“It’s all right,” she said when I hesitated. “I won’t bite or infect you in any way.”
I glanced at her. Seeing her close up now, I realized she had Papa’s eyes and that little smile on her lips he formed when he was being playful. But she was also so much like Mama when Mama was her age. Her complexion was as perfect as that of a model who had been airbrushed in a photo. I got in, and she followed.
The driver didn’t look back.
“Take us through the park, Jeffery, s’il vous plaît,” she said. Her use of French raised my eyebrows. She pushed a button, and the window divider between us and the driver went up. The limousine started away.
“You remind me so much of myself at your age,” she began. She didn’t look at me. She looked out the window. I saw the beautiful, very expensive ring and bracelet on her right hand and wrist. The diamonds and gold glittered. She had matching earrings.
She turned and smiled.
“You walk and hold yourself just like I do. It’s the damn rod Papa had installed in us when we were born, that perfect military posture. Ironically, for me it’s been an asset. So, what are you, in tenth grade?”
“Yes.”
“And I’m sure you’re a good student.”
“Not lately, although I’m doing better than I was.”
She nodded and looked out again as the driver made a turn that would take us to the park.
“How did you find out where I was?”
“Papa found out,” I said.
“And he told you?” she asked with surprise.
“Not exactly. I overheard him telling Mama.”
“How far from a curse word is my name in your house?”
“It was about the same,” I said dryly, and she laughed.
“You’re more like me than our father would like,” she said.
It had a mixed effect on me. At first, I felt a chill. Papa’s fears were true, but then I suddenly thought it wasn’t so terrible to have her self-confidence. My mind spun with an avalanche of questions, but I wasn’t sure if I should ask any.
“That was clever of you to put the charm bracelet in the envelope. I probably wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t.”
“Why didn’t you respond sooner?”
“I’m amazed I’ve responded now,” she muttered. She
was quiet. We entered Central Park, and the driver slowed. “I was at the cemetery during the burial,” she admitted.
“Where?”
“Way back, too far to be noticed. I even visited his grave.”
I was speechless for a moment.
“If he wasn’t dead, it probably would have killed him,” she added.
“It would have pleased Mama,” I said.
“Would it? I doubt she would have shown it. He’s gone, but his influence over her is probably as strong as it was.”
“That’s not true.”