A Penny's Worth (The Cephas Bourdon Series) (12 page)

I had said too much
—
I knew it instantly. His tongue pressed against his bottom lip, then he bit down, the way he does when he's trying to hold back tears.

"Let me
—
" he began.

"No, Dad. I don't want to hear your explanation." I quickly left his office, running up to my bedroom. I threw myself onto my bed. I felt so confused. What had Cephas done? Why did my dad yell at one of my friends
—
the first guy I had ever
—
No, Emmaline. You're not in love. That would be ridiculous. I turned and punched my pillow, its chocolate brown fabric already soaked with tears. Why did everything have to be so messed up all of the time? And why did my dad have to be so stuck in the past? And why did that stupid drunk driver . . . I began to cry harder and harder until I finally fell asleep.

And everything went black.

CHAPTER 7

I groaned and rolled over, pulling the blanket over my head to shield the light of the sun. Who had opened the curtains? I sat halfway up in my bed, looking around. My dad sat snoring in the ivory leather recliner next to my bed. A smile crossed my face. I pulled myself upright, rustling my down comforter. My dad’s eyes popped open.

"Em!" he said, surprised from his sudden awakening. "You're up."

I nodded. "Dad, about last night: I'm sorry. I said too much. I
—
"

"No. You're right. Get dressed. Let's go before it gets too hot outside."

He walked out of my room and I jumped out of bed. We always visited my mom's grave together on the day she died. All three of us used to visit my Grandpa's grave on the day he died. I wiped a tear from my eyes. There was no point in putting on any makeup, so I slipped on a pair of shorts and a t
-
shirt. I brushed my teeth and pulled a pony
t
ail holder through my hair, then ran down the stairs and rinsed out my mouth in the downstairs bathroom sink. Meeting my dad in the hall, we walked out the door together. The cemetery was only a couple of blocks away, so we just walked. I listened to the birds chirp, to the cars whiz by on the distant road. We never talked on this walk
—
not since Mom died. We used to talk about Grandpa and all of our fun memories, but Dad didn't want to talk about Mom. He never did. So, we just walked in silence. The cemetery was beautiful at this time of year. All of the flowers were in bloom and the grass boasted a deep, green hue; I breathed in the scent of wet soil and fresh dew. We walked slowly to the familiar headstone. It was tall, just like my mom; it was also one of the newest headstones in the entire cemetery. I knelt and ran my hand across the inscription: 'Asleep, though she'll regain her roles, when light shines on mortal souls.' Dad handed me a lily to set on her grave. Lilies were her favorite flowers. Then I took a rock out of my pocket. Mom always talked about how some culture laid rocks on their graves because rocks lived on forever. I didn't know if that was true, but I laid a rock on the grave just to make my mom happy. My dad shook his head and chuckled.

"Your mom always loved discovering facts about people and things
and telling everyone about them.
I think that was why she was such a good reporter." I smiled in response.

"Yeah, she did," I whispered. I watched my dad's finger run across the inscription.

“What does it mean?” I asked, reading over the words again. My dad shook his head.

“I don't know.
I think it has something to do with resurrection. She was on quite the religious kick before she di
—
” his voice cracked and he moved his fingers to the bridge of his nose. I sat in silence and watched him try to clear his emotion. He shook his head several times until he looked up into the azure sky. The sun reflected off of his smudge
-
free glasses and he looked back down at me, smiling a fake smile.

“Dad, you can cry. It's okay
—
”

“No it's not, Emmaline,” he said firmly. He slumped to the ground and sat, one hand returning to the bridge of his nose. He sounded angry. He had been sad before, and distraught, but never angry at the situation. I looked at the ground and decided to sit, too. I crossed my legs. My father was quiet for a long time. Picking at the blades of fresh grass, I discovered a dandelion and promptly plucked it from the soil. I lifted my legs and rested my arms on my knees, holding the dandelion out in front of me. I wondered what I should wish for. Looking past the flower, I glimpsed my dad. Small droplets of salt water spilled down his face, reddening his tanned skin. He sniffed loudly and shook his head.

“I'm sorry, Em. I haven't figured out how
—
”

“It's okay, Dad,” I repeated, reaching out and touching his shoulder. “None of this is your fault. Mom died in a car accident, and it's terrible, but we can get through it together.” My dad shook his head and reset his gaze on the clouds in the distance.

“I should have done something,” he muttered.

“What are you talking about? It's not like you could have stopped the drunk driver
—
unless you knew which bar he was at, I guess.” I laughed a little, then stopped as I saw my dad's glaring eyes.

“I'm sorry, Dad. I just
—
I have to make light of this or I won't ever get over it. I'm not saying it's easier for you, but you can get a new wife
—
I can never have my mother ba
ck.” I shouldn't have said that.
I knew I shouldn't have. But I didn't care. Why was he always depressed to the point of dysfunction? I lost more than he did. Crumpling the dandelion in my hand, I scowled. No wish could fix my life. I s
tood from my seat on the grass. T
he back of my pants was wet. Folding my arms, I began walking home without my dad.

****

A knock sounded at my bedroom door. I sat up in bed and turned down the volume on the radio.

"Come in!" I called, wiping at my eyes. The door cracked open and then opened all the way. My dad stood in the opening, a tentative smile on his face. I noticed he had a bowl of ice cream in each hand as he walked through the opening. He sat on the edge of my bed. I took the bowl he offered and dug my spoon in.

"How you doin', pumpkin?"

"Fine, thanks."

"Well, it's about time to wipe those tears away," my dad instructed.

"Why? I have nothing to be happy about today . . . or ever," I complained, my mouth full of ice cream and chocolate syrup.

"Now you do. It's time to get dressed. I uh
—
I have to go out of town
. M
y flight leaves in about an hour."

"What! You can't be serious right now! I can't believe you're
—
"

"I'll be home at six on Wednesday morning. Cephas is going to pick you up in two hours. He said to dress nice." An uneasy smile spread across his face as he stood. I sat, speechless.

"But I thought you said
—
"

"I know what I said. We talked it over, made an agreement, and
—
" he stopped at the door and turned to face me. "It would be safer if you weren't alone today." He bit his lower lip and walked out the door, stopping as an afterthought came into his mind.

"Wear the black dress
—
he'll love it," he advised, looking at the ground. He smiled to himself and walked out, closing the door behind him. What did he mean safer? What was with the sudden change in his unwavering ultimatum? I waited for the door to click shut before I threw my covers to the side and jumped out of bed
—
he had only given me a two hour warning, and my eyes were terribly red from crying. My father's behavior was worrisome, but I had more important things to worry about. I turned on the shower and went to my closet to find something to wear. Digging through a pile of clothes, I pulled out dress after dress, throwing each one haphazardly on the floor. Finally, I discovered my black dress
. I
t was the only black dress I had. I didn't want to wear it, but it was the only nice dress I owned. I'd worn it to my mother's funeral
. T
he tears started coming again, but I pushed them away with my fingers. I was going on a date with Cephas. My dad was actually letting me go. A small smile crept across my face and, for a little while, I forgot about my mom sudden death, my dad's peculiar behavior, and my virtually destroyed teenage life.

****

"It's open!" I called from my bedroom.

Rushing down the hall, I paused to look in the full length mirror before walking down the steps. I gazed into my own eyes, admiring the dark makeup around my lashes. It wasn't often I got dressed up, especially lately
—
no need to. I tugged at the hem of my dress; it was shorter than I usually wore. Oh, why did I listen to my dad? Pushing a curl back into place
, I descended the stairs slowly.
I counted the steps in an effort to stop my heart from beating so quickly. Cephas had to hear its obnoxious thumping. I still couldn't wrap my mind around the fact that my dad was letting me see Cepahs again. Surely I would have found a way anyway, but still . . . I stopped abruptly, glimpsing Cephas in the foyer. He turned at the click of my heals and raised his eyebrows. Nervous chills tingled my arms as I noticed his eyes traveling the length of my body. The moment couldn’t have lasted more than a split second, but it felt like an eternity. I noticed his tux, too. It was black
—
deep black
—
to match my dress. Barely visible white pin stripes ran the length of the suit, drawing one's attention to the shape of his muscles. He looked uncomfortable, but not because of the suit. He was made to wear a suit, the way the sleeves cuffed at his wrists, the way his shoulders filled the jacket. I was caught out of my observations as Cephas moved to button his jacket, and I looked at his face, embarrassed to see he had noticed my awestruck observations. I could tell by that smirk that always seemed to appear when he looked at me.

"My dad said to dress nice. I hope this is okay
.
I didn't know what
—
"

"I’ve never seen you look like this before," he interrupted.

“Like wha
t?” I asked, nervous I had done
something wrong
. I
t wasn’t often I wore a nice dress and spent hours on my hair.

“All dolled up and
—
well
—
you always look gorgeous, but
. . .
wow.” He
cleared
his throat, then regained his wit.

"Shall we?" He held out his arm and I took it, clutching a handbag in my oth
er hand. Had I just made the oh-so-
brilliant Cephas stammer? I felt a smirk, of either self
—
satisfaction at my victory or pure ecstasy at his comment, grow into a smile across my face as he led me out the door and down the walkway, clicking a button to open the door to his Lamborghini.

"I still can't believe you have this car," I commented. It was all so surreal; this couldn't be happening to me.

"Yeah, well, only the best for the best," he replied with a smirk. Helping me into the opening, I slid int
o the seat and he shut the door—
or rather, it shut itself. He slid in the other side and put the car in drive.

"Were you referring to me or yourself?" I asked sarcastically. The left corner of his mouth twitched upward. His cocky attitude was slightly endearing, considering I knew that, while he was confident in himself, didn’t seem to be a jerk like Chase. We cruised down the highway at rapid speeds.

“So listen, I've been thinking. Maybe your dad
should
go on the senior trip.”

“What?” I exclaimed. “How would that be any fun? Parents are
not
supposed to go on your senior trip!” Was he going insane?

“Well, he's not so bad. He did let me go on a date with you.”

“So! I would have found a way to go on a date with you anyway.” I folded my arms out of habit. Cephas was silent for a moment, smirking again in his seat.

“You would've, huh?” he muttered, seemingly entertained. “Look, I just want to get on your dad's good side, and I think he would feel better if he was on the trip . . . because I'm going, too.”

“Why do you want to be on his good side?” I pried. He smiled and kept his eyes on the road.

"So where are we going?" I asked my non
-
responsive date.

"Well, I had about two hours’ notice, so I wouldn't expect too much, but I did what I could. We're just going go to dinner at this little place in town. It's called La Caille. And we'll see how it goes from there."

His motions were smooth as he touched the wheel slightly, maneuvering around a slow driver. Muscles flexed in his jaw as he bit down, his eyes darting from the windshield, to the mirror, to the side window. I had never met anyone like him before: so intense, yet so calming. We pulled into a parking spot
—
much quicker than I had expected.