Untamed (A Bad Boy Secret Baby Romance) (17 page)

“You’re wrong, Dad,” I tell him. “There are good people in this world. People who care about others.”

“Like who?”

“Social workers,” I say. I think of Duncan, growing up an orphan, being raised by social workers in a group home.

“Social workers?” Dad asks, making a sneering face. “What do they get paid?”

“It’s not about the money.”

“Everything is about the money,” he says. “I really wish you’d learn that lesson. Maybe you want to get philosophical and all that bullshit, but I’m telling you, it’s the money that makes everything keep going around nicely. It’s society’s lubricant.”

“You’re so negative.”

“The word you’re looking for is cynical, Deidre, and yes, I am. It’s how I got to where I am now.”

“Well, anyway, I want to teach kids.”

“You won’t once you have to deal with them. Nightmares, all of them. You were a handful when you were a child. God, you wouldn’t ever stop crying. Drove me crazy.”

I look between him and Frank. Frank’s wearing a distant smile, like he’s slipping back into a happy memory. Dad is just scowling. One guess as to who spent the most time raising me.

We sit in silence for a while, and then Dad forces on a great big smile. “Here you go, honey,” he says. He slips an envelope over the table. I open it and find two airplane tickets inside.

“What’s this?”

“Paris. You and me. We can go to the
Louvre
. Do the war museum! What do you say?”

“Another trip? But we just got back from Thailand.”

“I have to go for a business meeting, anyway, and I thought you’d like to join me. I’d like the company.”

The way he says it, it’s not an invitation. It’s an order. That’s Dad.

“Thanks,” I say, forcing a smile at him.

“What, you don’t like it?”

“No, Paris will be great,” I say. It’s not quite a lie… I imagine Paris
is
great. But I don’t want to go with
him
. “I’ve never been before.”

“Can you believe it? Neither have I!” Dad says through a laugh, clapping his hands together. “It’ll be a good time. Frank will be joining us. Can never be too careful.”

I sigh. I guess, all things considered, I can’t
truly
mind. It will be nice to be a tourist. I know I’m lucky, that I have a lot of things that other girls… other people don’t.

But I asked Dad if I could have my own smartphone, or even just a gift voucher so I could go shopping and get myself something. Of course, he either completely forgot, or didn’t care.

“Oh, there’s one more thing,” Dad says. He goes to the kitchen counter, picks up a brown envelope then brings it back. “You got this in the mail.”

“Who is it from?”

“No idea,” he says. “The stamp must have peeled off in the rain, and there is no return address. My guess? Probably a birthday card from the school or library or something. You know, they automate these things now. Have a computer print out a card, send it to you. No personal touch!”

I furrow my brow. I doubt it was from the school or the library. I open it and peer inside.

“Well?” Dad asks.

“It’s just an automated card,” I say. “You were right.”

“Well, aren’t you going to read it?”

“No,” I say. “What’s the point?”

He laughs, gestures at Frank. “See, she’s smart, isn’t she? Knows when not to waste her time. That’s my daughter, smart as a whip. Go on Deidre, it’s late. Time for bed. You go get ready.”

I nod, take the envelope with me, and climb up the stairs to my room. I feel something hard in the envelope. It is definitely
not
a card.

Once in my room I close the door, put a chair up against the doorknob, and I open the envelope. There’s something thin inside, and I pull it out. It’s a pocket mirror!

It’s circular, black on the back with a cute cartoon drawing of a tabby cat. I open the envelope farther and find a letter and pull it out.

The letter is not really a letter, more like a note scribbled messily onto the top left corner of the piece of paper. It reads:

Dear Deedra: Happy birthday. I hope you still like cats.

I grin from ear to ear, almost can’t believe he spelled my name wrong. I flip the mirror over in my hand. That’s when I notice that the image on the back is the kind that moves when you change perspective, a visual trick. The cat waves.

I tilt it in my hand over and over, and the cat keeps waving, paw pads shifting left, then right, then left, then right.

It’s just a stupid mirror, but it’s far and away the best gift tonight.

Stuffing the mirror into my jeans pocket, I walk downstairs and find Dad still at the kitchen table, on his third slice of cake.

His tired eyes settle on me, and then they go hard in an instant. “What is it?”

“Can I write a letter to Duncan?”

With a confused shake of his head, he asks, “Why?”

“My English teacher has been encouraging us to write more letters,” I lie. “You know, pen pals.”

“No,” Dad says, tapping the table with his fingers. “Get ready for bed like I told you.”

“Why not?”

He heaves a great big sigh, and it’s at once insulting and frightening. “There’s no postal address there. It’s a village in the middle of nowhere. And even if there were, he couldn’t reply to you.”

“Why not?” I ask, ever wary of Dad’s waning patience.

“I don’t even know if he can write, first of all,” he says. “And second, he’d have to get a boat into the nearest city which is an hour away, or several hours driving. Then he’d have to buy the stationary, and then pay the postage.”

I shake my head. “So?”

“Money, Deidre!” Dad barks. “Remember what I just told you? You can’t do anything without money! He doesn’t
have
any. Now stop asking me stupid questions and go back upstairs.”

I’m hurt by his insult, but still I want to ask him why he isn’t giving Duncan any spending money. Though the look on his face tells me his patience has come to an end.

Chapter Six