Page 3 of Under His Control

“No.” The word is muffled. “I came to see you, Jake.”

Tension fills my body.

She knows who I am.

“Who are you?”

The wind whips around us, shaking the tree branches. She turns and approaches me with cautious steps like I’m some wild creature who’ll attack if she isn’t careful.

When she slowly peels her scarf down, I understand why she’s afraid of me. My body becomes stone.

It’s been eight years since I last saw her.

Eight years since she betrayed me.

My ex-stepdaughter, Penelope.

2

Penny

My bio dad vanished into the night after my mother told him she was pregnant with me. Then he died in a motorcycle accident when I was six.

I don’t have much experience with fathers. I’m sure most look at their daughters with love and happiness if they haven’t seen them in a while.

Jacob, the only father-figure I’ve ever had, looks at me like he wants to shove me down the hill. He would dust his hands in satisfaction while I’m tumbling to the bottom and say to himself, There. Just what the bitch deserves.

And I do deserve it.

His face is mostly the same, though he’s different. In the past, his clothes said everything about his finances.

It’s strange to see him dressed so normally now in a black winter jacket instead of an expensive overcoat, worn jeans instead of designer ones, and scuffed boots instead of shined loafers.

Even his grey beanie and mauve scarf look like the kind from the dollar store.

“What are you doing here?”

Jacob’s disdain is heavy around the word you. It’s a knife slicing at my heart and my hope for rescue.

“I—I wanted—”

I rehearsed what I was going to say during the drive up here. It was supposed to begin with a heartfelt apology, but the words are all gone. I’m only running on three hours of sleep. I used up most of my brain power white-knuckle driving on icy roads because I forgot to switch my car to winter tires.

“You know what? I don’t care. You need to leave.”

I wring my hands. “But—”

“Leave. Now.” His scowl deepens as he looks over my shoulder. “You and your mother. I know she’s hiding in the car.”

His upper lip curls as though the words tasted bad. I suppose talking about Mom would make him nauseous.

“She isn’t. She died six months ago.”

I wait for him to respond with good riddance. The hostility in his blue eyes says he’s thinking it, though he doesn’t say the words.

Maybe because Mom already stole a lot from him. He doesn’t want her to take his decency too by speaking ill of the dead.

Jacob makes an abrupt turn, his long legs swiftly carrying him up his driveway toward his porch steps. Panic comes alive and I hurry after him.