"Excuse me," he said. "Teenagers."
"How long are you staying in New York City?" L
eslie asked, more to end the argument than to find out the answer.
"We're going to leave tomorrow," I said.
"Which hotel are you at?" Fern asked.
"The Waldorf," Jimmy said quickly.
"Coo . . . that's nice," she said, looking up at Clayton. All this time he had made no attempt to sit down, which underlined how short he wanted our visit to be. He gazed at his gold wristwatch.
"I think," he said slowly, nodding his head, "Kelly should go up and begin her homework, don't you, Leslie?"
"I got lots of time. I'm not going to school for two days," Fern said.
"What? Two days?" He spun around toward Leslie.
"We'll talk about it afterward, Clayton," Leslie said calmly.
"She's been suspended from school again?" he cried out in dismay.
"Later, Clayton," Leslie said, nodding in our direction. His pale skin flamed with a bright red fury as he bit down on his lips.
"Kelly," he snapped, "say good-bye to Mr. and Mrs. Longchamp. I want you up in your room."
Reluctantly now, I thought, Fern rose from her seat.
"Good-bye," she said. She stopped in front of Jimmy, who couldn't keep his eyes off her, and extended her hand. "Why do your eyes look so watery, like you're about to cry?" she asked.
"Do they?" He forced a smile. "Maybe it's because I had a sister who would be just about your age now," he said, "and when I look at you, I'm reminded of her."
It was as if the air around us was suddenly filled with static electricity. Clayton Osborne's mouth dropped open; his face flamed even redder, so it seemed he might go up in smoke. An icy look of cold fear washed over Leslie Osborne's face. My heart began to pound as if it wanted to break out of my chest, and my breath caught in my throat and seemed to stay.
Fern, however, didn't take her eyes from Jimmy. Her lips curled into a strange smile.
"What happened to her?" she asked.
"She died."
"How?"
"Kelly, that's enough," Clayton said forbiddingly. "You can't keep asking people personal questions, especially painful ones. It's not only impolite, it's . . . it's"—he glared down at Jimmy—"cruel."
"I didn't mean anything," she moaned.
"Just go up and do your homework, no matter how much time you have to do it," he commanded. She lowered her head and started away, turning once in the doorway to look back at us. Then she ran out and pounded her way up the stairs.
The moment she was out of earshot, Clayton stepped toward Jimmy.
"We had an understanding," he said. "That was the only way I would agree to this, and you knew it."
"I didn't say anything to ruin the farce," Jimmy replied disdainfully. Clayton shot a glance at Leslie, but she was looking down at the floor.
"I think you should just leave," Clayton said. "And I warn you, if you try to make any further contact with Kelly—"
"Don't threaten me," Jimmy said, standing up abruptly. His face was swollen with fury, his dark eyes as luminous as hot coals. I saw that he had clenched his hands into fists. His neck stiffened. Clayton Osborne took a step back. He felt the heat of Jimmy's anger, and for a moment he couldn't respond.