He laughed and turned to swat her with the dish towel. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t want to disarrange her kitchen, would I?”
“Not if you know what’s good for you.”
She reached out to rumple my hair, but she was still looking at him. Then she turned and danced out of the room. He watched her go. They had an actual relationship—one I could never decipher or duplicate.
My dad left his mangled apple on the counter and sat down across from me. “I’m not trying to give you a hard time, but you know how important it is to keep a low profile.”
“Some people pass out when there’s blood. It’s a known phenomenon.”
He leaned down so that he was staring into my face. His eyes were pale green, like glass, and his hair was going from dishwater brown to gray. He had a way of seeming so good and so right when you didn’t have to live with him, like anyone else could just go to him and find something warm and comforting there.
“You don’t have the luxury of being like some people. You have to resemble the majority. I’m not saying they’re bad, but this is a nervous, suspicious town, and it’s going to be a lot worse for a while. A family buried their daughter today. You know that.” Then his expression got softer. “Did you pass out?”
“No. I just had to go out and get some air.”
“Did anyone see you?”
“Roswell.”
My dad sat back in his chair, linking his hands behind his head, studying me. “Are you sure no one else saw you?”
“Just Roswell.”
After a minute, he nodded. “Okay.” He took a deep breath and said it again, like that decided something. “Okay. You’re right—this isn’t a crisis.”
I nodded, looking at the floor and the shining granite counters. If you assessed our family dynamic based on just the kitchen, you would probably assume it was sitcom quality.
I leaned my elbows on the table like I was checking to see if it would take my weight. The smell of his aftershave was so strong that it kept getting in my mouth, making it hard to swallow. On the wall, the clock was ticking softly, inching toward eleven.
No. It wasn’t a crisis. Except someone had scratched Freak on my locker door.
But there was no way to tell him about that. No way to make him understand that none of his rules and his safety measures mattered.
The word was still true.
