Page 12 of Seven

“I understand,” she interrupted. “But he insisted that you be here promptly at six.”

“Aren’t you already closed by then?”

“Your father’s last client is at five-thirty. He will see you right after.”

“And what’s this in regard to?”

“I believe it has to do with some paperwork that needs to be submitted for your studio lease.”

“What!” While I wasn’t thrilled about him being involved in my acquiring my new shop, Dad was the best attorney in the state. I knew he wouldn’t let me get taken advantage of, but as far as I knew, all the arrangements had already been finalized. “I thought he already submitted the paperwork.”

“That’s something you will need to discuss with him at six.”

I didn’t bother responding.

I just hung up and groaned. Ford poked his head out of his bedroom door. Noting the quick change in my mood, he looked up at me with worried eyes. “Are you mad?”

“Yeah, a little.” I ran my hand along the back of my neck, trying to ease the building tension in my shoulders. “I have to go into the city to see your grandfather.”

“Oh.” His nose crinkled. “Do I have to go?”

Ford wasn’t a fan of my father either and rightly so.

Dad had never treated him like a grandson—more like a terrible mistake. He never talked to him, much less held him or touched him. He seemed repulsed by him, and his repulsion only got worse after Holt’s death.

Needless to say, I couldn’t blame Ford for not wanting to see him. But with such short notice, I didn’t have anyone to look after him. “Afraid so, buddy.”

“Ah, man.” I took the books from his hands as he pouted, “We have to go now?”

“We do, but if you’re good, we can grab some takeout on the way home.”

“Can we get some Mannie’s?”

“Sure!”

“Awesome.”

With that, he shot up and raced to the living room to put on his shoes.

Once he was done, we gathered our things and hurried out to my car. The drive over to Dad’s office was quiet. Ford sat in the backseat, humming some song he’d made up while fiddling with his favorite dinosaur toy. I tried to stay calm, but my mind was racing.

I couldn’t imagine why my father was so intent on seeing me at such an odd time of night. I’d like to think that he had a good reason—he wanted to see me or check on things at the shop—butmy father didn’t think like that. He was too self-centered to think about anyone but himself.

It was that thought that had me thinking about that day—the one that had haunted me for eight years.

It was just like any other day. I’d been babysitting one of the kids next door, and I’d come home to get ready for my date with Holt. We were going to the drive-in with a couple of friends, and I wanted to take a quick shower before we left.

I wasn't expecting anything to be different when I walked through the front door. It was the same door I'd passed through a million times before, and I saw nothing unusual until I reached my bedroom. When I walked in, my mother was standing by my open closet, and she was pulling my clothes from their hangers and folding them neatly into a suitcase on my bed.

She hadn’t told me anything about us leaving on a trip, so I asked, “What are you doing?”

My voice came out sharper than I intended, but she didn’t flinch. She didn’t even pause. She just kept folding away like it was no big deal. Her tone was cold and eerily calm as she told me, “Your father has worked it out for you to go to École des Beaux.”

“In Paris?”

“Yes.” She glanced over her shoulder with a forced smile. “Isn’t that wonderful news?”

“What? No. We’ve talked about this! I don’t want to go away to school.”

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