“I just told you. I was instinctively better prepared.”
“Well, maybe I am, too. It’s not fair to think I’m not without giving me an opportunity to demonstrate whether I am,” I protested.
“Daddy said you weren’t. Are you questioning Daddy’s judgment?”
“No. Of course not, but—”
She sat up quickly, brushed back her hair again, and got off the bed. “I have to get some more sleep,” she said.
“Where were you last night?”
“Why?”
“I just wondered where you go to… I mean, what sort of man—”
“You will know when you know,” she said.
“You weren’t back until very late this time,” I blurted before she could walk out.
“What, were you waiting up, spying on me to see if I was successful? You thought I was taking too long? You’re judging me now?”
“No, I just…”
“Just were waiting up.” She relaxed and thought a moment. “Maybe Daddy’s right. Maybe you are ready. I was doing the same sorts of things, spying on Brianna, and thinking the same sorts of things when I was ready. That’s why it’s important you don’t mess up with some teenage romance. You know what would happen to you if you ever got pregnant, Lorelei. You know how useless you would be to Daddy, even to yourself,” she said sharply, her face reddening with an anticipation of anger.
“For the last time, Ava, I’m not having any teenage romance, and I’m not trying to have one!”
“Lower your voice.”
“Well, I’m not, Ava.”
“Uh-huh,” she said, nodding with suspicious eyes. She could be so infuriating. She nodded at my iPod. “Use your earphones.”
She left, closing my door quietly.
I put on the earphones, but I didn’t play any music. Instead, I listened to my memories of the night before.
I had lied to her. I did spy on her, because it did seem to be taking her longer. I waited by the window in my bedroom that looked out on our driveway and saw her drive up with the young man beside her. The moonlight illuminated the front of the house just enough for me to make him out. He looked tall, with wide shoulders, like a UCLA football player, but I knew he couldn’t be that. Daddy wouldn’t let her bring anyone from her college here, not as long as we lived so close.
All the lights were out in the house. She had probably told him there was no one home. I was sure Mrs. Fennel was watching through a slightly opened curtain. I went to my closed door and put my ear against it. I heard the young man’s laughter and then hers. He sounded so happy, probably thinking himself lucky to be making it with a girl as beautiful as Ava. It sounded to me as if they had paused just inside the entryway and were kissing. She wanted him to be excited. She wanted his heart to pound, his blood to rush through his veins.
Then I heard them going up the stairs. There was more laughter, although their voices were muffled now. Ava sounded silly, actually. I opened my door slightly and listened. I was very interested in what she would be telling him at that moment. Instead, there was a long silence. Suddenly, I could hear the surprise in his voice, and then the door to Daddy’s room slammed shut.
The young man had time to scream only once.
2
Understated
“Look at how beautifully that fits her,” Daddy said when I stepped into the living room.
I had just put on the dress he had brought back for me from France. He sat back in his Louis XV Giltwood armchair with Aubusson tapestry. Daddy was always very proud of his furniture. He told us that what was in a man’s house was in his very soul. “His art, his choice of color, his very flooring and walls, reveal what’s in his heart. They tell us who he is, how he was raised, what are his tastes in wine, women, and song,” he added with a laugh.
He sat with perfect posture as always. Daddy never slouched, never looked tired or lazy. Often, when I saw him sitting alone and thinking, he reminded me of a Greek statue. He had alabaster skin, with the most intelligent yet warm black eyes that picked up the ebony tone of his hair. His eyes were truly like jewels, rich opals. He had a strong, straight mouth and a Romanesque nose. His cheekbones were high and his jawbone just prominent enough to give him a loo
k of power.
Ava stood at his side with her hand on his shoulder, as if she thought they were posing for a family portrait and she should have that important position. Marla was sitting at his feet, her face against his leg, her right arm around his legs as if she were claiming he was hers. Every time we touched him, every time he touched us, every embrace, especially every kiss, was coveted and collected to enrich our love bank accounts. None of us would come right out and say it, but each of us hoped and believed he loved us more than any of his other daughters.