Page 54 of Clean Slade
“You’re so annoying, Daddy. You never let me do anything fun!”
I wanted to laugh, but it’d probably ruin the whole vibe he was going for, so I resorted to tying Mac’s laces and getting her coat on.
“Okay, ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.” She sighed.
I gave her father a sideway glance, and we went out the door.
The roads were busy, but they were nothing compared to the New York traffic jams. I put the radio on, and Mac sang along to some of the latest hits until we reached elementary school.
As soon as she got out of the car, her happy-go-lucky personality vanished, her smile faded, and she scanned everything and everyone around us.
“What’s up?” I asked her.
“Nothing,” she said in the way kids did when everything was wrong but were too afraid to admit it.
I dropped to my knees and looked into her eyes even though she avoided them.
“Something’s clearly wrong.”
“It’s nothing. I just want to stay home with you.”
“I’d love that too, Mac, but I’m afraid we can’t. But hey, it’s the weekend tomorrow, so we’ll be together all day, and we can do whatever you want.”
“Whatever I want?” A glimmer passed her eyes.
“As long as it’s safe and appropriate, yes!”
“Okay.” She smiled, but it didn’t last.
As soon as she turned to the school gates, it was gone again, and she dipped her head, walking with both hands over her backpack straps.
A couple of kids ran past her, and she stepped aside, looking at me as if her world was ending. I waved at her, unsure what else there wastodo.
Maybe this was normal for her. Maybe she’d always hated school. Maybe it was nothing. There was only one person who’d know.
Finding King’s Furfection wasn’t the hard part. That was what the navigation app on my phone was for. Believing the business belonged to King was.
From its kooky sign of balloon letters with a crown over them to the colorful dots sprayed all over the walls, floor, and furniture, the salon was a sight for sore eyes.
“And you dare mock me and my collection of stuffed animals,” I told him as soon as I walked through.
The place was quiet, not a surprise, considering he must have just arrived. He was holding his phone in one hand and almost jumped when I spoke.
“It’s part and parcel of my industry. You’re not a toymaker, are you?”
He may have been busy with something, but the snark was still there, ready to fire.
“How do you know it’s not my lifelong dream and you’re making fun of it, causing me to want to quit and write myself off as a failure?” I leaned on the counter, and even though he continued to smirk at me, he locked his phone screen.
He had been checking that damn thing all week, jumping across the room or throwing doors wide open when it made any sound.
Was it unreasonable of me to want to know what he was hiding? Was it unreasonable to want him to trust me?
“You should. There’s no future in toymaking,” he said.
I clasped my hand over my heart as if he’d just shot me and groaned.
