Mrs. Rhodes is practically climbing the walls when I get in. “Are you all right? I played along when your teacher rang but your father…” She babbles so fast that I lose track.
“Wait, slow down. Did he call Emma?”
“I didn’t know her last name and he blew a gasket. Honestly, Morgan, I’ve never seen him like that. He stormed around the house, smashed a brandy tumbler, and threatened to fire me if I don’t keep better track of you. He must’ve called you forty times.”
Wincing, I turn on my phone, which I’d switched off before my burglary run last night. Sure enough, there are forty-three missed calls and twenty texts. The messages start out normal, but by the end, they’re kind of … out there. I guess he was crazy worried.
“Did he actually report me missing?” I ask, skimming the seventeenth message.
The housekeeper shakes her head. “He did call the sheriff and ask him to have his deputies keep an eye out for your car, which I told him was ridiculous.”
Jesus. Now I’m imagining how badly shit could’ve gone wrong last night if they’d spotted my car in Clay’s driveway. My father doesn’t exactly approve of this relationship, more like he tolerates it, but he’d be happier if I was dating one of the preps instead. Finding me in Clay’s bed wouldn’t have improved the situation.
“Would you make some food that packs well? I’m going to shower, change, and take my dad dinner at the office. I’ve been wanting to poke around there anyway. Maybe if I go apologize he won’t send me to a Siberian convent school.”
“It’s in Austria,” Mrs. Rhodes says.
I freeze. “What?”
“There’s a pamphlet in his office for an Austrian boarding school. I’m probably not supposed to tell you, but at this point, you pay me almost as much as he does.”
For an infinite, appalling moment, I think, He wants to get rid of me. Is it the new girlfriend? Maybe she doesn’t want to be a stepmother.
“Thanks for the heads-up,” I mutter.
“No problem. I suspect my hours would be cut if you weren’t around.” Though her motives may be self-serving, her loyalty cheers me up somewhat. “You go get ready, I’ll fix the food and pack it up for you.”
“I appreciate it. Fingers crossed that it’ll cool his wrath.”
Taking the stairs two at a time, I lay out some power clothes, then rush to the bathroom. Somehow I manage to pull myself together in half an hour, including hair and makeup, though I cheated and used one of those French twist guides that I only need to wrap my hair around and pin. I look good in black and this suit lends me an air of somber elegance. In fact, I could pass for my early twenties dressed like this.
And I often did.
That’s not my thought, more of an echo, but I know it’s true, just like what I said to Nathan. The walls between Morgan and me are coming down in an avalanche of thought-stones. As time goes on, maybe I won’t even be able to tell us apart anymore. I wonder if I’ll forget that I was ever Liv. That prospect scares me a little, but not enough to keep me from moving forward.
Mrs. Rhodes meets me at the door and I take the basket with a murmur of thanks. “Wish me luck. If this doesn’t work, I’ll need your help packing.”
Though I’m joking, after my failure at the garage and the scene in the Claymore kitchen, I ask myself if going to Austria is such a terrible idea. Maybe I need a fresh start. It will be better for me not to be in the country when someone recognizes me as the girl in the photos currently making Creepy Jack’s life hell. His silence comes as a welcome relief, but I suspect it’s a result of increased household surveillance. I mean, his wife’s probably inspecting his phone daily, if she hasn’t left already. From what I’ve seen of that circle, her reaction will depend on whether she married the politician or the man.
I can’t decide if I should text my father or surprise him, but as I get in the car, I decide on the latter. Apologies always carry more weight in person. There’s no risk I’ll miss him because, to my knowledge, he hasn’t left the office before eight in months. Before, I feared there was some problem in the company he couldn’t tell me about, but now I’m thinking he must be with his girlfriend. That’s better than a cash-flow problem, right?
Somehow that pep talk doesn’t help much.
I drive the fifteen miles to Frost Tech, which is on the other side of Renton. We built some distance away because my dad wanted a short commute to decompress, or so he said. My mother also really loved the view; the house made her feel like a princess in a castle, though maybe toward the end, it’s more like she was imprisoned in the tower. Still can’t see Creepy Jack as a viable alternative. But loneliness makes people do weird, inexplicable things. Maybe it wasn’t about Jack as much as about trying to recapture an earlier period in her life, when she was young, happy, and free.
The Frost Tech campus is impressive as hell. At the gate, the guard recognizes me and waves me through. Security guards zoom around on Segways, scouring the premises for trespassers. I navigate around them and park in the VIP spot reserved for me, though I’m almost never here. This probably pisses off the actual employees. I swing out of the Bug, dinner basket in hand, and click my way to the front desk. The receptionist must be new because she doesn’t scramble to her feet when she spots me. In fact, she gives me a shitty look.
“Can I help you?” She’s just about to pack up her stuff and leave.
“I’m fine, thanks.”
“Wait, you have to sign in!” she yells.
I ignore her and use the code to call the executive elevator. Morgan knew this, not me, but my fingers press the numbers like it’s second nature. This building only has ten floors, but the complex itself has eight buildings, housing various departments. My dad occupies the penthouse all by himself and this gives me a nonstop lift. There’s no hallway; the elevator doors open directly into his office.
And that’s kind of horrifying because he’s got a woman on his desk. They’re not quite going at it, but from the grabbing and moaning, if I had come ten minutes later, this would be a full-on case of coitus interruptus. The smart thing would be to get the hell out before they notice me, but it’s just so awful and awkward that I start laughing.
My father shoots upright and tries frantically to finger comb his hair. He shields the woman with his body so she can fix whatever damage he did to her clothes, but neither one of them looks particularly reputable, even when they move away from the sex desk. I can’t face either of them; somehow I choke off the inappropriate giggles, as I’m not twelve, but my eyes are watering to the point that I can’t see.
“Hi, Dad. Going over this week’s sales figures?”
“You should have called.” From his tone, he’s both embarrassed and enraged.
“Sorry, I wanted to surprise you.” I look everywhere but at him, hefting the basket in my hands. “Mission accomplished, I guess?”
“You think I’m remotely amused?” He’s speaking through clenched teeth, and that tone doesn’t sound like anything I’ve ever heard before, it’s almost … scary.
“I’m sorry. That’s why I came. To apologize. I heard you were worried last night because I didn’t give Mrs. Rhodes enough information about my school friend. So … I wanted to make it up to you. I didn’t know you would be busy.” I lower my head, studying my designer shoes.
For some reason I want to cry. It’s like there’s nobody in the world who’s happy to see me. Tears spring up, but I choke them down. I’m not a little kid; I refuse to cry in front of my dad’s girlfriend. What kind of first impression am I making?
“It’s not a big deal,” the woman says then. “I wanted to meet Morgan, and actually, it is kind of funny. I’m sure we’ll laugh about this later.”
Raising my head, I offer a tentative smile, but my face freezes. She’s my mother replicated in miniature. While my mom was tall and lithe, this woman is petite, all cornflower-blue eyes, dark curls, and so, so young. I look again. Okay, on second inspection, their features don’t look that much alike, and yet they’re definitely of a type: skin, hair, eyes, and smile.
Suddenly … this isn’t funny at all.