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“Community service.” Dorrit gasps.
“You’ll be lucky to get off that easily,” says my father.
George, my father, Dorrit, and I are gathered in the den, discussing the situation. Marone agreed to release Dorrit and Cheryl with the caveat that they have to see the judge on Wednesday, who will probably sentence them to community service to pay for their crimes.
“I hope you like picking up trash,” George says playfully, poking Dorrit in the ribs. She giggles. The two are sitting on the couch. My father told Dorrit she should go to bed, but she refused.
“Have you ever been arrested?” Dorrit asks George.
“Dorrit!”
“What?” she says, staring at me blankly.
“As a matter of fact I have. But my crime was much worse than yours. I jumped a subway turnstile and ran right into a cop.”
Dorrit gazes up at George, her eyes filled with admiration. “What happened then?”
“He called my father. And boy, was my dad pissed. I had to spend every afternoon in his office, rearranging his business books in alphabetical order and filing all his bank statements.”
“Really?” Dorrit’s eyes widen in awe.
“So the moral of the story is, always pay the fare.”
“You hear that, Dorrit?” my father says. He stands, but his shoulders are stooped and he suddenly looks exhausted. “I’m going to bed. You too, Dorrit.”
“But—”
“Now,” he says quietly.
Dorrit gives George one last, longing look and runs upstairs.
“Good night, kids,” my father says.
I absentmindedly smooth my skirt. “Sorry about that. My father, Dorrit—”
“It’s okay,” George says, taking my hand again. “I understand. No family is perfect. Including mine.”
“Really?” I try to maneuver my hand out from under his, but I can’t. I attempt to change the subject instead.
“Dorrit seemed to like you.”
“I’m good with kids,” he says, leaning in for a kiss. “Always have been.”
“George.” I twist my head away. “I’m—uh—really exhausted—”
He sighs. “I get it. Time to go home. But I’ll see you again soon, right?”
“Sure.”
He pulls me to my feet and wraps his arms around my waist. I bury my face in his chest in an attempt to avoid what’s inevitably coming next.
“Carrie?” He strokes my hair.
It feels nice, but I can’t let this go any further. “I’m so tired,” I moan.
“Okay.” He steps back, lifts my head, and brushes my lips with his. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
