UGH FINALLY chapter 22 is up... I've been so depressed lately that it has been hard for me to type updates for you all but I plan to get back into the swing of things... plus I'm feeling happier.

So without further-a-do... here is chapter 22yay I rhymed

Thanks for chap21 reviews! Much love\m/. . .Oh and if any errors are in it, sry...

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Even though it was Saturday, Spencer was surprised to find her father working in his office a the villa when she got home around noon.

"You got burnt," Arthur observed when she appeared at the doorway.

She looked down at her arms. She was definitely darker, and she could feel the tightness of the skin on her arms, legs, back, and chest. Even her face felt tight, despite the layers of sunblock and the hat and sunglasses.

"Are you sure it's not a tan?" she asked, hopefully.

He smiled and shook his head. "You're going to hurt a little tonight."

The phone in the office rang, and Arthur picked it up on the first ring. She had the feeling he was expecting the call. She heard him greet whoever was on the line in Spanish.

He made a gesture to her to give him five minutes. She nodded and backed out of the room. He came around to close the office door, and Spencer noticed for the first time the large, silver-colored briefcase sitting next to the desk. She hadn't seen it before.

She hung around in the living room. Even with the office door closed, she could still hear a smattering of what Arthur was saying.

"Tengo el dinero…"

Spencer's curiosity was piqued. He was telling someone that he had the money.

"…entrega…"

Delivery. Spencer thought that's what it meant, anyway. She leant closer, her ear practically touching the door.

"…manana…"

Tomorrow. She totally missed the next couple of sentences. Her father spoke Spanish with the speed of the natives. Spencer did understand the last command: llama me. Call me.

She quickly stepped away from the door and went to the kitchen before her father came out

"Everything okay?" she asked as casually as she could muster when he appeared at the counter.

"Yes, fine." he said. But he still seemed preoccupied.

"Did you have lunch?"

He shook his head. "Did you?"

"No."

Spencer bit her lip and thought about what to say. She didn't want to lose him. She just wanted to know what was going on. Most important, she just anted to know that he was okay. That he wasn't getting himself into deep trouble. Money. Delivery. Tomorrow. The words didn't exactly fill her with confidence, and that made her angry. He was going to ruin it. Again. He was going to destroy the last chance they had.

"I can make us a grilled cheese. Or some tuna sandwiches."

"Either one. You pick."

She caught him glancing at his office door.

"How about if you sit here and keep me company?" Spencer knew she was pressing her luck, but what the hell? "So, who was on the phone?"

"Someone from work." He took her suggestions and sat on one of the stools.

"By the way, were you in town yesterday?"

When she glanced up, he adverted his eyes. "I might have been. Why? What time?"

"Around noon. I thought I saw you get into a car with-"

"It wasn't me." he said abruptly. He looked out the glass door to the guesthouse. "Where's Ashley?"

"I could have sworn it was you."

"No. It couldn't have been. Is she coming home for lunch?"

He was determined to change the topic.

"No, she was windsurfing this morning." Spencer said, disappointed. "And they have some races this

afternoon. They're trying to get ready for a competition in a couple of weeks."

"How did you get home?"

"My friend Mac, the girl who stayed over last night."

He nodded. His mind obviously cranking along. It was, apparently, on something else. Even with Macs car in the driveway, it was clear to Spencer that he hadn't paid any attention to the note she'd left him, telling him exactly where she was going. She decided to make tuna sandwiches.

"Is everything okay between you and Ash?"

"Pretty okay. . . Or at least I think it is, despite all the Carlin foul-ups." Spencer took a loaf of bread and a can of tuna out, and put it on the counter.

"What do you mean by that?"

"I mean that there must be something genetically wrong with us," Spencer said. She needed to vent a little, and this was as good an opportunity as any. "I sometimes wonder if were even capable of being happy. We go out of our way to do stupid things to mess up our lives and our relationships with other people. . . And with each other."

"You're exaggerating."

"I wish I were." She took the mayo out of the fridge and set it down on the counter with a bang. "I mean, look at the track record our family has. You and Paula are divorced. My two aunts, who happen to be your sisters, are on their second and third marriages.. And when I left, Aunt number two's marriage was looking a little rocky. The rest of the Carlin relatives are incapable of even keeping in contact with other aunts and cousins."

"Your Aunt Bobbi is having marriage problems?"

"It doesn't matter!" she almost shouted. "The problem is we can't communicate. We keep everything in. We can't express our feelings. We hold grudges. And god forbid if anyone get too close, or if there is a slightest possibility a relationship is going to work out, then we'll just have to do something stupid to mess it up."

"You're doing okay in the communication department."

"But you're not."

He was doing exactly what she was talking about. Whatever deal it was that Phillip had gotten himself involved in was just another attempt to push her away. Prison bars can do pretty well to create distance.

She pushed the jar of mayo and the can of tuna away and leaned on her elbows on the counter, facing him.

"When I knew I was coming here on the summer, my only expectation was to be stuck in the house and have a horrible time. But things haven't gone as I expected. I've discovered in Ashley a person that I can care about deeply. I've found a friend in Mackenzie. I've jot a job. I'm loving the island. But do you know what's the biggest surprise of all?"

He shook his head.

"I've started liking my father."

He reached across the table and took her hand. "Spencer. . ."

"Don't." She shook her hand and withdrew her hand. "I don't want to like you because your doing it again. You're making me get used to you. Making me want to accept you as my father. Then you'll just take it away again."

"That's not so Spencer."

"But it is," she stressed. "You've done this to me over and over again. You've lied. You've gone away and stayed away. And you're doing the same thing now."

"Its my job. I know I haven't been there for you when you-"

She waved him off. "Is it you're job to have five passports under different names? Is it part of your profession to hang out with dangerous drug dealers?"

He stared at he, a hardness darkening his face.

"I need to know," Spencer asked in a softer voice. "Please tell me that nothing horrible is gong to come out of what you're doing."

"Nothing horrible will happen," he said, thickly, standing up.

"How do I know that?"

"You'll have to trust me, I guess."

Turning on his heel, he went across the house to his office, and Spencer winced as the door closed. A moment later, she heard him talking on the phone. She wondered if he heard anything she said.

She wondered if it meant anything to him at all.

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