Secrets of Foxworth (27 page)

How could their own mother permit that to happen, permit them to miss these years, these experiences? How did she think they would turn out? Why did she let it go on and on so long? Didn't she realize that they would be socially immature the first day they returned to the world? It would be like coming up out of a coal mine and into the light of day. They would be blind for a while.

Suzette was the first to realize I was off somewhere else and suggested that she and Lana leave. “We can tell when someone is dreaming of what's to come.”

“No, I . . .”

“You want to be fresh for your date,” she said. “Do what my mother does. Lie down with pieces of cucumber over your eyes.”

“Ugh,” Lana said. “How smelly.”

“You bathe or shower afterward, dummy,” Suzette said, and we left my room.

“I think I need some help with the math homework,” Lana told me when we were back in the living room. “Think you'll have some time tomorrow?”

“Sure. Call me in the morning, and we'll figure it out.”

Suzette was always the nosiest of the three of us. She looked around the living room and then began to flip through the magazines. I started toward her, but she saw the diary.

“What's this?” she asked.

I scooped it up. “My diary,” I said.

“You keep a diary?” Suzette looked at Lana, who shrugged.

“I used to,” Lana said, “but after my brother found it and read it aloud, I burned it.”

“So are we in it?” Suzette asked.

“You'll never know,” I said. “A diary is personal.”

“We know who's mainly in it by now, anyway,” Lana said. “His name starts with K.”

Suzette continued to look at me and the diary suspiciously.

“That looks pretty old,” she said.

“It is. It belonged to my mother, but she never used it.”

“Oh. Well, whatever floats your boat,” she quipped, and they headed for the front door.

I followed but not too closely. I know I was clutching the diary so tightly that I made them suspicious, but I couldn't help it.

“Have a great time,” Suzette said.

“Yeah. Whatever you do, do it for me, too,” Lana added, and they walked out.

I stood in the doorway watching them get into Suzette's car. I waved, and they waved back. I could see they were talking a mile a minute as they drove off.

“Like I'd let anyone else touch you,” I told the diary, and hurried upstairs to put it under my pillow. It was getting late, and I had a lot of preparing to do, but I couldn't stop thinking about our conversation. Had I done or said anything to give them a hint at what was really in this diary? Had they bought my
story? They couldn't possibly imagine what I had. Could they? It would be like some sort of a betrayal if I let anyone else read it or even know about it. Christopher would hate me, I thought, which was a silly thought, of course. He didn't even know I existed.

Suddenly, that idea passed through my mind like lightning. What if he did know? What if I could meet him? What would I say? What would he say to me? Would he be terribly embarrassed that I had read his diary or terribly angry? I would give it back to him, of course, but he would know that I knew his deepest, most intimate thoughts, and the truth was, no matter how honest we wanted to be, none of us wanted anyone to know all our deepest, most intimate thoughts.

I literally had to shake myself to get back to what I was doing, but I put those images on a back burner. As Dad would say, “I'll be coming back to them . . . someday.” I started rushing to get ready again.

My father came home only a little while before Kane was due to pick me up for dinner. I was already dressed, my hair and makeup done, when I heard him come into the house. I couldn't remember being more nervous about anything than I was when I stepped out of my room and started to descend the stairs. Dad was at the bottom looking up at me. The expression on his face stopped me cold. It was an expression I had never seen. He didn't look upset exactly, and he didn't exactly look pleased. I think it was more a look of shock and surprise.

“For a moment . . .” he began, and then stopped himself and brought up his smile. “That dress . . .”

“It's Mom's. I went through her things in the attic and chose it. We're about the same size now. Is it all right for me to wear it?”

“Sure,” he said. “She'd want you to wear it. She'd be proud of how you look. You look very beautiful, Kristin, and very grown-up.”

“Thank you, Dad,” I said, and continued down.

He stepped back. “I like what you've done with your hair, too. Reminds me a lot of her. I bought her that dress for our tenth-anniversary dinner. I still remember how other people at the restaurant stopped talking or doing what they were doing when we walked in and they saw her. She hated being the center of attention, but I got her laughing about it, claiming they were really looking at me. Where did you say he was taking you?”

“The River House.”

“Right.” He laughed.

“What?”

“I took your mother there for our
eleventh
anniversary. The food, especially the lobster fra diavolo, is famous around here. And quite expensive. Your mother wasn't going to order it, but I insisted. That's the way she was.”

“Then I'll order it,” I said.

He continued to put away his things and went out to greet Kane when he rang our doorbell.

“Don't scare him, Dad,” I pleaded.

“
Moi?
I'm a pussycat,” he said, but when he opened the door, he would have stopped an army of ants with his look. I could see Kane hesitate.

“Hi, Mr. Masterwood.”

“They're calling for some possible cold rain tonight,” Dad said instead of hello. “Mind your driving.”

“Yes, sir. My father said the same thing just now when he heard I was going out.”

“Your precious cargo,” Dad continued, and stepped back to reveal me. I started to wrap my heavy wool black shawl over my shoulders when the two of them rushed forward to help. Dad realized Kane was intending to do the same thing and stopped.

“You look fantastic,” Kane said.

“Thank you.” I gave my father a stern look and saw his eyes begin to light his smile.

“You guys have a great time,” he told Kane.

“Thank you, Mr. Masterwood.”

We started out. Dad remained in the doorway watching Kane rush around to open the door for me. He waved to Dad, who nodded, and then he got into his car.

“Does your dad do that to all your dates who come to the house to pick you up?”

“Do what?”

“Intimidate them?”

“He's just being a dad,” I said. “What do you think you'll be like when you're one?”

“The truth is, I can't imagine it.”

“It's not that hard to imagine,” I said, and he smiled and backed us out of the driveway very slowly, practically crawling away from the house.

“It wouldn't surprise me to see him follow us,” he said, gazing into his rearview mirror.

I looked back. Would he? “I don't think so,” I said. “He's probably alerted the police department instead.”

“What?”

“Just kidding, Kane,” I said.

He shook his head. “I think I've finally met my match in you,” he said.

The smile on my face threatened to be permanent or at least last the rest of this evening.

“I hope you're hungry,” he said.

“I starved myself all day just so you could spend a lot of money on me.”

He laughed. “There are girls who would, but somehow, Kristin, I don't think you're one of them.”

The River House was everything it was described as. The main dining room was luxurious, with mirrored walls and sconces that were made to look like torches flickering. There were at least thirty tables, all dressed with fresh flowers and soft white tablecloths. The place settings had gold trim, and all the silverware and napkins had the restaurant's icon, a seagull with the edge of one wing shaped into a fork.

I don't know if we made the sort of impression my father described when he and my mother had walked in here on their anniversary, but I did see that we drew the attention of most of the people at tables and some waiters and busboys. Kane was wearing a dark green dinner jacket and a light green tie. It brought out the green in his eyes. Because we were so young compared with the other couples there, I was sure we would attract some attention anyway. The waiter pulled out the seat for me and even unfolded my napkin for me to place on my lap.

“We'll have a bottle of Evian, please,” Kane said. “Flat. Or do you like carbonated?” he asked me.

“No, flat's fine.”

When the waiter left, I leaned toward him. Everyone around us seemed to be listening in.

“You really do look beautiful, Kristin. I was too frightened to look at you long with your father hovering.”

“Stop making him sound so scary.”

“He's not scary. Well, maybe a little. You're right, though. If I had a daughter who looked like you, I'd be armed when boys came around.”

“You're going to make me conceited.”

“You should be.”

“You're not so bad yourself.” I paused. “And that's no reflex response.”

“A what?”

“You know, compliment for compliment.”

“Oh. Well, thanks.”

“Of course, all the girls think you are conceited,” I added, and he smiled and gave me his Kane Hill shrug.

“Right now, the only girl's opinion that matters is yours.”

The bottle of water was brought to us and the busboy poured it into our glasses. The waiter handed us menus, and my eyes went quickly to the lobster fra diavolo. It was fifty-five dollars. The least expensive entrée on the menu was thirty-eight, and that was a vegetarian dish.

“Don't worry about cost,” Kane said. “I saved up all the loose change in the house.”

“What?”

He laughed. “My father loves telling this story about himself and two of his friends struggling to pay for college, and one day one of them had the brilliant idea to search under the backseat of his father's car. They found enough change for the three of them to go to dinner. In those days, it was less than twenty dollars for the three. He tells me a story like that once a week, if not twice. I know he's making up half of them. He's terrified that I might take money for granted.”

“Well, he's right to worry about it.”

“I don't. One thing's for certain. I'll never take you for granted.”

“I think that's a compliment.”

He smiled, shrugged, and looked at the menu. “The fra diavolo is to die for,” he said.

It was truly one of the most special nights out I had ever had. My father and I went to restaurants, and I had gone to them with friends, but it was usually fast-food types, and the experience wasn't unusual. My father had taken me out to eat, but it was different going to an especially good restaurant with my father. He was as attentive to me as he could be, and he was more relaxed and talked freely about his youth, his family, and my mother when we were out together, but this was so different, and not only because it was a very expensive, high-end place. I did feel more grown-up sitting there with Kane.

Because of his father's wealth and position in the community and his mother's upbringing especially, he had been schooled in dinner etiquette as a prince
might be. He wasn't pedantic or condescending, but he instructed me about the extra silverware, the proper way to do this and that, never making any of it sound stupid or silly, the way I was sure my friends and most of the other boys would. Despite his casualness, he seemed to harbor a respect for all things elegant.

It was at that moment, when he was talking about how he was trained to sit and dine properly, that I compared him to Christopher. I had made a real discovery this evening. Yes, I thought, Kane wasn't just another pretty face. He really was more mature than his friends. Maybe, just maybe, he was someone who could be trusted.

“You look like you're drifting away,” he said at one point.

“No, I hear you. You make me think about other things.”

“Like?”

“Things I've read,” I said.

“That's all I get?”

“For now,” I said. “A girl can't give away all her secrets too quickly.”

He nodded without smiling. “You'll be like opening a box inside a box inside a box,” he said.

“You might get exhausted with the effort.”

Now he smiled. “Please,” he said. “Exhaust me.”

What if my girlfriends could listen in on all he and I said to each other? Would they believe it? Would they grimace and shake their heads, mumbling that we couldn't be for real? Would they think we were being phony to impress each other? Would they get so bored
with us that they'd plug in their headphones and drift off with the latest hit song?

They couldn't appreciate us.

And they certainly couldn't appreciate Christopher's diary.

After the meal we had, I didn't think I could eat any dessert, but Kane insisted we have the baked Alaska.

“They're famous for it here.”

“I'm beginning to think they're famous for everything here,” I said, but agreed we should have it.

It was so good I stuffed myself.

“I think you'll have to carry me out of here,” I said.

“Okay.”

“Don't even think of it,” I warned.

He was capable of breaking out into some outrageous act at any time. After he paid the bill, which I didn't see but imagined to be the cost of at least a week's worth of food for my father and me, he came around before the waiter could and pulled out my chair for me. Then he took my hand, smiled, and nodded at some of the people staring at us. He led us out to give the ticket for his car to the valet.

“This was such a wonderful night, Kane. Thank you. I feel like the senior prom will be a letdown after this.”