Goodbye, Good Girl Read online

  Renee Blossom

  Goodbye, Good Girl

  First published by Revolve in 2017

  Copyright © Renee Blossom, 2017

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

  First Edition

  ISBN: 978-0-9991943-1-7

  This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy

  Find out more at reedsy.com

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Author's Note

  Kindle ebook ISBN 978-0-9991943-1-7

  Paperback ISBN 978-0-9991943-0-0

  cover design: www.blackcatdesign.com

  Goodbye, Good Girl is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  1

  Don’t worry. Kandace Santellan read her father’s text message a fourth time. The sense of missing out unsettled her. How could she have missed his message from last night?

  While sweeping the floor in the kitchen, she told herself not to be upset. Why did he have to say such things? She resisted the urge to send another reply. Yawning, she told herself she should drink her coffee—which sat on the counter, likely cold.

  The dishes still weren’t done. She couldn’t focus on sweeping. And the dishwasher kept beeping when she tried to start it. She felt rudderless.

  Her phone’s vibration interrupted her random thoughts. RESTRICTED caller. Her heart strained with a nervous patter. Her fingers trembled as she touched the green button to accept, while telling herself to stay calm. “Hey, Dad! Where have you been? I’ve been so worried.”

  “Sorry I’ve been out of touch. No day off in sight. Not until we see land, anyway.” Static crackled between his words.

  Not until we see land. No wonder the connection went in and out.

  “Everything okay? Rough job?” she asked him.

  “I’ll survive work. Everything else is a different story. Did you find the perfect college yet?”

  “You told me I have to take this year off.” Can’t afford to go, remember?

  “I know you’re searching.”

  Kandace rolled her eyes. “Hey, I’d love to hear about where you are.”

  “Oh, it’s work. There’s not much to tell.”

  “Dad, it’s only been, like, two years since you’ve been home. I’d love to know about your life, even just a little.” Kandace bit her lip. “You must meet Kyle.”

  “Ah, Kandy. I’d love to. So, is this Kyle your boyfriend?”

  “Uh, yeah. I told you all about him. Many times, actually.”

  “It’s official? I must have missed your tweets. Or is it Instagram?”

  “Oh stop, Dad. And it’s not official until you meet him. So how about it? We could do the old things, like apple picking. I’ll even clean your Honda. Kyle has been bugging me to go ride with him.”

  “Sounds risky. I hope I like Kyle.”

  “You’ll love him.”

  “Well, I’ll have to kill him if I don’t.”

  “Daddy! Take it back and tell me you’re coming home soon.”

  “You know I would love to. I’m sorry I missed your graduation.”

  Kandace sniffed, telling herself to keep it together. “You said that last time.”

  “I’m still sorry. Your mom said you’ve got big dance news, so let’s have it.”

  She couldn’t help smiling, though it felt as though she were choking on a secret. “I won the Master’s Division!” she said, “And I’m teaching a new beginner’s class at the studio, so I had to quit tutoring trig. I just wish dance paid enough to live on. And I wish I could practice at home.”

  Should not have said that.

  Pole dancing had become an addictive adrenaline rush from the first lesson. Love at first spin, with a photo journal of her bruises and friction burns to prove it. Yet she couldn’t muster the courage to tell her father. She hated keeping secrets from him.

  “Winning tournaments. Very good,” he said. “What about scholarships?”

  “I’m applying for everything. I plan to go to college without an insurmountable mountain of debt. What I have so far covers tuition, but not living expenses.”

  Don’t ask for money.

  She thought of her two hundred dollars shoved under her mattress—her only savings—as his voice cracked, drifting in and out. “I know school’s expensive. Keep hunting for aid. And speaking of money, does your mom need more each month for bills?”

  “I think we’re okay, Dad.”

  “Are all the bills paid for October?”

  Sort of. Kandace refused to vomit about problems, not on her rare chance to talk to him. “We can manage on what we have. Really.”

  “Okay, well, don’t stress about it,” he said.

  “I know. And if you're not coming home then I’ll come visit you. I’ll show up one day and surprise you.”

  “As much as I’d love that, your mother needs you more than you know. Now, she won’t tell me the whole story, but how is her recovery?”

  Kandace’s eyes widened, thinking about life events that her father didn’t know. “She’s getting better,” she said and hoped he wouldn’t press for more. “But Dad, we used to do the craziest things. Didn’t we? So… when are you coming home? You’d said six months ago, it would be soon.”

  Loud static hissed over the phone from his end.

  “Listen cupcake, I’ve got to run. Give my love to your sisters, will you?”

  Kandace sighed, her voice wobbly. “I will. Be safe, okay?”

  “Now what fun would that be?”

  “Daddy!”

  “Okay, okay. I love you, Kandace. Bye.”

  “I love you back. Bye, Dad.”

  Kandace thought of better days with her father. He left little doubt about one thing—he lived and worked far from Pittsburgh. The rest of him remained a mystery.

  She drank her cold coffee and made another. She cleaned, listening to the television as Pittsburgh Today’s anchors cheerily talked about the best touristy places for the fall. She took mental notes, thinking she might talk Kyle into a road trip. She was yearning for freedom, even for just a weekend. All her classmates were free at college, posting pictures on Facebook. Why did she have to be stuck at home?

  She paused, broom in hand, and watched their backyard trees suffer the wind. She finished the dishes and sat at the oak kitchen table, thoughtlessly peering out over the patio and the colorful trees, the chain-link fence that characterized their suburbia yard.

  Okay, focus Kandace.

  6:47 am. Dance class at 8.

  She collected full pill bottles from her mother’s not-so-secret
hiding space.

  How was her mother still getting these? She couldn’t have a prescription for all of them. And not in these quantities.

  Zohydro capsules she recognized immediately. Oxycontin. Hydrocodone. Abstral. She flushed them down the toilet, plus three bottles she wasn’t familiar with. It took all of a minute to destroy six or seven grand’s worth of prescription medication. If it wasn’t pills then the past-due medical bills ate up most of the money her father sent home.

  She had flushed enough money in pills to send Kandace to college. Instead, Kandace and Amelia and Coral were skilled at rooting through sofa cushions to buy end of the month groceries, saving ketchup packets and napkins from fast food restaurants by habit.

  Kandace threw one of the brown plastic containers as hard as she could on the floor. Standing in the bathroom several minutes, waiting to calm her mind, she slowly cleaned up the broken bottle pieces and put them in the trash.

  She wandered upstairs to her bedroom, pausing at her bookcase, letting herself get lost in photographs. Her sisters, herself and her father, out front, behemoth maple tree behind them and smiles—though Kandace could faintly still see blotches on her cheeks from when she had cried, moments before the shutter clicked. She held the photograph as though by keeping it she hung on to him and her memories of him.

  At home, she felt like the dutiful daughter who failed at leaving home after graduation. She felt desperate for new scenery.

  She dressed in black tights, sports bra, then a lightweight athletic jacket her aunt gave her last month. The invigorating aroma of her Asics, still sort of new, brightened her mood. She slipped on a tattered Steelers ball cap, courtesy of Kyle Atherton after their third date. Her nerves ignited thinking about him and that meant good things.

  In the master bedroom, her mother snored on her side, covers engulfing her small frame. Kandace paused to admire the bedside table family photograph at Cedar Point.

  The monitors: her mother’s breathing checked out. Her pulse was strong, heart rate healthy, blood pressure in the acceptable range. Ginger’s water bottle was mostly full—Kandace needed to watch to ensure she got enough liquids.

  Kandace set the covers aside and lifted Ginger’s nightshirt, checking the gauze on her back for seepage. Better. The injection site had healed some. Less swelling. A quick gel application, then she removed the ice pack.

  Her mother was lucky to have survived the car accident; an emergency surgery kept her mobility. After months of rehab, she had come home, ruled by pain and prescribed pills, able to numb all senses.

  The second surgery was to fix her pain, two weeks ago, but she had refused to go to a rehabilitation clinic, even though she needed it, because her care cost a fortune and her daughters needed a parent at home.

  For now, Mom was okay. Comfortable. Not in pain, her pill bottle where it should be on the bedside table.

  Kandace neglected to lock the door on her way out and waved to Earl, the neighborhood watchman, walking down the front steps.

  On the driveway, she scrutinized the blacktop, then the Tudor she called home—the cracked dark wood beams, the old windows, poorly trimmed shrubs Kandace had attempted to tend to last weekend.

  She said a prayer for Harriet on turning the ignition, and the old Civic answered by rumbling to life. Harriet stunk of old car. Her cream fabric had its share of coffee stains. The World—her planet Earth glass orb shifter, her clutch creaking into first gear. Music helped tune out distractions. As she passed the yellow colonial four doors down from home, she waved to Mr. Martin, his golden retriever pulling him down the sidewalk. He kept Harriet operational, though he hadn’t fixed the clutch yet like he’d promised.

  Kandace called her father on speed-dial, and her heart pattered when she heard his voice. “It’s John, you’ve reached my mobile. Leave a message.”

  “Dad, hope you’re okay. I know it’s only been, like, an hour, but I should have said to keep doing your job. I should support you. We are fine here.” She hung up. And she didn’t believe herself. Am I playing mind games with him? Am I pushing him away?

  On leaving the neighborhood, she pushed stray amber hairs away from her big green eyes—her best feature, she was often told. She had to parallel park at the street, outside Millennium Dance’s front entrance.

  Yvonne looked up from the stereo controls, a hair band between her teeth. “Morning, K!” she said and stood upright, tying back her hair taut. “You’ve got nine ladies for the class this morning. Think you can handle them solo?”

  Kandace shrugged and smiled back, thankful for the vote of confidence. “Sure. Start the music, I’ll be fine.”

  Once she had hung up her jacket and warmed up, her class arrived and after forty minutes of teaching the basics of pole dancing, she had nine tired and bruised participants—they were learning what sores on their hands felt like. And friction burns. Kandace explained these were the early ropes of pole dancing. Embrace them. Love them. In time, your body would adjust. Just like hers.

  After the students exited in a single file line, Kandace felt at a loss and wanted to begin the class over again so she could do a better job teaching.

  Driving home, she felt like going somewhere quiet to clear her mind, but she kept thinking her mother might need her back at home. Driving down her street, she spotted an unfamiliar black Volvo parked at the Tudor’s curb.

  Her father’s advice came to mind: Pay attention. Memorize details. Remember faces, people’s reactions, the time.

  Kandace said the license plate number silently to herself over and over, until she had it committed to memory. Volvo S90. Black. Dark tinted windows.

  She got out and her heart hammered as she jogged close. Empty. Spotless leather interior. Flawless paint. This car didn’t belong. She checked for Earl, the retired cop in his seventies who would notice an unfamiliar stray cat. His weathered brown rocker swayed alone on his small porch, his newspaper fluttered in the wind on a side table.

  Kandace worked through her checklist: House seemed quiet, no activity. An undisturbed porch. No one around. No neighbors’ barking dogs—which meant the car arrived some time ago. She had been gone ninety minutes.

  “Good morning,” said a voice. “I wonder if you might help me.”

  Kandace spun around. “Yes?” Where did he come from?

  A short man, built like a running back, balding head, dark suit—he could have passed for a scumbag lawyer. Kandace saw a small bulge under his arm and tried not to stare. He grinned at Kandace, his eyes hidden behind aviator sunglasses.

  “I’m looking for your father,” he said.

  “Really? He’s not here.” Maybe this is why Dad won’t tell me where he lives.

  The man laughed like a talk-show host at a lousy joke. How long had he been snooping?

  When he said nothing, Kandace figured he wanted her to blab. If she felt timid, silence might have worked.

  “It’s important that I find him,” Volvo Man said. “As soon as possible.”

  Kandace studied him, unwilling to look away. How could she get inside the house and call the cops? “I’m sorry, I can’t help you.” Her knees wobbled while walking past him, like in a scary dream when you can hardly move, and you really need to run.

  “I’m not through.” He followed Kandace up the cracked cement walkway.

  “He’s not here,” Kandace said over her shoulder, unwilling to even glance back. She could feel his closeness, could smell his overwhelming aftershave. Ten steps to the door. Maybe twelve. He had the upper hand, big-time—she could resist if he forced her to, but what could she do alone?

  “Maybe Ginger knows where he’s hiding,” Volvo Man said.

  Kandace turned on an instant at the mention of her mother—she was close enough to hit him but thought better of it. “What do you want with my family?”

  “Careful, Ms. Santellan.” The man’s voice was monotone as though reading a weather report. He wore a bemused expression.

  “You stay away from—”
/>
  “Tell me where he is.”

  Kandace couldn’t read him—not without seeing his eyes. What would he do if she didn’t give him something? What if she ran? Would he harm Amelia or her mother? “I told you, I don’t know where he is.”

  He smirked, showing off perfect caps. “There’s no need to get angry. We’re just talking. Now, why don’t you give me his number. I know you have it.”

  Kandace’s mind stormed from fear to fear. This man meant business. Harm? She had no way to know for sure. She shook her head. “I don’t have it.”

  He laughed again. “Amusing. Hand over your phone.”

  “Uh, no. Who do you think you are?”

  “I’m tired of asking, and I’m not leaving without his number.”

  “Then I guess you’ll be sleeping in our front yard,” Kandace said.

  “You’ll regret withholding information, I assure you.”

  Kandace stepped backward, toward the house. “You’re wasting your time.”

  “Perhaps you should find your mother and ask her.” His tone was cutting. Condescending. What had he done?

  Kandace held her breath and ran for the door, slamming it and snapping the bolt, though Volvo Man could most likely kick his way in. She watched him for an instant. He stood where she had left him on the walkway outside. And he stared right back.

  He’s not going to leave, is he?

  She shuddered, forced herself up the stairs, one foot after the other.“Mom!”

  Ginger laid on the bed, her face seized into a comatose stare. All her monitors were disconnected. Her eyes were wide open. Abnormally white skin.

  Kandace wiped her eyes. “AMELIA!” Struggling to find a pulse, her hands shook the phone while dialing 911.