What did he mean Dad was moving? Moving what? The URL had been shortened, a Bitly link that provided zero contextual clues, no help. Without clicking, she wouldn’t know what he’d sent her or what it had to do with moving.
Fingers crossed that Brad hadn’t sent her porn—she wouldn’t put it past him—she tapped the link. A new browser opened, the site loading, loading, slow as molasses. The bar at the top of the page inched along, her screen white until suddenly it wasn’t.
Zillow? Brad had sent her a link to a Zillow real estate listing. A Zillow listing for Dad’s house.
Dad’s house, which was on the market, not only listed for sale, but had been on the market for two weeks.
A lump formed in her throat, making it nearly impossible to swallow. She pressed a hand to her stomach, able to feel her pulse against her palm. Her heart was beating too fast, and—she sat back, bouncing against the bed, drawing her knees to her chest, suddenly dizzy.
“Liv?” Margot rested her hands on Olivia’s knees. “What’s wrong?”
Without speaking, she passed Margot the phone. Margot frowned and shifted back, swiping her glasses off the nightstand. She scrolled back up to the top of the page, brows rising as she scanned the screen. “Brad sent you this?”
She nodded.
Margot pursed her lips. “Are you sure this is legit? Are you sure Brad didn’t send you a doctored web page or something?”
“I don’t think fabricating a real estate listing is really in Brad’s wheelhouse. Why would he even do that?”
“I don’t know.” Margot shrugged. “It’s Brad we’re talking about. Why would he bother sending you this? What’s in it for him?”
Olivia pressed her thumb beneath the ridge of her brow bone. A subtle throbbing had started behind her eyes. “I asked him to let me know if he heard anything about Dad, remember? I guess this is him letting me know? Either that, or . . . I don’t know, Margot. Maybe he’s being nosy? I don’t know.”
She knew nothing.
Margot glanced back at the screen. “It’s been on the market for two weeks?”
Apparently. In that time, Dad hadn’t mentioned anything about selling the house. Not once, not even a passing mention, or that he was considering putting it up for sale. Nothing.
Olivia reached for her phone. “I need to call my dad. I don’t—I don’t understand why he wouldn’t tell me if he was moving.”
It didn’t make sense.
Margot passed her the phone without a word, only a grim smile.
Olivia navigated to her recent calls, bypassed Brad’s number, and tapped on the icon beside Dad—Cell. It rang once, and Olivia sucked in a stuttered breath. Twice. She exhaled harshly. Pick up. Three times. She held her breath.
Hey, you’ve reached Gary Grant. Sorry, I’m not available to take your call at the moment. Leave your name and number and I’ll return your call as soon as I can. Thanks!
“No answer?” Margot asked when Olivia lowered her phone, ending the call before the line could start recording.
She shook her head and stared at Dad’s contact page. “I’m going to call one more time.”
Margot leaned over the edge of the bed and plucked her shirt off the floor. She slipped it on, flipping the ends of her hair over her shoulders, and leaned back against the headboard. She snagged her phone off the nightstand, fingers swiping against the screen.
Olivia hit call and held her breath.
One ring.
Two rings.
Her stomach sank.
Three rings.
Hey, you’ve . . .
She shut her eyes and huffed. Damn it, Dad. Of all times for him not to answer, when she needed to talk to him.
She waited for Dad’s voicemail message to finish and stayed on the line this time, waiting to leave a message. Even though she was expecting it, the shrill beep made her pulse leap. “Hey, Dad. Call me when you get this.” She wet her lips, weighing out whether to give her reason for calling. “Just—call me. Please. Love you.”
Margot’s hand wrapped around Olivia’s thigh, thumb sweeping against the inside of her knee. When Olivia opened her eyes, Margot offered a smile that didn’t reach the corners of her eyes. “I’m sure he’ll call you back when he has the chance.”
Maybe he would, but . . . “I still don’t understand why he’s selling the house. And why he didn’t tell me. He loves that house. I grew up in that house. He and Mom—” She swallowed hard over the lump in her throat that wouldn’t go away, if anything swelling further. “He and Mom bought that house when they first got married. I don’t—I don’t understand. He’s never mentioned selling the house before.”