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Manning smiled warmly. “Don’t worry about that, all right? I can take care of myself.”
“I know, but I—” I want to take care of you. I wanted to protect him. Comfort him. Feed him—as many servings as it took to fill him up. I couldn’t think of anything more simultaneously appropriate and inappropriate to say. A sixteen-year-old girl taking care of a grown man? It felt completely natural, like I could slot myself into his life, but it wasn’t. Not yet anyway.
“Your dad’s strict,” he said. “I’m glad he is. He cares about you.”
“Why’d you tell him you were in here?”
“This is his home. I owe him that respect.”
I didn’t understand it. Maybe it was a man thing.
The pie sat on a cake plate on the island. I uncovered it while Manning looked for plates.
“Use the ones with the gold leaves,” I told him. “Mom likes those for guests.”
“When you grow up, will you be one of those women who has specific plates just for guests?”
I smiled to myself and cut the pie as he held out a dish. We were like a couple already. A couple who could get married one day, buy a home, own special china. Tiffany would get tired of him soon, and in a few years, when I was older, nobody would even remember that Manning had once come here to meet Tiffany’s parents. The real obstacle would be keeping Manning close. I was too young for him, I knew it, and he obviously knew it, but I’d be eighteen in two years. USC was close to Orange County, too. Maybe he’d come with me, back to L.A.
Was Manning the type of man who’d keep special plates for guests? I couldn’t see it, but then my dad wasn’t, either, and he had them.
“I don’t know,” I said, gently sliding a slice from the server to a plate. “Maybe. It’s not just the dishes, you know. There are guest towels and guest sheets. The guest bathroom has nicer toilet paper than Tiffany’s and mine.”
He held out the next empty plate. “I guess for some people, it’s something to aspire to.”
“Not for you?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I didn’t say that. But I don’t know if I’ll be able to afford things like that on a cop’s salary. Your dad doesn’t seem to think it’s anything great. I guess if my wife wanted all that stuff, I’d find a way.”
I looked down, breathing a little harder. The word wife from his lips gave me goosebumps. What kind of girl would make him happy enough that he’d marry her?
“What’d I tell you?” Manning asked. “I can handle myself.”
It took me a moment to realize he thought I was upset about what my dad had said about law enforcement. I was, but luckily, Manning didn’t seem to be. “Are you really thinking of coming to camp? The first meeting is next week. I can find out if they’re still hiring.”
He avoided my eyes, looking at the pie. “It smells good. You like to bake?”
“When it’s for someone special.”
His smile looked almost sad. “Guest pie?”
I nodded. Manning was a good person. He took what my dad gave him, even though he didn’t have to. He put up with Tiffany. He brought my mom flowers. I hoped a small part of the reason why, or a large part, was me.
He picked up two plates, and I took the others.
“Hey, Lake?”
I stopped on my way out of the kitchen and looked back at him. “Yes?”
“Get me more information. On the camp thing. I could use the work.”
“Sure,” I said, my voice calm, casual, but only to hide that I felt as though his words had just set off a battery of fireworks inside me.
10
Manning
That blueberry pie. I took my time eating it to be polite, but I could’ve inhaled it in under two minutes. For one, it was delicious, but also, sitting at the Kaplan’s dinner table after the fight I’d just seen was fucking awkward. It wasn’t as if I’d expected her dad to welcome me into their life after one dinner. But I also didn’t expect him to be such a prick.
Lake didn’t see it. Not yet. She’d been embarrassed, ashamed, and tried to take the fall for Tiffany. My sister had been like that, thinking she could help an argument by interfering when she should’ve just kept out of it. You don’t stick your hand in a dogfight—I’d told her before, but a lot of good that’d done. I could tell by the way Lake looked at her dad, she still loved and respected him. I didn’t understand that. Family shouldn’t mean an automatic free pass to treat others like shit. At some point, you had to recognize people for what they were.
Charles stayed in his study. As the clock behind my head ticked on, Tiffany seemed to become more agitated. It was as if she wanted something, was waiting for something. I wanted something, too—a cigarette. I’d eaten a little too much, thankful for real, flavorful food. Between school and work, I didn’t care about learning to cook. I just made what I could.
