“Gorgeous, right?” he asks.
I shrug. “For a murderous doll, sure.”
“Wish I hadn’t given you that description,” Daniel mutters.
I shake my head in mock sympathy. “You really didn’t think that through.”
He laughs, and we make our way toward the elevators on the other side of the lobby. Just when I think I’ve gotten used to the opulence of the Ruby, I’m dazzled again by a new bit of crystal or a painting I didn’t notice.
“Mom would love this place,” I say to myself. The minute the words are out of my mouth, Daniel clears his throat, aggressively readjusting his towel.
“It’s cold,” he says distantly. “I’ve got to change.” He starts ahead, leaving me behind in his silence. I want to yell to him that I miss her too. That it hurts me too. But Daniel hates when I talk about Mom, so I shut up and follow him.
We walk through the lobby, and the concierge is at his desk, typing on the computer. Daniel and I climb into the elevator and press our floor numbers, facing out. Kenneth looks up from the desk.
He’s motionless as the doors close to block him out.
Chapter 5
My father orders his steak rare, and I raise the corner of my lip in disgust as the blood flows from the cut in his meat to stain the white dinner plate. He bites a big piece off his knife and glances at Daniel.
“What are your plans for tonight?” he asks him, chasing his food with a sip of red wine. I’m still trying to get used to seeing my father like this. His wavy salt-and-pepper hair is tamed with gel or mousse, making it flat and old-fashioned. He’s clean shaven, rosy cheeked. But strangest of all, he’s interested in our lives again.
“Don’t know,” Daniel says, picking up a drumstick of fried chicken. “Might meet Catherine later, but until then I’ll probably work out. You?”
“I received an invitation to the party in the ballroom tonight.” Our father laughs and takes a sip of wine. “Can’t remember the last time I attended a formal event. Probably my wedding.”
I divert my eyes to the white linen tablecloth. The way he said it—like his past with my mother was some casual memory—hurts. I wait for Daniel’s reaction.
“You’re going to the party?” he asks our father with a strained voice. Daniel is clearly rattled by the mention of our mother, but in typical fashion he’s ignoring it. If he doesn’t acknowledge that she died, it can’t hurt him. That’s what he told me once, anyway.
“Yes, I thought I might have a drink or two,” Dad says. “You should come. I believe you received your invite?”
Daniel crinkles his nose. “Yeah, but it’s not exactly my scene. A bunch of old people, isn’t it?”
“Not all of them.” Dad laughs. “But I’ll be doing my part for the senior citizens.”
He’s funny. I forgot that about him. Daniel smiles, and suddenly I’m the odd one out of this family-bonding moment. “I didn’t get an invitation to the party,” I say, feeling slighted.
Daniel smirks. “You must have pissed someone off, then.”
“Whatever,” I say. “I wasn’t going to go anyway. I don’t want to be stuck at some stuffy party all night. And that guy Kenneth at the front desk? What a tool. I’d rather find my own form of entertainment.”
My father’s hand tightens around his glass, and he takes a sip of wine. “Then I should probably alert housekeeping,” he says through pursed lips. “Your idea of entertainment involves property damage.”
His words are a slap in the face, a harsh dose of reality in the dreamlike peace we’ve found in the hotel. I blink quickly, humiliated. Angry. My father starts to apologize, but Daniel drops his food and starts to wipe his hands on his napkin, pushing back his chair like we’re leaving.
Dad never did wait for an explanation about the house party that got Daniel and me sent away. I figured he didn’t care enough for me to offer him one either. It was almost three weeks ago—a Saturday, the day after my birthday. Daniel had brought me home one of those Hostess mini apple pies, tossing it like a football to where I sat alone in the kitchen.
“Happy seventeenth,” he said with a smile, his arm around the stray he’d brought home. She snapped her gum, all blond curls and attitude, unimpressed with my existence. I thanked him, though, because Daniel had remembered my birthday and my father had not. He’d stayed at his office the last three nights, and I started to doubt he was coming home at all.