Page 17 of Night Fever
“Maybe one of each,” he says, “one child you conceive and one youadopt.”
“I could be open to that,” I say, my heartaflutter.
“You still can’t rent a car,” he says, tapping hislip.
“That sucks,” I reply. “I’d love to go on a roadtrip.”
“I’ll have to take you, then. Anywhere you want. You name it, and I’ll take youthere.”
“California?” I ask. “I’ve always wanted to see the ChineseTheater.”
“I’ll take you there,” he says. “Whereelse?”
“Toronto?”
Hesmiles.
“Farther.Alaska.”
“Thatfar?”
“Farther. Hawaii. If I have to bend the laws of physics and make the rental car drive across the Pacific Ocean, Iwill.”
“You think you can drive on water?” Ismirk.
“It’s been done before,” he says. “Sortof.”
I take a sip of my champagne, feeling the bubbles tickle my throat as I feel myself becoming more at ease. Maybe it’s psychosomatic, but whether it’s all in my head or I’m actually feeling the effects of one sip of alcohol, it’sworking.
Whatever it is, it’sworking.
Or maybe it’s being around Hendrick that has me feeling likethis.
“Sweetheart,” I hear my dad say behind me. Hendrick’ eyes flash over my shoulder and his expression remains unchanged as he takes a small step backwards, his hand slipping frommine.
I hadn’t realized that while we were chatting we’d somehow taken each other’shands.
I look up at my dad as he comes to stand beside me, casting a judgmental glare down at mydrink.
“I know,” I say casually, putting my fingers to my temple and shaking my head, “I know I shouldn’t be drinking. But I think just one isokay.”
“Alcohol is a very clear contraindication with your medication,” my dad says in a sternvoice.
“He said a drink or two would be fine,” I say, lowering my voice and looking down, my eyes finding myfeet.
“I just don’t want anything to...to happen to you, love,” my dadsays.
He gets like this sometimes. And I know he just wants what’s best for me, but if we’re going strictly by what the doctor told me, I can have a couple ofdrinks.
“I think she’s fine, Deacon,” Hendrick says. I’m still looking at my feet, my gaze roaming along the pointed toes of my too-high-heeledshoes.
And suddenly, I feel like a girl again. Not like a woman at all - and certainly not like the kind of woman I am becoming increasingly sure, with every painful moment that’s passing by right now, what Hendrick wants and expects andneeds.
Sophisticated? No. Not even a little. Right now, I am just a little girl playing dress-up in her mommy’s clothes while everyone around her discusses what’s right for her as though she’s not even in theroom.
“Excuse me,” I say suddenly, putting my drink down on the table. I walk over to the door back to the kitchen and don’t look behind me as I put my sweaty palms on the glass door and slide itopen.
Passing through the kitchen, I duck off to a little hallway behind the big cabinets lining the wall, and find the staircase that no one uses. It’s dark back here, and I’m careful with my footing on each woodenstep.
