Page 57 of The Second Sight
I struggled to keep from laughing. Brooklyn must’ve asked Lily some questions that night at the Fountain of Youth when we were sitting in the VIP section. I was so panicked sitting there next to Seven that they probably had a whole conversation without me hearing anything.
“And what does this Seven do besides live off family money?” Dad asked, but the edge had left his voice.
Brooklyn glanced at me before answering. “I think he just manages their family investments. He’s pretty private about it. I mean, I can’t blame him. If you tell people too much of your financials, they might try to rob you.”
I watched my father processing this information, his natural skepticism battling with his trust in Brooklyn. Slowly, the tension in his face eased.
“Next time,” he said, turning back to me, “you call. I don’t care if you have to borrow a stranger’s phone or knock on a neighbor’s door. You call me.”
“I will,” I promised, meaning it. “I’m really sorry, Dad.”
“If your cell phone was dead, why couldn’t you use this Seven’s phone?”
“When I woke up, he was gone.”
“He left you in the house?”
“Yeah, he left me a note. He had a business meeting.”
“At night?”
“Daddy, you can have a meeting at any time. He said he would be back, but I had to leave in a hurry because you told me to get back home.”
“That’s why you drive your own car so no man can ever leave you stranded.”
“I kind of took an Uber, but I called Brooklyn to come get me.”
“A good dude would’ve never left you without transportation.”
“His car was in the garage. But it’s a stick shift.” I lied a bit. I didn’t know whether his car was in the garage. I wasn’t going to roam around that huge house at night by myself.
“A stick-shift. I saw y’all walking down the street. He was too good to park his stick-shift car in my driveway.”
“He parked his Porsche on the street.”
He sighed, the sound heavy with lingering worry. “A Porsche, did you have on your seatbelt?”
“Yes, I always do. Seven doesn’t speed.”
“Well, why does he have a sports car?”
“I don’t know.”
“Daddy, it’s late. Did you eat dinner yet?” I asked, desperate to change the subject.
Dad blinked at the abrupt shift. “No. I was too worried about you.”
Brooklyn and I exchanged glances, a silent communication developed over years of friendship. She gave me a subtle nod.
“Why don’t Brooklyn and I go pick up some food from Dorothy’s Sweet Soul?” I suggested, referring to the soul food restaurant about fifteen minutes away. “I’m hungry. I can get you some of those short ribs you love?”
Dad’s stomach growled on cue, betraying his hunger. A small smile, the first since I’d walked through the door, formed on hislips. “That sounds good. Get some of those collards and sweet potatoes too.”
“You got it,” I said, relieved at the momentary truce. “You want the banana pudding or the peach cobbler.”
“Peach cobbler.”
“They will be closing soon. We got to hurry up.” Brooklyn stood and looked up from her Apple Watch.
