The Good Daughter (21 page)

“What did you do, Dee?”

“I kissed a girl.”

“What? Why?”

“Didn’t like her. Didn’t like the way she treated me. So I kissed her.”

“But
why
?”

“It embarrassed her. She’ll leave me alone now.”

“Oh, Dee, Howard’s going to flip out.” Missy’s eyes burned in
her face. Her fingers knotted, twisting, frantic. “You know that, don’t you?”

“Don’t tell him,” Delilah said fiercely. “He doesn’t have to know—”

“He’ll find out!”

“How?” Delilah glanced from her mom to Jude and back again. “Jude won’t tell him. Will you?”

Jude shook his head. Things were so messed up here. His dad had been volatile and struggled with addictions, but he hadn’t been mean. Or violent. Howard was both.

“Howard always finds out everything,” Missy whispered, a hand tugging at the collar of her robe.

They heard a car pull up outside and for a moment they all froze. Missy made a whimpering sound. Jude rose. Delilah lifted the curtain to peek out the window.

“Mailman,” Delilah said, relief cracking her voice.

“You should go,” Missy said, her trembling hands clawing at the buttons on her robe.

Jude couldn’t leave without doing something, saying something. “I know you don’t know me, but I can help—”

“No.”

“There are people you could go to. Safe houses designed just for—”

“You must go,” Missy rasped. “Now.”

“Please let me help you.”

“You
can’t
help me, and he
can’t
find you here. Do you understand?” She couldn’t scream because her vocal cords were too damaged, but her hands were clenched into fists and tears filled her eyes.

Jude left. His boots thudded on the hardwood floor and the door slammed shut behind him. He stepped from the porch to the cement walkway before taking a shortcut across the grass.

He wished the Dempseys never moved in, wished he’d never
met them, wished their pain wasn’t his problem. But they
had
moved in, and he knew what was happening and he couldn’t ignore it. He’d be a shitty neighbor if he did.

Jude had been in his house only a few minutes when he saw the long gray Lincoln Town Car pull into Dempsey’s driveway. Standing at his sink, he watched Howard climb out of the car, jacket open, tie flapping, a dozen long-stemmed red roses wrapped in cellophane in his hand.

Howard had returned home, bearing gifts. It was his peace offering. His way of apologizing, making everything okay.

What a fucking loser.

H
owie never found out that Delilah had been suspended because he left every day for work before she headed to school and didn’t return home until she was already home, but just to make sure he didn’t come home early one day and surprise them all, she took the bus to the San Leandro library and read in a corner until it was time to come home.

Back at school on Monday, Delilah made sure to be on time for every class. She’d caught up on her homework over the weekend and aced her science test in Mrs. Hughes’s biology class on Tuesday. Passing back the test, the teacher praised Delilah, telling her that she was one of only two students to earn a 98 percent or higher. Delilah simply nodded, but once Mrs. Hughes turned away, she smiled faintly at her test, immensely gratified by the big red 98 percent in the right corner, along with the word
excellent
underlined twice.

It was a pleasant change not to run extra laps in Ms. Jones’s
PE class and Miss Powers thanked Delilah for completing her homework every night that week.

In English, Delilah followed along in her paperback copy of
Twelfth Night
, listened to the discussion, wrote an in-class essay on Shakespeare’s use of mistaken identity as a plot device, but couldn’t bring herself to look at Miss Brennan, even though she knew her teacher was looking at her. But she wouldn’t make eye contact. She didn’t understand Miss Brennan, didn’t understand why her teacher would fight to keep her at Memorial. It didn’t make sense. Delilah was new. Just one of two hundred. Why should Miss Brennan care?

Then, out of the blue on Thursday afternoon, Howie showed up at the school fifteen minutes before the day was over. He’d come requesting a meeting with Miss Brennan, and Mrs. Dellinger, the school secretary, sent a note to Delilah in the computer lab letting her know that her father was in the building and that she was to meet him in Miss Brennan’s classroom after the bell rang.

Delilah read the note and nearly threw up. Howie was here requesting a meeting with Miss Brennan? Why?

She asked permission to leave class to use the restroom. Mr. Osborne sighed heavily, expressing his disapproval, but let her go. He always protested but caved, and so Delilah raced to Miss Brennan’s room. Opening the door, she peeked in. The class was silent. They were taking a test. Heads turned to look at her.

Delilah spotted Miss Brennan at her desk and gestured to her. Miss Brennan indicated that Delilah should come to her.

Delilah’s legs shook as she walked. Her mouth was so dry that she kept licking her lips, trying to wet them. It wasn’t working. She was practically panting with fear.

If Howie found out about her suspension…he’d kill her.

“Miss Brennan,” she whispered, standing next to the teacher’s desk.

“Yes, Delilah?”

“You’re meeting my stepdad…Howard…after school?”

“He showed up, requesting a meeting.”

Delilah struggled to swallow. Her mouth was so dry it tasted funny and her heart was beating so hard she felt it in her throat. “Miss Brennan,” she squeaked, horrifyingly close to tears as she jammed her hands against her stomach to keep from throwing up. “He doesn’t know I was suspended. He doesn’t know Jude came and picked me up. He doesn’t like Jude—”

“But Jude’s your guardian.”

“Noooo…not exactly.”

“He’s either your guardian or he’s not.”

Delilah’s legs were going to give out and she crouched down next to the desk, certain that at any moment she’d puke or faint.

“Delilah?”

“He’s not,” she choked, her gaze fixed on the muted swirl of blue and gold in the green carpet. “He’s our neighbor. Kind of a friend.”

Miss Brennan said nothing.

“I didn’t know who else to call,” Delilah rushed on, “because I couldn’t call Mama. She was sick. And I couldn’t call Howie—”

“Was he really out of town?”

Delilah shook her head.

“Delilah!”

She squeezed her eyes closed. “I didn’t want Howie to get mad at Mama, and he would have, if he’d come in that day. But Mama really wasn’t feeling good and I was trying to protect her. She and Howie have been having problems and he blames everything on Mama even if it’s not her fault.” Delilah suddenly looked up at Miss Brennan, intently searching her eyes. “Do you know what I’m saying?”

Miss Brennan’s brow creased. “Does your mother know you were suspended?”

“Yes.”

“Are you telling me the truth? Or do I need to call her?”

“I’m telling you the truth. My mom knows I got suspended. Jude told her. But you can call her and ask. I’ll give you her cell number. But we didn’t tell Howard because sometimes it’s just better that way.”

“I don’t like this, Delilah. I don’t believe in keeping secrets from your father—”

“But he’s not my father. He’s my stepfather and—” The bell rang, a long chime of sound indicating that the day was over. The harsh sound sent a sharp pain through Delilah’s chest and she gasped as she straightened. “You don’t understand. No one understands. No one but Jude.”

K
it slowly rose to her feet as Delilah dashed out the door, her thoughts jumbled, emotions stirred.

“Tests, please,” she said flatly, moving to the front of her classroom to collect the essay tests from her sixth-period students.

Numbly she accepted the essays from her departing students, replaying her conversation with Delilah over and over in her head. This meeting with Michael would not be good. Kit actually felt scared. But why? What could Michael do?

Once her students were gone, she paper-clipped the essays together and put them in her briefcase to take home and then organized her desk, clearing off clutter and filling out some forms that should have been turned in to the office earlier in the day.

A knock sounded on her open door. “Can we come in?” a familiar male voice drawled.

Kit looked up, saw Michael in the doorway, smiling at her, lean and tan and confident in his expensive business suit. Her gaze moved to Delilah, who stood at his side, pale. Skittish. Terrified.

Feeling as if she’d been sucker punched, Kit swiftly looked away from Delilah’s face.

“Please,” she said crisply, gesturing to the chairs and table in the corner of the room, wondering if she was to call him Michael or Howard and then decided she’d use neither. “Why don’t we sit over here, Mr. Dempsey? Delilah?” she said, walking to the table and taking a seat in the same place she’d sat with Jude and Delilah nine days ago.

They all sat down, with Delilah choosing a chair as far away as she could manage. “So what can I do for you?” Kit asked Michael, thinking that it was best to be direct, as she had no desire to prolong this meeting.

“I thought I would check in with you, see how things are going. Sometimes it’s hard to get information out of Delilah.” Michael smiled, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “How is she doing?”

“She’s had a great week.”

“The week’s not over,” he retorted.

“You’re right. It’s just Thursday. But it’s been a great week so far. Delilah’s brought her grades up in all her classes, has a hundred percent in her math homework, a ninety-four on her reading quiz yesterday, and a ninety-eight on her biology test earlier this week. That ninety-eight was the second highest grade out of all the freshmen, and that’s to be commended.”

He studied her for a long moment, and his lips quirked, as if he were secretly amused. “How about last week?” he asked abruptly. “I’d love to hear about last week.”

Kit heard the faint hitch in Delilah’s breathing and her insides knotted with anxiety as she understood now that Delilah needed protection, and questions from the adoption application came to mind:
Growing up, what were you usually punished for? And, how were you punished?

How
was
Delilah punished?

“We had some bumps,” Kit answered Michael carefully, “but
it’s behind us, and I’m really excited about Delilah’s potential. She’s a very gifted—”

“Liar,” Michael interrupted, finishing the sentence for her. “A very gifted liar. Isn’t she?”

He said it pleasantly, with a smile, and yet the temperature in the room seemed to drop by twenty degrees, chilling Kit.

What a horrible thing to say.

In that moment her feelings for Michael crystallized. She loathed him. Absolutely loathed him.

She met his gaze, held it, refusing to be intimidated. This was her room. Her world. She was the boss here, not him.
“Excuse me?”

With that awful smile still playing at the corners of his lips, Michael opened his jacket and withdrew a yellow sheet of paper. He put it on the table, pushed it toward her. “What is this?”

Kit recognized the yellow carbon homework form. It came in triplicate and was used for class work and homework assignments when students were absent for a period of time. Last Wednesday, she’d had Delilah’s teachers assign work for the days Delilah would miss and had sent the student sheet, the yellow carbon, home with Delilah and Jude, while turning in the white sheet to the office and keeping the pink carbon for her own files.

“It’s a student assignment sheet,” Kit said calmly.

“For days she missed school.” Michael smiled at her, before turning to Delilah. It was the first time he’d looked at her since they sat down. “What days did you miss, Dee?”

Delilah’s shoulders hunched. Her voice was all but inaudible. “Thursday and Friday.”

“Thursday and Friday,” Michael repeated. “Why?”

Delilah’s lips parted but no sound came out, and Kit, aware that Sister had documented last week’s incident and suspension and fully expected Michael to know about it, broke the news as
calmly and emotionlessly as possible. “There was an incident last Wednesday in English—”

“An
incident
?”

“Delilah was performing a scene from
Twelfth Night
with another student, and she ended the scene with a kiss. The kiss was clearly nonsexual, but Sister didn’t think it was appropriate and suspended both girls for two days.”

Michael frowned. “Delilah kissed a girl?”

Kit nodded. “It was a brief kiss, but it caused a stir. This is an English class, not a drama class, and we don’t take our staging that far.”

“Isn’t it normal procedure to call parents when a student is suspended?”

“Yes.”

His eyebrows lifted. “So why didn’t you call me? I know you have my number.”

“Delilah said you were traveling.”

“And Missy? Did you call her?” he asked, before shifting his attention back to Delilah. “Dee, does your mother know?”

The girl hesitated for just a fraction of a second, but that fraction of a second felt excruciatingly long to Kit.

“I told Mom.” Delilah’s voice was but a whisper. “I told her as soon as I got home.”

“But neither of you told me,” he said.

The silence felt heavy, suffocating, and seemed to go on forever. Then abruptly he was on his feet, walking out the door, and Delilah chased after him, shooting Kit a pleading, desperate look while running.

H
owie was walking so fast through the parking lot that Delilah had to skip every couple steps just to keep up with him.

He was mad. And when he got mad, bad things happened.

And bad things were going to happen. Not to Delilah, but to her mama, because Howie touched only Mama. Howie made Mama pay for all of Delilah’s mistakes.

She skipped another step and her throat swelled closed. She struggled to swallow around the lump sitting there, aching like the hot thing in her chest.

Howie was going to hurt Mama bad.

Tears started to fill Delilah’s eyes. She couldn’t let it happen. If Howie wanted to hit somebody, he should hit her, Delilah, because she was the one who’d kissed Kendra. Delilah was the one who’d acted up, gotten in trouble.