Scared To Death (Live to Tell #2)(16)

“Is that how we ask for something, Dakota?”

“Mo’!”

“You need to say please.”

And you need to say “cream,” not “cweam,” Caroline wants to put in, fed up with the doting mother and bratty kid with the cowgirl name that seems downright stupid here in Manhattan.

Wincing as Dakota lets out a shrill “Noooooo,” Caroline fumbles to unzip her shoulder bag on the back of her chair. She already checked inside for her iPod, and it wasn’t there. Normally, she doesn’t leave home without it, but she was pretty desperate to escape earlier. She feels around inside the bag, thinking maybe the iPod will magically appear now that she’s desperate for headphones to block out the kid.

“Whip cweam, whip cweam, whip cweam…” Dakota rhythmically bangs the table with her fists.

“You’re my little drummer girl, aren’t you?” her lame mother croons, and one of the women to Caroline’s right, in the midst of an exuberant fist bump, elbows her in the arm.

“Oops, sorry about that, hon.”

“It’s okay,” Caroline mumbles, and glances around for an empty spot far, far away from these annoying people. Not only are there no vacant tables, but the line at the register snakes almost back to the door.

She supposes she could always get up and go…but where?

Not home. Not yet.

Shopping?

If Dad were still around, she’d have a pile of cash and probably at least one of his credit cards in her wallet. He always told Caroline to get whatever she needed—or wanted, for that matter. But those days are over for the time being, and she’s never felt so alone in her life.

To the rest of the world, her father was a public figure, revered or abhorred, depending on the timing, the press, or the party affiliation. But to Caroline, he was just Daddy—the center of her world, the person who made her feel so important, so loved, so special, that her friends had called her Daddy’s Girl for as long as she could remember. She took it as a compliment—whether or not it was intended that way.

Oh, Dad.

As always, Caroline feels her eyes begin to sting as she pictures him, sitting in a jail cell somewhere…

And all because of me.

Why is she the only person in the whole wide world who understands that Garvey Quinn did what he did out of love? Even Mom doesn’t seem to get it. Obviously she, unlike Dad, wasn’t willing to do whatever was necessary to save her daughter’s life.

Last year, while snooping through her parents’ files, Caroline discovered that she’d been born with a rare genetic illness. Only a transplant could save her—and Dad made it his mission to find a donor, at any cost.

He loved me so much.

Taking a hard gulp of her frozen drink, Caroline winces. Head freeze. She puts down the cup and presses her cold fingertips against her temples, closing her eyes.

The thing is, it wasn’t like that boy, Jeremy, meant something to Dad. And it wasn’t like Dad actually killed him.

No, it wasn’t like that at all.

Caroline isn’t sure, exactly, what it was like, because no one will tell her. Mom did her best to shelter her and Annie when the news first broke, and Caroline was so shell-shocked, she didn’t even care about the details. By the time she did care, she found out that the press still didn’t have the whole story. She tried snooping through her parents’ files for information—which was how she’d learned last year about her own rare illness, and a lot of other stuff her parents apparently didn’t want her to know—but found nothing. And Mom still wasn’t talking.

“You’re better off not knowing,” she told Caroline.

What kind of bullshit is that? She’s better off not knowing why the one person in the world who loves her enough to die for her is—

“Excuse me, is anyone sitting here?”

Caroline looks up to see a guy standing beside her table with a steaming cup of coffee.

“Um, yeah. I am.”

The guy doesn’t look the least bit fazed by her sarcasm. “I meant is anyone sitting in the empty seat?”

“You mean you don’t see him?”

“See who?” He follows her pointed gaze across the table.

“My friend George.”

Now he looks fazed, raising an eyebrow at the empty chair, then at Caroline. “Uh, no. I don’t see him.”

She sighs, shaking her head. “No one ever does.”

“Okay, well, uh…thanks anyway.” The cute guy starts to back away, obviously convinced she’s some kind of nut.

Caroline bursts out laughing. “Relax, dude. I was kidding.”

“You were?”

She nods, reaches out her sandal-clad foot, and pushes the empty chair in his direction. “You can take it.”

“Thanks.” He looks around, obviously trying to figure out where to drag it. In the meager surrounding floor space, there are half a dozen tables, at least twice as many people, plus a couple of baby carriages.

“You can just sit here, if you want,” Caroline offers. “I’m getting ready to leave anyway.”

“Yeah?”

No, but… “Yeah.”

“Thanks.” The guy sits down, smiling at her. He’s got great teeth. So white. Caroline wonders if they’re bleached.