Entwine by Rebecca Berto Page B

Would it be every second weekend, like how a girlfriend from school saw her daddy? Sarah assumed that couldn’t happen to her. Who would her dad be? Not immediate family, no, more like a distant relative.
    “Can we chat?”
    Her dad was about to open the passenger-side door but he halted, spun to face her, and nodded to their backyard. There, Sarah and her dad sat on the usual rusted bench. It had been in the backyard for as long as Sarah could remember, and it had braved the weather—sun, rain and hail. Sarah sat, bent her knee and rested her chin on it, and her dad sat in the middle, legs spread forward, and one arm on the back behind Sarah.
    “I’m sorry, Sez girl,” he said, “I’m not sure what you’re feeling—heck, don’t know how to feel myself—but I want you to know I’m not leaving you. Just moving five or so minutes down the road. You know, I should be close enough to walk.”
    Sarah piped up at that. Her leg shot to the floor with the other, and she turned to face her dad full on, hands clumped in her lap. “Seriously?” Sarah beamed. “Awesome!”
    “I wouldn’t try walking in the rain or anything. Don’t need another reason for your mother to want to kill me. But when it’s sunny, go on and come whenever you like.”
    They both cracked up into uncontrollable fits of giggles. By the end, Sarah had her hands cupped around her mouth, her eyes ready to burst with tears, and her dad’s hand resting on her back, telling her to shush. He was biting his lip to stop the laughter, too.
    “I’ll sneak out tonight.” Sarah attempted an impersonation of a spy, eyes low, darting around for any movement. Satisfied, she whispered, leaning in, “I’ll come at 1.01 am. Mum will be up watching TV or crying or something. I can leave at 12.55 am and start the trek at 12.56 once I make it to the front. If you hear a knock at one am, then—”
    “Sarah.”
    “Really, don’t answer if—”
    “Sarah.”
    This time, he had her attention. Dread had struck her chest like a cold ice-block, and her fear of what he would say rooted her still.
    “Alyssa won’t want to be woken.”
    “But you said come whenever.”
    He looked to his lap. “I know …”
    “You said you were close enough to walk.”
    His tone became softer. “I know .”
    Sarah snapped. She crossed her legs under her awkwardly as she turned to face him. Her eyebrows were pulled in and her tone was clipped. “What the hell did you say that for, then?”
    Her dad didn’t bother to reprimand her for saying “hell” though she never said that around her parents. He didn’t answer for a few seconds. Sarah was glad he looked belittled, yet rage grew within her, and she had to fight the urge to grind her teeth. She needed an answer.
    “I meant it. Just call first, you know? And maybe we can organise a time when she’s not around to start off with. Get her used to the idea. Plus, she has a little baby, and stuff.”
    And stuff , Sarah thought. What could be more important than his own daughter? Her dad had never complained when Sarah needed him to fix her computer, be it midnight or noon. He would spend hours finding ingredients, shopping and making tiramisu for Sarah if her mum was away, and she wanted them to bake it together. Her dad gave her time.
    Sarah didn’t care what this pretty-named Lady Alyssa Fawnheart was giving her dad. She was the most important girl in his life.
    No , she thought, I used to be .
    She told her dad okay, that she supposed she could ring sometime.
    Her dad left, and Sarah didn’t speak to him for almost two weeks. She only came to his place when it was the weekend she was meant to see him.
    “S a ra, isn’t it?” the lady who answered the door asked. She said it S a ra, not Sar ah and for some reason that pissed her off more.
    “Yep,” she replied, flat. “Where can I put my bag?”
    “Great to meet you! We can spend the whole weekend bonding. Ask anything you want! Let me just put the baby down for a