"Abigail, not a damned word," he said, shocking me into silence. He had never, in my entire life, cursed at me. Sure, he might have occasionally described something in one of our conversations using a curse word, but never had he cursed at me. It brought tears to my eyes, and I gaped like a fish out of water, staring at him as he made his way to our table and grabbed the check. He wouldn’t let a tab go unpaid, no matter how angry he was. "Get your things; we are leaving."
"Mr. Rawlings, please don't make a scene. Abby was trying to introduce you to him," Shawnie said, trying to be helpful. “If you'd only sit down and let her explain . . .”
He fixed Shawnie with a glare that could have melted through steel. I'd seen my friend stand up to harassing professors, ignorant frat boys, and even groups of people before, but under his eyes, she withered. She sat back down, her eyes barely still able to make contact with Daddy. "I have approved my daughter's friendship with you previously because she always described you as having a good head on your shoulders. Apparently, she was as mistaken in that as she was in talking to that bastard. Do not speak to me, and do not speak to my daughter ever again. Is that understood?"
Shawnie's a smart girl, and knew that trying to argue the point with him at that time would be futile. Instead, she was concerned with me, so she pulled her eyes away to look at me. "Are you going to be okay?"
"She'll be fine," Daddy said, his iron-hard grip on my arm pulling me toward the exit. There were a few of the customers who looked at me with concern, but no one wanted to get in our business. Not with the look in Daddy’s eyes.
Outside, he let me go and pointed at his car, silent and resolute. He said nothing to me the whole time, the frame shaking as he slammed the door when he got in the car. He jammed the keys in the ignition, twisting them savagely until the starter whined and ground with the still-running engine, then stomping down on the accelerator so that his Escalade squealed rubber going out of the parking lot.
The whole time driving home, he was dead silent, the only sound in the car being the sound of his breath puffing in and out of his nose. I sat in the passenger seat, trying to figure out what to say, and couldn't. I was miserable, and there was nothing I could do about it. Ironically, the one thought going through my mind was what I'd have to do to get my car back, as it was parked in The Nook's lot. I wondered how long it would take for them to call a tow truck for it. I sighed and leaned my forehead against my window, wanting to cry but not allowing myself the bitter comfort of tears. I was stronger than that.
When we arrived home, Daddy parked the car and sat there, trying to calm himself. "Abigail, I know that going to college, you get exposed to ideas that I may not agree with. And I accepted that. I'm not so backward and set in my ways that I’m afraid of your exposure to these ideas. I thought I'd raised you correctly, and that you would be able to discern the truth from the bullshit.”
"But what I saw breaks my heart. It wasn't that you were talking to a traitor. Talking is one thing. But I saw the way you were holding his hand, and the way you were looking at him. You want to break my heart? You want to spit on everyone and everything I find important? Because that's what you did. A fucking traitor, Abby? What the hell’s gotten into you?"
I couldn't help it. Long repressed tears spilled down my cheeks as I looked at the anguished face of my father. "Daddy, I'm sorry."
He shook his head and took out his keys. "Most days, that'd have been enough, Abby. But this . . . go to your room. Tomorrow, I'll take you to school for your tests. And I'll pick you up."
"Daddy, I’m grown. I can go to school on my own," I protested, and he looked back at me. “Besides, my car is parked at The Nook.”
"Until I know I can trust you again, I don't think so. Now head to your room. You have tests tomorrow. I'll call the restaurant and make sure that your car is taken care of."
I followed his instructions, closing the door to my room behind me. Falling onto my bed, I let the rest of my tears out into my pillow. I wasn't sure if they were tears of rage, tears of sadness, tears of frustration, or what they were. I just knew they had to get out. I think it was mostly of anger, anger that I was being treated like a child. Either way, the tears were poisoning my body, my heart pounding in my chest and my eyes swelling to the point I could barely see, and I had to get them out.
I was just starting to gain control of myself when there was a knock on my bedroom door and Brittany came in. "Patrick has asked me to tell you that you’re to have dinner in your room tonight, and that if you need anything, I’ll be the person you should speak to," she said quietly, in a tone totally unlike her. It wasn't cold and it wasn't distant, like I'd expected. Instead, she sounded hollow. "He also asked me to collect your cellphone. He'd have me collect your laptop as well, except he thinks that you might need it for your studying."