Lightning Strikes (Hudson 2)

I recalled that was why Roy never liked to go to the fancier neighborhoods in Washington, D.C. He would rather make a wide detour, traveling farther and longer than necessary.

"But isn't it nice to look at beautiful things?" I would ask him.

"I don't want to see things I can't have," he'd reply. "All that does is make me bitter and unhappy. I have enough reason to be angry all the time. I don't have to go look for more," he said.

But if I really wanted to go, he would take me. There wasn't much in the way of pain and frustration that Roy wouldn't be willing to experience if it was for me, if it would make me happy. What would he say or think about all this? I wondered if I would ever tell him.

Randall didn't let up on the issue of Larry Ward. One of the first things he said the day after the showcase performance was, "Too bad we didn't invite your real father to come to see you. We should have just sent him an invitation. Maybe he would have come," he said.

"I'm sure he gets lots of those and it must be boring to attend each and every amateur performance of something from Shakespeare'

"Not if he had a special reason to come," Randall teased. "We're not going to do that, Randall," I said, my eyes growing hot enough to singe his face with a look.

"I know; I know, but it might not be such a bad way to break the ice," he insisted.

"I don't want to break the ice. I told you. Now stop talking about it or I won't talk to you," I threatened. "I mean it,"

"Okay, okay," he said. Then he smiled, looked down and added, "I wonder what his classes are like." "Good-bye, Randall," I snapped and walked away from him. He laughed, followed and swore up and down that he wouldn't talk about Larry Ward again. Of course, I didn't believe him.

I began to realize that there was something immature about Randall. All of this business about my real father was exciting to him but the same way some new game might be. This wasn't brought home to me until I found out he had told Leslie and Catherine.

I was sitting alone in the little cafeteria, sipping a cup of coffee, when they entered and quickly came to the table.

"Oh cherie," Leslie said, "we have heard about your amazing discovery, but this is nothing to fear. You must go, boom, boom, right up to him and declare yourself."

"What discovery?" I asked, my heart doing a flip-flop.

"But your father, of course," Catherine said. "Randall has told us all about it."

"He has?"

"But of course," Leslie said. "He worries for you and thought maybe we should talk with you."

"Our father has another child, but he doesn't pretend she is not there," Catherine willingly admitted.

"Mama is always after him to make sure he provides for her, too."

"Well, that's very big of her. I'm glad it's all one big happy family for you, but my situation is quite different and Randall had no right to go and blab it all over the place," I said, my fury building.

"Oh, it's not blabbing. He says entre nous, just between us,"

"As you Americans say," Leslie added, "on the Q-T. Eh?"

"We will help you, if you want," Catherine said.

"There's nothing to help me with. Just forget about it.

Become D and D when it comes to me, if you please."

"D and D?" Catherine looked at Leslie. "This is one we do not know."

"Deaf and dumb," I said, rising. "My life isn't some French soap opera."

I spun around and marched out quickly, my tears of disappointment and betrayal mixing with my tears of fury. I felt as if a hive of bees were swarming around in my head. Without the slightest hesitation, I walked to the vocal suite, opened the door and looked in on Randall and Professor Wilhelm. My abrupt entrance ripped them both from their discussion concerning the sheet music they were studying. They looked my way, the professor as shocked and surprised as Randall.

"You had no right to tell my secrets to Leslie and Catherine," I cried. "No right."

I backed out and slammed the door. Then I ran out of the school building, deciding I didn't want to, or maybe couldn't, attend my drama class. For a while I simply wandered the city streets, not really thinking about where I was going. I walked and walked until I ran down my anger and then found a bench in a small park where I watched a young couple walking hand in hand, their heads practically touching as they conversed. They, too, paused to sit on a bench. He embraced her and they just sat there watching the birds feed and flutter, neither of them speaking. For them it was just a moment, but for me it was again like looking through that expensive department store window.