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Not Dad.
Not Uncle.
Mr. O’Conner.
So formal, and so uncomfortable.
He nods instead of replying, and then jerks his head toward the door: a clear message. He wants her to go inside. Probably, he wants us both to get ready for supper, which will be happening at exactly 6:00. My father is nothing if not prompt. Adalee says nothing. Instead, she walks inside the house and vanishes.
Casually, leisurely, I jaunt up to the porch. I don’t let my dad know that something is bothering me, and I definitely don’t let him know it’s Adalee. My father is a vulture. If he detects weakness or exhaustion or any sort of fault in someone or something, he swoops in and destroys them.
That’s just what he does.
“Father,” I say.
“Harrison,” he looks me up and down. “You look well.”
“Thank you.”
“Supper is at six,” he says, and then he turns and goes inside the house. One of the servants appears and starts gathering the luggage that’s on the porch. There’s not much: two duffel bags and two backpacks. Adalee and I both pack lightly. Neither one of us wants to be here longer than we need to.
I don’t know whether that says more about us or my father.
I don’t say anything because my father is gone before I can even open my mouth. I don’t know whether he’s going to go talk to Adalee or boss around the servants. All I know is that the countdown to returning to school has officially begun because this?
This fucking sucks.
I go into the house and look around. Somehow, it seems even bigger than it did before. I’m not under the impression that this is a Simba from The Lion King type of situation. I don’t look around and think to myself, “One day, all of this will be yours.” That’s not the kind of father I have. If anything, I suspect that one day, my dad will find a way to keep this from being mine. As far as I know, I have a trust fund, but that’s the funny thing about money.
It can be taken away at anytime.
I learned long ago not to depend on it, and more importantly, I learned long ago not to depend on my father.
“Can I take your coat, sir?” A quiet, gentle voice sounds from beside me, and I turn. A grin spreads over my face. I can’t even hold it back.
“Margaret,” I say, scurrying over to the housekeeper. She chuckles quietly as I wrap my arms around her and give her a big ol’ hug. Margaret practically raised me. Oh, she’ll never admit it. She never takes credit for half of the stuff she does around here, but I know the truth.
And I know I have her to thank for just about every good thing in my life.
“Mr. O’Conner,” she says politely, seriously, but she hugs me back, and for just a minute, I feel about as good as I ever have.
“What have you been up to?” I ask, pulling away. “How’s Tyrell?”
She shakes her head and smiles.
“He’s doing just fine, Mr. O’Conner. He’s in college now, you know.” She beams, and I know just how proud she is of her son. He’s only a year older than me, but I didn’t see him too much as a kid. I have a feeling my dad didn’t want Margaret bringing her family members around the house.
Again, another reason my dad is sort of a huge, giant dick.
“I’m happy to hear that.”
“What about you?” Margaret asks me, raising one eyebrow. “Is there someone special in your life?”
Special?
How about perfect?
Because that’s how I’d describe Adalee.
