Dread crept into me and cold fear gripped my heart as I waited in the car amidst the hustle of the over-populated city. I should have been happy – head-over-heels with delight – on knowing we were going home considering the horrid week I spent in the crammed-up city, being stuck in a motel alone while my father was away for work. But I wasn’t. The week, despite being frustratingly boring, had thankfully fended off the much feared confession of having lost my father’s black mackintosh where all his data files were stored.

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           It wasn’t really my fault. My father had asked me to do some research on the project he was working while he had left for field work as I was to be his associate once I mastered the skills required to be a researcher. The night before he left, I had been working on the mac while he was away attending a rendezvous with a childhood friend. I stayed up late but when it was half past one at night, I decided to hit the bed.

          I woke up to the blaring of horns outside and rubbed my eyes tiredly. Looking to my left, I noticed a note. It read,
Susan,
I received an urgent call. I had to be there by 5. Be ready to leave by Saturday. We will be heading home. Just so you know the fridge is empty.
Dad
The paper was folded but I left it like that as experience told me it would be empty. I sighed. A typical note from a typical man. I got up to go to the table when my breath caught in my throat. The window was open and my father’s beloved, beautiful mackintosh was gone. I blinked a few times in complete denial as I stared stupidly at the now blank spot on the desk.

           I quickly ran out to inform the motel owner of this preposterous incident who in turn helped me file a case, but I knew deep down that in this crowded city, the police could and would do nothing.  I was glad for my father’s absence but it was short-lived as I thought of his reaction to the loss. It would not be a pretty conversation and would definitely be unhealthy for my weekend. And thus, I spent the week in a pint of guilt and a ton more of fear of what I presumed would be my worst trip home consisting of a three-hour long lecture and a disappointed father.
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          Saturday woke me to the honking of horns again. I quietly got up and took my duffle downstairs. I got into the car, waiting for my father but the buzzing of the city lulled me to sleep which led to my present predicament. I woke up for the umpteenth time to the hooting of horns. Oh, that’s right. I gulped. This was going t be a long journey. “Um, dad…” I cleared my throat.
        “You’re awake,” he said, the lack of anger confusing me.
        “Look, I’m sorry…” we spoke in unison. I frowned.
        “I’m sorry you couldn’t finish your research but I had to take the mackintosh with me. They were counting on it,” he explained. “I didn’t have time to explain so I had to end it with a very short note.”
          Realization suddenly hit me. The folded note I had discarded did contain a P.S. I grinned. The terror of the past week suddenly forgotten as I realized what had actually happened. However, I decided to keep my little breakdown to myself.
“It’s okay dad.”
            I looked to the window. The sun made the dust on the leaves sparkle as the blue sky brought about an eternal look. The car sped past on its 200 miles journey.  A smile began to tug at my lips and I gave in to the music in the car blaring into life as all worries left my mind.