Somebody to Love(60)

As Parker got to the wing that held the family bedrooms, she heard a noise. A…grunt or something. As if someone was sick.

There it was again.

“Daddy?” Parker whispered. She knew her father was rich and important. Would someone try to kidnap him? Had they already knocked Lila out? This would explain why there were no root-beer floats. Why Parker had been left out on the beach for longer than ten minutes. Both parents were very strict about her being left alone by the water.

She tiptoed down the hallway. Past her own room, which had just been redecorated and was, in her father’s words, “the prettiest room for the prettiest girl,” awash in shades of pale green with light pink trim.

Another sound. She wasn’t about to stop for dry clothes. Not when her father might be hurt or tied up. She’d be brave and save him. She’d need a weapon or something, though. Like a knife. Or a gun. Her father kept guns in his study. One of them used to belong to Teddy Roosevelt. Should she get it?

Parker’s mouth was sticky and dry, terror nailing her to the floor. Something bad was happening in that room. She knew it. She didn’t want to see it, though. But her father was in that room, and if she went downstairs for the gun, she might miss the chance to save him.

Don’t be so chicken, she told herself. She’d been a chicken yesterday on the high dive. This time, no. She’d be brave. And smart. She’d peek and then if there were bad guys, she’d run really fast and quietly and call the police and then she’d get TR’s gun, and she’d hold the bad guys off until the police came, and her father would be amazed at her courage, and it totally would make up for her not jumping off the high platform.

Her parents’ bedroom was at the end of the hall. There was that grunt again. Oh, God. Her heart thudding, nerves stretched so tight it seemed as if she was floating, Parker opened her parents’ bedroom door.

At first, she thought they were strangers. Naked strangers, wrestling, that was her first thought. But no, they were having sex. Gross! In her parents’ bedroom!

Then in a flash that also seemed to last a full minute, she realized that one of the people was her father, moving on top of someone. They were both making those moaning hurt noises.

“Oh, my God, Mr. Welles, don’t stop,” said the other person.

It was Lila.

“Daddy?” Parker asked, her voice small.

The word was electrifying. Both Harry and Lila jumped, scrambling for covers, but not before Parker had seen Lila’s boobies, and her father’s graying chest hair.

“Jesus, Parker, get out!” her father yelled.

“Oh, God, I think she peed herself,” Lila said, her face twisted with sympathy.

“I did not!” Parker shouted, her face broiling hot. “I did not, you…you…slut!”

“Parker, this is not what you think,” her father said sternly.

She was downstairs, feet flying so fast she wondered how she didn’t fall, almost wished she would fall, crack her head open on the marble floor, go to the hospital; that would punish them. Down another flight, through the wine cellar that had always creeped her out, into the garage where her father kept his fancy cars. She climbed into the Porsche and curled up on the floor of the passenger seat.

Hours later, Esteban, one of the gardeners, found her and lifted her out. Althea was back, white-faced with fury and screaming at Harry. She grabbed Parker and half dragged her upstairs, yanked out some suitcases and began hurling clothes inside.

“Althea, don’t be ridiculous,” Harry barked. “It’s not what she thought! She’s read too many books, that’s all. She misunderstood.” He didn’t even bother looking at her.

Maybe that was the worst part. She was ten going on thirty, after all. Her father was…what was that expression Lila the Slut used? Throwing her under the bus.

It’s not what she thought. “Bullshit,” she whispered.

“Parker, don’t swear,” her father said automatically. “It’s crass.”

“Bullshit!” she yelled. “It was what I thought. It was gross! You’re disgusting, Da—” No. He didn’t deserve to be called Daddy. “You make me sick, Harry.”

Althea yanked the suitcase closed. “You had to screw the babysitter. That’s your legacy to your child. Rot in hell, you bastard,” she said. She grabbed Parker by the hand, and an hour later, she and her mother were in a suite in the Devon Hotel, her mother already on the phone with her attorney.

Parker sat in the bed, ostensibly watching TV. Piercing her heart was an icicle of fear.

Their family had ended. And her father…her father didn’t love her anymore.

CHAPTER       EIGHTEEN

“EVERYONE HAS LEFT US. Everyone. You, Nicky, Lucy and that       Ethan. We’re bereft. Bereft, Parker.”

Parker grinned. Ethan’s mother       didn’t believe in Skype, and therefore couldn’t see Parker enjoying the       melodrama. “I’m sorry, Marie. I miss you and Gianni, too.”

“Our grandson! Six weeks without       him! I don’t know if Gianni’s heart can take it.”

“Well, Ethan will be back soon,       Marie.”