That sense of dread deep in my chest dwarfed any anxiety I’d felt meeting with my father earlier that day. My fist floated, parallel to the wood, at first unable to make a connection. Fruitless stalling wasted precious time, so I banged on the door with urgent purpose. The door flung open, bringing me face-to-face with a red-eyed, dirty blonde in need of an ironing board. “Laurie, I need to see Alyssa, please.” Keeping the door in place, she arched her back and yelled to someone I couldn’t see. “Speak of the devil. Here she is now, Teddy. Demanding to see my daughter.” Her attention came back to me with an exaggerated brow lift. “My daughter.” Laurie and I rarely crossed paths and typically were civil. She understood I picked up the slack, and I didn’t rub her incompetent face in it. Tonight appeared to be a different story. The only explanation I can think of is that she found out I lied to her last week when she’d asked if I was in her apartment. Alyssa had watched one of those chainsaw movies and wanted me to come over to check the place out in case one of them had escaped out of the television.
