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Authors: Allie Gail
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view.”
“Did you? Personally, I was partial to the view in the living room last night.” He is watching my discomfort with overt amusement.
I fidget with a napkin just so I have something else to focus on. “Must you bring that up?”
“Does it bother you?”
“It’s just–” I clam up as the waitress brings us our food. It looks scrumptious and suddenly I’m ravenous. I reach for the syrup and pour some over my french toast and strawberries, hoping he’ll change the subject.
“It’s just what?” he asks once she’s out of earshot.
“Can we please just forget what happened?” I plead, glancing up at him. “I feel weird about the whole thing.”
“Not likely.” He grins wickedly. “But I’ll drop it if it makes you uncomfortable.”
“Thank you.” I breathe a sigh of relief.
He digs into his steak omelet and for a while, neither of us speak. I can’t help but notice that the focal point of every conversation around us is Hurricane Elliott. Directly behind me, an elderly couple is debating which evacuation route to take. People are leaving town? Maybe I haven’t been taking this thing seriously enough.
“I thought this storm was taking more of a westerly turn,” I comment. “Should we be worried?”
Did I just lump us together as we? Ugh, I need to think before I speak.
“Worried? No.” He gives the waitress a smile as she refills his coffee. “But these storms are unpredictable so the best rule of thumb is to prepare for the worst just in case. If it makes you feel better, I made sure before I bought the house that it was designed to withstand high winds. Actually, since it’s in a coastal area, that was the only way I could get anyone to insure it. It also has structural straps to secure the roof.”
“I couldn’t care less about the house,” I inform him frankly. “Should I be worried about me is what I’m asking!”
Laughing, he shakes his head. “All I meant was that the house is well reinforced. Don’t worry. You’re safe here.”
“Can I get that in writing?” I mumble under my breath.
“We could always leave if it makes you feel better,” he offers, misunderstanding. “You’re more than welcome to come stay with me in Franklin.”
“I think I’d rather take my chances with Elliott.” I use my fork to poke at the syrupy remains of my french toast. “If the house is as secure as you say, then why are you still hanging around?”
“Let’s just say I like to protect my investments.” He’s eyeing me speculatively and I can’t help but wonder if there’s a double meaning behind those words.
I decide to steer the conversation in a different direction. “I never knew you had a younger sister. Well…stepsister, I mean.”
“I didn’t – not when you knew me. My parents divorced when I was fifteen, and my mom didn’t get remarried until two months after I graduated high school.”
I furrow my brow thoughtfully. “So you were in…what, tenth grade when your parents divorced?”
“It happened the summer before my sophomore year, yes.”
“Oh. Yeah, I remember you seemed different that year.”
His lips quirk up. “You noticed?”
“Everyone noticed,” I’m quick to point out.
“Mm. Well, things definitely did improve after Mom kicked my dad to the curb. I guess she finally got tired of supporting him. He wouldn’t work, just expected everyone to feel sorry for him and cater to him because he was an alcoholic. All he ever did was drink up her paychecks. He’d take money out of the bank account without telling her. We came close to losing our house because of him. I think that was the last straw.”
“Was he abusive?”
“No. He wasn’t abusive – not physically, anyway. The majority of the time he was…nothing. Mostly all he did was sit around watching TV or staring off into space, completely zoned out. He lived inside his own head. It’s like he didn’t care about anything in the real world, including us.”
How sad.
“Did you? Personally, I was partial to the view in the living room last night.” He is watching my discomfort with overt amusement.
I fidget with a napkin just so I have something else to focus on. “Must you bring that up?”
“Does it bother you?”
“It’s just–” I clam up as the waitress brings us our food. It looks scrumptious and suddenly I’m ravenous. I reach for the syrup and pour some over my french toast and strawberries, hoping he’ll change the subject.
“It’s just what?” he asks once she’s out of earshot.
“Can we please just forget what happened?” I plead, glancing up at him. “I feel weird about the whole thing.”
“Not likely.” He grins wickedly. “But I’ll drop it if it makes you uncomfortable.”
“Thank you.” I breathe a sigh of relief.
He digs into his steak omelet and for a while, neither of us speak. I can’t help but notice that the focal point of every conversation around us is Hurricane Elliott. Directly behind me, an elderly couple is debating which evacuation route to take. People are leaving town? Maybe I haven’t been taking this thing seriously enough.
“I thought this storm was taking more of a westerly turn,” I comment. “Should we be worried?”
Did I just lump us together as we? Ugh, I need to think before I speak.
“Worried? No.” He gives the waitress a smile as she refills his coffee. “But these storms are unpredictable so the best rule of thumb is to prepare for the worst just in case. If it makes you feel better, I made sure before I bought the house that it was designed to withstand high winds. Actually, since it’s in a coastal area, that was the only way I could get anyone to insure it. It also has structural straps to secure the roof.”
“I couldn’t care less about the house,” I inform him frankly. “Should I be worried about me is what I’m asking!”
Laughing, he shakes his head. “All I meant was that the house is well reinforced. Don’t worry. You’re safe here.”
“Can I get that in writing?” I mumble under my breath.
“We could always leave if it makes you feel better,” he offers, misunderstanding. “You’re more than welcome to come stay with me in Franklin.”
“I think I’d rather take my chances with Elliott.” I use my fork to poke at the syrupy remains of my french toast. “If the house is as secure as you say, then why are you still hanging around?”
“Let’s just say I like to protect my investments.” He’s eyeing me speculatively and I can’t help but wonder if there’s a double meaning behind those words.
I decide to steer the conversation in a different direction. “I never knew you had a younger sister. Well…stepsister, I mean.”
“I didn’t – not when you knew me. My parents divorced when I was fifteen, and my mom didn’t get remarried until two months after I graduated high school.”
I furrow my brow thoughtfully. “So you were in…what, tenth grade when your parents divorced?”
“It happened the summer before my sophomore year, yes.”
“Oh. Yeah, I remember you seemed different that year.”
His lips quirk up. “You noticed?”
“Everyone noticed,” I’m quick to point out.
“Mm. Well, things definitely did improve after Mom kicked my dad to the curb. I guess she finally got tired of supporting him. He wouldn’t work, just expected everyone to feel sorry for him and cater to him because he was an alcoholic. All he ever did was drink up her paychecks. He’d take money out of the bank account without telling her. We came close to losing our house because of him. I think that was the last straw.”
“Was he abusive?”
“No. He wasn’t abusive – not physically, anyway. The majority of the time he was…nothing. Mostly all he did was sit around watching TV or staring off into space, completely zoned out. He lived inside his own head. It’s like he didn’t care about anything in the real world, including us.”
How sad.
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