it was kind of depressing, so I finally bid her a polite goodbye.

I stood up again, sighing, mechanically dialing the next number. Emma first, then Sarah. There was no hesitation, by this point. It was almost rote.

We'd done this dance before, you see. I always called them when the phone number stopped working. (It kind of happened a lot) And now my dad had disappeared off the face of the earth. Again.

Emma, though, didn't seem to care so much about that as the fact that I'd made contact.

"Lindy?! Are you okay? Me and Sarah have been looking for Dad for the sole purpose of grilling him once and for all about what the hell happened to you! We couldn't ever get a straight answer, and then you were just gone. Oh my God, you didn't even call on Thanksgiving, Lindy, and that's not like you. Then Christmas, too…Sarah almost thought you'd died, Lindy, and that he was trying to cover it up! Oh, God, are you hurt? Why didn't you call until now? Were you mad at us? Where are you? I'll come! Right now!"

"I'm fine," I said, guilt shadowing me immediately for not contacting them before now. I'd gone all 'Secret Santa' on my freaking next-door neighbors, and not even gotten so much as a card for either of my sisters (or their boyfriends, for that matter, who'd been in my life a while, now.) "I'm safe, you don't have to come get me. When Dad made the deal with me that he'd go to rehab, he said he'd tell you guys where I was," I said lamely. Because of course he hadn't done that. Or, likely, he had, and they hadn't believed him. His story was pretty bad.

"Dad was in withdrawal, and we were pretty sure he was hallucinating most the time! We had to do family therapy with him on the phone twice a week, but all he said about you when we asked was that you would be safe, and that you were living with a beast. Is…Lindy, is that a creepy euphemism for something? God, did he sell you to the mob?!"

Needless to say, I had quite a lot of backtracking to do to make sure Emma didn't explode. And I could just feel a headache coming on at the thought of having to do it again with Sarah, next. It wasn't all strictly true. But it was easier to explain this way:

I hadn't called anyone because I'd kind of been off the grid. I'd been off the grid because Dad had pissed off the wrong dealer. He'd agreed to go to rehab because it got him protection, but it left me as a ready target to use against him. So I'd kind of been living in a mansion in Brooklyn for the last five months.

I knew I'd never be able to sell the whole 'Dad had a mysterious rich acquaintance from the past' to Emma because I hadn't even bought that when my dad said it. So I ended up settling on a little bit of the truth, at the end: I wasn't gonna be safe with Dad, so this guy Adrian offered to let me stay with him. (I just left out the whole…blackmail…thing.)

"Why didn't you just come to one of us? Sarah lives close enough, you could have still been going to school—oh, no, did you have to drop out?"

"Um, I've been getting tutored. I'm keeping up, don't worry. He's legit, he files his lesson plans with the State Board of Education," I said, smoothly inserting Will's credentials into the conversation and trying to avoid the first question altogether.

When I had asked Dad that exact same question, at the beginning of all this, he'd just said it would be safer for them if I stayed with someone unexpected. Then my sisters wouldn't be in danger. I repeated something like this to Emma, now, knowing it was bullshit, of course. Because the truth was that my being with Adrian was the whole point of him blackmailing my father.

I wondered, then, what might have happened. If I'd called bluff, and left anyway. I might have been able to go with Sarah—Liam (Emma's fiancé) was nice and all, but Gerry (Sarah's boyfriend) was built like a mountain. And, Emma was right. I could have kept going to school.

How funny. How differently things would have turned out. Jail might even have been a good thing, for my dad. Woken him up.

"Okay, seriously, though, are you really okay? Really? You're safe?"

"I'm…more than okay. I promise. And I've never felt safer."

"Okay. Okay. That's good. Have you called Sarah?"

"No, she's next on my list. I was gonna call Dad, but his number was given away, again. So I called you."

I heard a teary chuckle, and the guilt intensified. Why hadn't I thought they'd be this worried?

"Oh, it's such a relief to hear from you," Emma said. "You have no idea, I was going out of my mind. The counsellors kept asking when you would be able to join the calls—for his um, for his therapy, you know?

"God, Lindy, we—we didn't know. I swear we didn't know how much worse it had gotten, for you. God, maybe we just didn't want to know? Sarah was so angry all the time, back then, and I was…I wasn't in a good place. Like. Suicidal. Sarah told me to take a break…I didn't mean for you to have to deal with it alone. But then…I don't know. It just…seemed easier. You were so good with him, Lindy. So patient. And I just. I couldn't. I couldn't just stay there and…"

I didn't say anything. I…I was just…processing what she'd said. She had a tendency to fill the silence, if you let her, and it was…enlightening, if nothing else.

This part…this was the main reason I'd just…kept radio silence with them for so long. That little part of me, feeling vindicated. Let them deal with his shit for once, I've only been doing it alone for the last four years…

"What…God. Sorry. What am I saying? That's…that's the point, isn't it? It wasn't easy at all. You. Lindy. You didn't deserve what we did. Okay? And if Dad thinks—God. If we can find him…"

"You…you don't know where he is, either?" I said, then, almost grateful for the slight change of subject. I…I love my sisters. But if I had to keep thinking about this—the whole idea that if they'd just been there instead of…instead of—of NOT. God. Maybe I wouldn't…Maybe Hob wouldn't have…

So, yeah. Changing the subject, please.

I let Emma fill me in on what I'd missed, being out of the loop for five months; Dad had done the full 60 days of rehab that Gerry had muscled him into, and Liam had paid for. And then Sarah and Gerry had paid for a step-down program, which he hadn't exactly flourished in. But he'd gotten a sponsor and attended his meetings. For a while.

They hadn't lost track of him completely until a few weeks ago, when his sponsor contacted them, when he'd missed the last 3 meetings.

It was the anniversary. The holidays were hard on him.

"We go out to look for him, Lindy, around the rehab, around his place, around the old places. I'm out right now—I'm gonna get pulled over for talking and driving, I bet— You…you know him better, at this point, Lindy. Where would you look?"

So I gave her some ideas. Some people to talk to they hadn't tried.

"You might…" I swallowed. "You might try…Hob? He…uh…he's pretty good at knowing how to find him. Dad…usually owes him money."

Saying that killed me, a little. Pointing my sisters in his direction. It sickened me.

"God, that skeezy pusher guy?" Emma said, and I heard her shudder. "I hate that creep. He offered me a half if I'd do him a quickie, once. I was…sixteen? Ugh. He's still around, then?"

"Yeah," I grated out between my teeth. I wanted to throw up.

A very, very small part of me… crowed perversely. Ha! He paid more for me! A whole goddamn sixteenth. And I was younger!

"…head to the city, meet up with Sarah. Did you want me to loop her in? Or maybe we could do a three-way call?"

I shrugged, almost forgetting she couldn't see that as an answer. It would be nice, to not have to do this again. How did one go about doing a three-way call?

"I'm so glad you called, Lindy. Really. And I'm glad you're safe. And I'm sorry…you weren't safe. With Dad."

I nodded, then remembered that she couldn't see it. "No, I wasn't," I said, realizing that I had also started crying.

The silence was thick with pity, and I rolled my eyes, wiping the tears from my cheeks.

"Okay. Okay, you initiated the call. So do you want to add Sarah on the line?" Emma said gently.

"I don't know how," I mumbled. And it was true. This was the kind of knowledge someone probably had if they didn't use a cell phone. Or had been a teen without one. Like my sisters.

Well…also like me. But the difference was that they'd had the chance to be teens. I hadn't. They'd had friends to do three-way calls with.

I…hadn't.

Emma didn't make fun of me. It's not what she did. She was kind. (I didn't think I would have admitted to Sarah that I didn't know how. But Emma was different.) Emma talked me through it, and soon the line was ringing, again, but I could also still hear Emma's breathing.

Weird.

But in a cool way.

The line picked up, but no one said anything for a moment. Then I heard Sarah's huffy, impatient breathing. "Daniel?" She finally said flatly, angrily.

I smiled at the familiarity, like an ache in my soul. She didn't call our Dad 'Dad' anymore. She called him 'Daniel' or else 'Bastard,' when she was feeling less charitable.

"Hey, Sarah, it's Emma, and Lindy's on the other line," Emma finally said, when I…didn't. I was still crying, covering it by breathing into my sweater, which I'd pulled over my hands.

"Lindy? Oh my God. You're alive. Are you there? Where are you? Should I come? (Gerry? Ger! Get your coat!)"

"I'm upstate," I managed, sniffling. "Can't get here by train. But I'm okay. I'm safe."

Emma pushed in, explaining what I'd told her, but in a much better, more succinct way that I hadn't been able to manage earlier. She was good with words, that way. We always thought she'd end up being a great writer or something. Then she got into Yale and started to pursue law. And somehow, it fit her perfectly.

"Ems. Where are you?"

"Just parked the car. Getting on at Canal Street."

"Oh my God, if you're in the car, just drive! Are we gonna go get Lindy? Lindy? Are we coming for you? Where are you?"

"Are you gonna…look for Dad?" I asked, ignoring Sarah's questions.

"Yes. I couldn't drive in all the way; I didn't know where to park the car where it wouldn't get tagged or stolen."

"Oh. My God, Em. Live in Yale too long and you're a fucking tourist," Sarah said severely. She didn't mean it that way. She was maybe grumpy because she didn't like being ignored, but she didn't hold a grudge. Not usually, anyway. (Our dad was kind of…a different problem.)

"Meet me at Columbus Circle. The Square is a zoo."

I smiled. Oh, I'd forgotten how crowded Times Square could be at this time of year. Christmas tourists became New Year's tourists, taking pictures of the ball as they set it up to drop.

"KK. (Ger! Let's go!) I'm bringing thug repellant." (That got a chuckle from me.) "Linds! We've been meeting up to hunt him down, since his sponsor lost him—where do you think he would be? The places we've tried are too old. We didn't know where you were, didn't know if you'd ever speak to us again, actually," Sarah said conversationally. She was trying to sound flippant, but I could hear a tremor in her voice that she was trying to cover up.

They'd been worried about me. Really worried.

"Oh my God, don't be so dramatic," I muttered, smiling a little, wiping at my face.

"Excuse you. I'm the oldest. It's my fucking God-given right to be dramatic, and I can even be as over-dramatic as I please. Right, Ger?"

I heard a rumble of a reply from Gerry, and let out another wet laugh. "Sure, Ser."

"So. Tell us about the guy," Emma said clearly, and I groaned when Sarah predictably pounced on this information like a saber-toothed tiger.

"Guy? Oh my God. Dish. Ger, Lindy has a guy. Is that where you are? Oh my God, Ger, Lindy is shacked up with a guy. You said you're upstate? Ger, it's an upstate guy!"

"I was in Brooklyn, we just decided to go upstate, like, yesterday," I clarified before Sarah could run away with the little information she had.

"We don't know anyone in Brooklyn. Do we? Emma? Do you know rich people in Brooklyn?"

"I know rich people in Harford, and one in New Jersey."

"Why would you willingly live in New Jersey if you were rich? Oh my God, Ger! Run! Hold the train! We're coming!"

We heard Sarah breathing hard as she ran for the train.

"Liam knows some rich people in Brooklyn, I think. And quite a few in Manhattan. A few authors, a soap opera actor," Emma said conversationally. "A weatherman? I think."

"I…I think Adrian's dad is in television," I said non-committally. "Adrian's last name is King."

"Like…like Stephen King?" Sarah panted.

"Stephen King lives in, like, Maine," Emma pointed out. "Almost all of his books talk about fictional cities in Maine."

"I don't think Adrian's dad is Stephen King," I said with certainty.

"Dish," Sarah said again, and her breathing was still hard.

"I dunno," I said self-consciously. "What even do you want to know?"

"Is he as smart as you?" Emma asked sensibly.

"Is he hot? Ooh, is he tall? How big are his feet? If you know what I mean," Sarah said, and I blushed at her insinuation.

"Um, yes, he's really smart, Emma. He's really tall, Sarah. Like, over six feet. I only come to maybe his shoulder," I said, raising my hand above my head to approximate Adrian's height, though they couldn't see me.

"Is he hot? Is he a good kisser? Are you guys f—um. Doing it? God! Why didn't we talk about this before I got on the train? There's f-reaking kids here, man," Sarah said with an air of deliberation, trying to censor herself. It was hard, since her word choices were normally quite colorful.

"Life is suffering," I said flatly.

"The struggle is real," Emma chimed in.

And we laughed at Sarah's expense for a minute.

Despite everything, it did feel good.

God, I had missed this. I had missed them.

A tapping sounded at the door, really soft and gentle; it barely qualified as a knock.

I opened it as Sarah tried to defend herself and Emma laughed.

Adrian was there, and he offered a questioning smile. "Dinner?" he mouthed.

I nodded, acknowledging that I'd understood.

Adrian nodded back, raised his eyebrows, and tilted his head.

I read his mind and rolled my eyes, smiling. He had good hearing. He could hear Emma laughing (I mean, even if his hearing wasn't good, he'd probably have been able to distinguish Emma's laugh or Sarah's screeching indignance. They were loud. And Adrian did, in fact, possess ears.), and it was obviously not a man's voice. The plan had been to call my dad.

"My sisters," I murmured as a short explanation.

"Ah," Adrian nodded, like he understood, though…I don't know if he did. He'd mentioned being an only child.

"One minute," I mouthed then, showing him my index finger.

Adrian nodded and left, gently closing the door.

Despite Sarah's loud protests, I told them I had to go, but that I could call them back later. Emma made me promise, even if the call was just a few minutes to check in. Sarah screeched something about injustice, but she'd be fine.

It was only when I hung up the phone and felt the cool relief of fresh air hitting my ear that I realized how long I'd been talking—nearly an hour.

And really…it hadn't been a big deal. Talking. And I knew I'd feel better calling them later—I wouldn't have that trepidation, anymore.

It was nice to be reminded that, if all else failed, my sisters loved me. They would have my back.