Robin in the Hood (Robbin' Hearts Series Book 1) (23 page)

I folded my arms.

Could it be possible my dad wasn’t to blame for everything?

It was a hard notion to entertain. I glanced at Creek—at the raw honesty that was always in his eyes, so fiercely blue and powerful it was hard to take sometimes. Drawing in a deep breath, I nodded.

Okay, I thought, maybe my dad does deserve a chance—or maybe he doesn’t. So I’m doing this for Creek.

“Daddy,” I said in as gentle a voice as I could muster. I stroked his shoulder and crouched beside the armchair, trying to look more softly into his eyes. “If you didn’t steal all the firm’s money, who did?”

My dad lifted his hand to brush a muddy lock of hair from my eyes. I’d never really noticed before, but his eyes were such a clear blue, like a country stream. And they suddenly looked fresh to me, as pure as Dooley’s, but far more intense.

“Thweeeedle,” he replied with startling force. His eyes met mine, and he cupped my cheek. “Buth he duzznt no about . . . zah box.”

I let out a sigh, hoping he wasn’t delusional. “You keep saying box, Daddy. What box are you talking about?”

My dad sucked in a deep breath, and I could’ve sworn I saw his eyes glisten. Just then, a tear chased down his cheek. He pulled me towards him and pressed a soft kiss on my forehead, then gazed at me as if all along we’d been speaking of his greatest treasure.

“Where . . . I . . . keeeep . . . Alessia,” he said perfectly.

“I keep seeing her,” I confessed as I glided through the cool water of Bender Lake.

It was a scary thing to admit. Creek might think I’d gone bonkers.

We were swimming in the moonlight, after having slept on the tree stand for the rest of the day and waking up at nightfall, still grimy from all our disasters. Granny had dealt with the cops for us in her usual artful way, of course—even giving one of them an herbal tea to relieve his rheumatism before she sent him off. So our sleep had been deep and peaceful, and I’d woken up with my body entwined with Creek’s, feeling genuinely connected. But now, when I turned in the darkness to try and spot Creek, I couldn’t place him anymore. All I could hear was his voice across the water, as though he’d become part of the night mist that hovered delicately over the ripples.

“You’ve seen her. You mean, Alessia?” I heard him say. “Like where, in Granny’s crystal ball?”

“Um . . . yeah,” I replied hesitantly, swaying my arms to stay afloat. “And in my dreams, too. I mean, a lot lately.”

I felt his body slip up against mine in the water, and it made me shiver.

“You must have the sight,” he whispered in my ear. “Just like Granny. It’s been running in your family for generations.”

Startled by his closeness, it took me a moment to wrap my head around the idea that Granny and I might actually be related. I wasn’t sure whether to be grateful, or totally spooked.

Creek wrapped his arms around me and nuzzled against my neck, sending my heart into a few aerial swoops and dives. Yet his whole body felt like a second skin now—as if he were a part of me in this watery darkness. It was as though our souls had slipped off their casings when we’d removed our clothes down to our underwear on the beach, and now we were set loose.

As free as ghosts.

But then another tremble worked its way down my spine.

Creek’s grip tightened around me, as if his skin had detected it.

“Creek,” I said, “do you really think my mom is still alive? Because the way my dad talked about that box, it just made me wonder if he keeps her,” my voice cracked a little, “you know . . . her
a
s
h
e
s
in there.”

Creek swiveled me around to face him.

I couldn’t see him very well—it was if he’d become the darkness itself, as stealthy as the night, yet his grip and strong legs supported me in the water. But I could feel the warmth of his breath against my forehead, and it comforted me a little.

“Your dad’s a hard read sometimes,” Creek replied. “There’s a thin line between what’s truth and what’s fantasy. Both are so real to him. That’s why he could pass you guys off in high society. But if he kept news clippings of the de Bargona family in a secret box all these years, like he said, then we’ll be able to check the dates, Robin. Maybe there’ll be a more recent article about Alessia.”

I nodded. It had taken us a full hour in the trailer, but we’d gotten my dad to tell us, in his slow but surprisingly smooth English this time, that his secret box was under the humidor floor in the cigar parlor of our old house. And along with articles about my mom’s family, it held the numbers to my dad’s Swiss bank accounts.

So maybe we weren’t broke after all?

But that wasn’t what shocked me the most.

What really floored me was that my dad had said there were photos—

Of my mom!

All my life, I’d never seen a single picture of her. Only in my dreams—sometimes as a nun, sometimes in a black lace shroud—which of course, I didn’t know if I could trust.

Could Creek be right? Could I really have the “sight” and be sensing my mother across a distance? Or had I just been seeing a dead woman’s ghost all along?

Suddenly, the lake water felt very cold, making me quiver to the bone.

Creek ran his hands along my face, cupping my cheeks. “We have to go now,” he said with a kiss so tender that he made me feel as if he held my heart in his hands. “It’s time to for us to find you the most beautiful dress on earth.”

“What?” I shook my head, confused.

Creek’s answer took the form of grasping my hand and all of a sudden towing me through the cool water with powerful kicks toward the shore. As we glided in the dark, I glanced up and saw stars twinkling above us. They seemed as far away from me as Alessia . . .

When we reached the beach, Creek grasped my elbow and helped me to my feet. And then he looked up at the stars, too.

“You deserve answers, Robin,” he said. “So we’re going to get that box.”

I could see him better in the dark now, the moonlight reflecting off his wet hair and even creating a sparkle in his eye. To my astonishment, Creek collected my hand and did a slow, formal bow. I thought I saw him smile.

“May I request the pleasure of your company,” he said, giving me a little twirl in the sand, “tomorrow evening at the ball?”

“Now sit yerself up straight so this’ll turn out right, sweetie!” Brandi ordered in her good-natured way, fluffing up my hair. Her quick wrist action and finesse with a teasing comb screamed years of trailer park styling experience.

Brandi piled my hair high on top of my head. Her fingers worked nimbly with bobby pins and gel as well as several cans of aerosol spray that she had in her bunker, which was lined with every hair tool imaginable. Yet strangely enough, Brandi still wasn’t wearing one of her wigs. She’d drawn little daisies and hearts on her bald head with markers instead, then added colorful body glitter.

I so wanted to reach up and caress her shaved skin—to promise her that Creek and I were doing everything in our power to get more money for her medical treatments.

But I was afraid.

Because somehow, even to speak of it felt like I might be trespassing on her fragile dignity. In spite of how drained she appeared, it was as if she’d already won some kind of duel with the Devil—stared him straight in the eye with her arms crossed and refused to surrender her courage. And I sensed that it might not be my place to barge in on her raw territory. So I just kept quiet with my hands folded in my lap and let her boss me around, hoping she might find some delight in playing with my hair. But after Brandi combed out another section of curls and added a few more bobby pins, she stopped.

She set her comb down and patted me gently on the shoulder.

“It’s okay, darlin’,” Brandi said softly. “You know, Dooley wanted to touch my head, too. It’s only natural to be curious.”

My cheeks instantly grew warm. She must’ve caught me staring at her, I thought, so I swiveled to face her. Brandi’s green eyes looked so pure, and even though her skin was still grayish, her face appeared sweet and welcoming. She smiled and dipped her head a little.

And I couldn’t believe she was generous enough to share even this with me.

So I did it—I reached out my hand and ran my fingers along her scalp. Her skin was warmer than I’d expected, and some of the glitter came off on my palm. But then I felt the slight ridge of a vein on her head, pulsing steadily. In that second, I couldn’t help saying a silent prayer.
P
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G
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,
I asked,
p
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r
a
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i
a
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.

It wasn’t until Brandi lifted her head from my hand that I realized I’d closed my eyes. Her comforting grin grew wide.

“All righty!” she clapped her hands with a touch of scolding in her voice and winked at me in her sassy way. “You might be pretty as a picture now. But that won’t do you a lick o’ good when you get to that ball if you act like a hog.” She shook her finger. “So you’d better stuff in more of Lorraine’s chicken pot pie. C’mon now, a big helping!”

Obediently, I sighed and lifted a large forkful of Lorraine’s comfort-food paradise to my mouth that had been sitting in a pan on a stool. The flavor explosion that hit my tongue was enough to send a girl reeling.

And I saw a glow of pride surface on Brandi’s face, regardless of her ashy skin.

“Ready for yer transformation?” she said brightly. “Be prepared. Ya just might not recognize yerself!”

She spun me around on my stool to face the mirror.

Heavens, I looked just like . . . Rapunzel?

Piles of shimmering red locks were swept into a loose updo with delicate tendrils that perfectly framed my face. And the most peculiar thing of all was that those strands were mine. Brandi had convinced me that high society people could spot a wig in a heartbeat—so she used a hair rinse on me that she claimed would come out in a few washings.

But this hue was so rich and vibrant and
r
e
d
that I sincerely had my doubts.

“Lordy!” Brandi squealed. “That color really brings out the warmth of your eyes. Why, you look just like a fairy princess.”

Dooley glanced up from the workbook he’d been coloring on the carpet and scampered up to the mirror, gazing at me with awe. I saw him stand on his tiptoes to try and trace his fingers through a lock of my hair, so he could touch something sparkly.

“Are these diamonds, Brandi?” he said with child-like wonder.

I studied the mirror intently, my eyes catching little reflections of light.

Oh my gosh. All over my hair were tiny, faceted crystals that Brandi had somehow brilliantly woven in.

Even I gasped now.

Brandi had performed what she called her “Makeover Magic” by applying eyeshadow and liner, mascara, rouge and lip gloss. Secretly, I feared when she was done that I might look like gussied up trailer trash. But to my disbelief, I actually appeared . . . sophisticated.

All at once, I realized that this moment was like getting ready for the prom I’d never had. And I was genuinely . . .

“Bee—oo—tee—fullll,” I heard a voice say slowly behind me.

Startled, I turned around and saw my dad. I thought he’d been sleeping on the sofa. But he must’ve gotten up all by himself and somehow made it to the mirror.

He was panting hard, his good hand white-knuckled around a cane, and he looked completely exhausted.

“Daddy!” I yelped, getting up to bolster him before he fell over. “You should’ve waited for one of us to help you.”

“No,” he replied, shaking his head and trying to stand on his own. He closed his eyes for a second, as if he were drawing strength from deep within.

“I’mm . . . loooosing . . . my . . . girrrrrl.”

For a moment, I was breathless.

“No, no you’re not. It’s simply a fundraiser. You’ve been to hundreds of them,” I assured him. “Creek and I are just going to bluff our way in, since Tweedle hasn’t seen me since I was little, and get that box. Then we’ll split and be right back.”

My dad didn’t appear to register a single thing I said. Instead, he gazed at me strangely, almost like he was studying my face to remember and hide somewhere in a deep corner of his heart. Even though I kept rattling on, he cut me off.

“Yooov . . . groownnn . . . up.”

“Oh Daddy,” I rolled my eyes. “I don’t even have my driver’s license yet—”