Mick opened his eyes and waited for the nausea to pass. When it finally did, it was immediately replaced by the sense of shame and guilt.
He really thought he was going to kick drinking for good. How could he let himself get so wasted after making so much progress?
And when was the last time he yelled at Evie like that? It had to have been years ago. Mick thought that that version of himself was dead. It had died slowly, part of it withering away every time Mick was able to put food on the table, every time he could afford his pain killers, every time Evie refused to lash out in kind to Mick's anger.
That horrible version of himself finally died one night after he drunkenly told Evie he would be glad to let her starve on the street the minute she turned eighteen because she had called her math teacher an asshole in front of the class. Instead of screaming back at him and running off to a friend's house for the night, Evie sat in front of him and cried, much like she had the night before. But unlike the night before, seeing his daughter in so much pain made him stop and consider how he was hurting her. He had apologized, and they sat down and had a long talk about how Evie wanted the real Mick back.
After that night, Mick made an effort to cut down on his drinking. Some times were worse than others, and Evie never stopped begging him to quit for good, but he had never again yelled at her or gotten violent in any sort of way.
Until last night.
Groaning, Mick stood up. He took some painkillers and stopped by the bathroom to make sure he looked at least semi-decent. There was some water on the floor: a sign that someone had been up and in the shower recently. That was good. He walked to Evie's room.
The door was open and the room was empty.
"Shit," Mick mumbled. He limped down the stairs. He stopped in the living room, where a throw blanket and pillow suggested that someone had slept on the couch. But now, the living room, dining room, and kitchen were all empty.
Mick walked over to the basement door. He hesitated, considering just trying to sneak down unheard again. But that wouldn't work: it was almost eleven in the morning, and (Evie at least) was sure to be awake and aware. Besides, because of last night, they knew he knew about their relationship. Mick knocked on the door, the sound making him grimace.
After about thirty seconds with no response, Mick went ahead and opened the door. He walked down the stairs, anxious to know if Nikki and Evie were down there. But the basement was also empty.
Next, Mick checked the garage. No one. Then he went outside. Evie wasn't on the front porch, but Nikki's car was gone. That was it, Mick thought: Nikki and Evie ran off together. Mick couldn't tell if that was any better than each of them running off on their own, but it probably wasn't.
Mick thought for a minute, then went back inside. There weren't many places Nikki and Evie could have gone. Neither of them had the money to go to a hotel for a few nights or try to rent an apartment together. He supposed they could have gone on some fucked up road trip to Mexico or something, Nikki having convinced Evie that the only way they could be together was out of the reach of her cruel father. The idea shot fear and helplessness through Mick.
Luckily, there was a more likely, closer location he needed to check first. He picked up the phone and dialed a number.
"Motley House, baby."
"Hey, Tommy," Mick said into the phone.
"Hey, Mick, what's up?"
"Listen," Mick said, the shame making him soft and uncertain. "Is Nikki there?"
"Yeah, Nik-- oh, no he's...he's not here."
"Tommy, do you think I'm a fucking idiot?"
"No...you just can't talk to Nikki right now. Cause he's not here."
Mick shook his head. "Jesus Christ. Fine. I don't care if Nikki doesn't want to talk to me, but I need to know one thing, kid, and you better not fucking lie to me. This is very important, do you understand?"
"Yes, yes, I understand."
"Is Evie there?"
"Evie?"
"Yes. Is she..."
"Gimme that," Mick heard a new voice on the other side of the phone. "You know, Mick," a slightly drunk Nikki began. "What you said to Evie last night was pretty shitty. You really hurt her feelings."
Mick felt tears well in his eyes. "I know," he mumbled.
"I know you might not accept us being together, but I make her really happy. Don't take that away from her."
"I-I don't want to talk about this right now. We can talk later. But what I need to know right now is where she is."
Had Nikki not heard the tremble in Mick's voice, he probably would have kept pushing; he wanted to make Mick feel as shitty as he felt, but actually seeing signs of someone's pain stopped him in his tracks.
"Is she with you," Mick asked. "Is she at the apartment?"
"No. When I left last night she was asleep on the couch. I haven't talked to her since." There was a pause, before, "do you not know where she is?"
Mick shook his head before remembering that Nikki couldn't see him. "No," he said. "I thought she might be with you, but...anyway, I have to go."
Nikki wanted him to stay on the line, to be asked to help, to be assured that Mick would find her or that he had at least some idea of where she was. But Mick hung up.
Luckily, Mick did have alternative ideas about where Evie might be. It wasn't the first time she had run away, after all.
First, Mick called Evie's best friend's house.
"Hi Mrs. Mora," Mick began. "This is Mick, uh, Bob Deal, Evie's father."
"Oh...hi."
The moms on the block were never too excited to hear from Mick. He liked to think they were scared of him (they were).
"Evie ran off this morning without leaving a note, and I was wondering if she stopped by your house or went somewhere with Sara."
"Uhm, I don't think so, but let me check."
Mick listened while he heard two female voices speak in the background.
"No," the woman continued. "Sara hasn't heard from her in a couple of days. Sorry."
Mick sighed. "Thanks." He hung up.
Next, Mick called Evie's workplace. She was the type of person who lost herself in productivity when she was upset. After two tries with no answer, Mick gave up, assuming that the place must be closed on weekends.
Finally, he called a second friend's house. Again, it was the mom who picked up. This woman, however, gave a simple 'no, sorry' when Mick asked if Evie was there and hung up.
Mick stood there for a few minutes, lost as to what to do next. For the first time, he began to fear for her safety. It was one thing when Evie was twelve and running off. Though there were plenty of horrible people out in the world, looking to take advantage of a vulnerable young girl, there were also plenty of good people who would offer to help a kid when they looked alone and lost.
But now, Evie was almost an adult. She would blend in with all the other young adults who bought greyhound and plane tickets, rented hotel rooms, and showed up to sketchy restaurants and bars late at night. And Evie had certainly become more ambitious since she was a kid. Mick wouldn't put it past her to run off for a week or two (or more) just to punish him.
Mick walked to the living room and took a seat on the couch. He wanted to cry. He looked around, at the blanket the girl had been wrapped up in probably six hours ago, to the spot on the floor where she would eat her dinner, to the bookshelf that held all of her books.
An idea popped into Mick's head. That was it-- the bookshelf. Evie loved books and she loved the library. What if she was at the library? Without even changing his clothes, Mick hopped in his car and drove the two miles to the library.
He walked in, ignoring the stares from the librarians at the front desk. He went through the non fiction aisles first, knowing Evie loved her history and biographies. He didn't find her. Next up was the fiction section. When there were only two rows of shelves left, Mick began to lose hope. Then, he saw her: sitting on a couch in the back corner of the building, lost in a book.
Evie saw someone approach her out of the corner of her eye. She glanced up. She almost gasped when she saw that it was Mick. Confusion washed over her. What was her dad doing here? Was he really there, or was she hallucinating? If he was real, did he come to yell at her or apologize?
Mick stopped when he saw the look on her face. He couldn't tell whether she was just surprised, or if she was angry. He sat down on an armchair across from where she was sitting.
"Hey." Why had he not thought through what he was going to say when he found her?
"What are you doing here?" Her tone sounded more confused than upset. That was because she wasn't upset anymore. She had woken up that morning feeling a sense of peace and emptiness. She felt disconnected from her emotions and thoughts, just going through the motions. If she thought hard enough about what happened the night before, tears might come to her eyes, but a few deep breaths sent her back to that dissociated state.
"I..." Mick began, speaking in a calm and uncertain tone. "I wasn't sure where you were, and thought I might find you here." She didn't need to know about the four failed attempts at locating her.
"Oh," Evie said, refusing to make eye contact. "I've been here for," she checked her watch. "About three hours."
Mick wanted to say something about the night before but he wasn't quite sure how to phrase it. There was also the issue of people listening in. This corner of the library wasn't too busy, but it was quiet enough that anyone hiding in the nearby shelves could hear how much of a failure of a father Mick was.
"Do you want to go home," Mick asked.
Evie thought for a moment, then nodded her head. She grabbed her two books and purse and started walking, expecting Mick to follow her.
She stopped outside the library, waiting for him. He led her to the car and she climbed in the passenger side, still not saying anything. Mick turned the car on, but didn't start driving. He turned the radio down.
"Listen," he started. "I'm sorry about last night."
Evie's sadness and fear was back. She started trembling. "It's okay. I just really hate it when you drink."
"I know."
"And to answer your question, I have a problem with it because when you're drunk you neglect me and say cruel things to me, and I have to find a way to not resent you because of it."
Mick put his arm around the shoulders of his crying daughter. "I know. I'm sorry. I don't know why I did it. I think it was just the party, and I was having fun, and..."
"Is it because of me?" Evie interrupted. "Is it because of me and Nikki? How did you even find out about that?"
"No," Mick closed his eyes and shook his head. "It's not because of you, it's nothing you did. It's never been because of you."
Hearing him say that lifted a weight off of Evie's shoulders. Though he could just be trying to make her feel better, she had lost countless nights of sleep thinking about what she did to make her father drink and how she could be a less aggravating daughter. The relief almost made her forget that Mick didn't answer her question.
They were quiet for a few moments, then Evie asked again. "How did you find out about Nikki and I?"
Mick let out a deep breath, then began. "I guess, I started to pick up on it a little when I saw you two spending so much time together. Then I talked to Vince one day and he told me that you two were dating and that he had seen you kiss. I didn't..."
"Wait," Evie interrupted him. "You asked Vince about our relationship, or how did that come up?"
"Just Vince being Vince. He wanted Nikki to go hang out with him, and when Nikki refused, he got mad and told me what was going on. And, I was about to say, I didn't believe him at first. But then, a few days ago, you were sleeping in the basement with him when I got home from work."
Evie's eyes widened. She wanted to ask how much he had seen, if he had gone into the basement, or just assumed she was down there. But she didn't really want to know. She sat there quietly, processing everything and trying to remember if Mick gave any sign that he knew.
"Do you really think I'm a whore," she asked finally.
"What? No. Where did you get that from?"
"Last night," she started crying again. "You say you could go around calling me a whore, but you don't."
"Evie, I was just mad and not in the right mindset. I don't think you're a whore. Never have and never will."
"Are you mad about us? Me and Nikki?"
Mick didn't answer for a few moments. "No. No, I'm not mad. It's gonna take me some time to get used to the idea, but...I guess if he actually makes you happy..." His sentence trailed off. He was too lost in thoughts about whether or not he actually believed that.
There was some more silence for some time. Then Evie said in a small voice, "I don't want you to go to any more parties."
"I don't know if I can make that promise, Evie."
It was not the response she was expecting. "Please," Evie begged. "I hate it when you drink. You were doing so good, don't go back."
Mick was filled with shame again, remembering the real root of the issue. Then, he said, "Honey, I can't just not show up to the parties for Motley. It's part of being in a rock band. I don't love them and I won't go to all of them, but I can't promise to avoid them completely. I can promise, though, that I'll do my best to not drink, okay?"
Evie didn't look at him, but she soon nodded her head.
"Yeah," Mick said, partly to himself. "I was doing good, and if I got sober once, I can get sober again. I just fumbled last night. It won't happen again. I promise."
Evie sighed. "Okay," she said.
Neither of them said anything for a while. Then, Mick realized that they were just sitting in silence, in his car, in the parking lot of a public library. Without saying anything, he turned up the radio, put the car in gear, and drove home.