Secret Whispers (Heavenstone 2)

She bit down on her lower lip and nodded. I had always known she was lying about it or at least exaggerating.

“Why would you want to go out with him? You saw what a dull boy he is.”

“I didn’t find him dull. I thought he was very nice,” I said.

She shrugged. “If that’s what makes you happy, go for it.”

She tried to make it seem as though she didn’t care, but when I began to dress and fix my hair, she left in a huff and slammed the door.

When I looked back at myself in the mirror, I saw Cassie standing behind me. She wore that Cassie look of self-satisfaction.

“Well? Have I ever given you bad advice?”

I tried to ignore her. I finished fixing my hair and doing my makeup, and then I rose and went to my closet. I was determined to wear something a lot more conservative than the dress I let Ellie put on me last time.

“Don’t get your hopes up, Semantha,” Cassie said when I took one last look at myself in the mirror. “When he finds out about you, he’ll disappear faster than I do.”

I took a deep breath and went to the door. Ethan would be arriving any moment. I opened the door and looked back. I could see her in the mirror.

“Do me a favor, Cassie,” I whispered. “Stay here.”

I walked out and closed the door behind me. Down the hallway, I could see Ellie holding court with a few of the girls. They all looked my way and were silent. I waved to her, but she didn’t wave back. She turned away to start talking again. At least she has a new audience, I thought, but only for a little while. After school ended, she was going home, and I knew how unhappy she was there. For the first time, I actually felt sorrier for her than

I did for myself.

Ethan was right on time.

“I hope you’re hungry,” he said. “These people who run this restaurant feed their customers as if they were members of their immediate family.”

“I’ll do my best,” I said, and he laughed.

“Don’t worry. There’s no way you can do badly with me.” He took my hand, and I held his tightly, something I hadn’t done since I was in public school. He smiled as if he knew, and we were off.

The restaurant was small and family-run. Because he went there so often, everyone knew Ethan. The husband and wife who cooked and oversaw the place greeted us as if we really were members of their family. Almost before we sat down, a basket of fresh homemade Italian garlic rolls was brought to the table. Ethan introduced me, and they talked about their grandson, who was attending Yale. They said they had heard of my family’s department stores. They asked me about Kentucky and how I liked New York. I told them what I really felt. Kentucky was just in my blood. I couldn’t imagine anyplace else ever being home. Then they described their specials for the evening, and Ethan ordered for us both.

“I can see they really like you,” I said.

“They’re good businesspeople. They know how to stroke their customers.”

“I didn’t feel anything phony about them,” I said.

“Oh, no. I don’t mean that. I just mean they know how to run a business. Restaurants are the most difficult, I think. So many fail. My father is an accountant and handles many big restaurants where we live,” Ethan explained. “It’s through him that I became interested in business. By the way, I loved the way you described your family’s department stores. You made it sound more like an institution than a business.”

“I suppose it is, in Kentucky. As my father says, there’s a lot of history. If you saw what was in our house, you’d think it was some kind of museum.” I described the portraits, the old books, and the awards my family had won from business organizations, chambers of commerce, and the like. “There are plaques everywhere you look, practically,” I said, and then suddenly realized how much I had been talking. During the last five minutes or so, I probably had said more than I had at school in a month. He sat with a faint smile on his face.

“I guess I’m babbling,” I said.

“No, no. You do sound proud of your heritage. I don’t hear much of that. I imagine you people in Southern states have it more.”

“If you met my father, you’d understand,” I said. “He used to teach my sister and me our family history as if it were a subject in school.”

“You didn’t tell me you had a sister,” he said.

I looked away toward the window in front of the restaurant. There was Cassie looking in at us.

“She died in a tragic, freak accident,” I began, and pushed the button that played my programmed explanation of my mother’s death and Cassie’s.

Like everyone who heard it, he looked sorry that he had asked. But then he said, “So, there’s only you and your father now?”