Seizure(74)

Kit’s foot began tapping. Whitney placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

Great. Whatever was coming, I wasn’t going to like it.

“I’ve been offered a job.” He swallowed. “I’m going to accept.”

“What!?” I studied his face. “Just like that?”

“Your daddy thought long and hard,” Whitney began. “It wasn’t easy to—”

“Excuse me.” My words were ice. “I’m having a private discussion with my father.”

Whitney inhaled sharply.

Kit placed his hand on hers.

“I understand you’re upset,” Kit said. “But sometimes a parent has to make unpopular decisions. This is the best opportunity I’ve come across. It’s a down economy. Frankly, I’m lucky to have an offer at all.”

My hands reached for each other in my lap. Clamped so tightly I could feel the bones in my fingers. “What is this wonderful opportunity?”

“Seven Mile Island Wildlife Park has an opening for an environmental specialist.” Kit spoke softly. “Professionally, I’m a perfect fit. The pay is excellent. I know you’d prefer to remain in Charleston, but I can’t pass on this one.”

“Where is Seven Mile Island?” Barely audible.

“Alabama,” Kit said. “Near a town called Muscle Shoals.”

“Roll Tide!” Whitney piped.

Kit cringed, fearful of another outburst from me. His instincts were good.

“Alabama? We’re moving next door to Forrest Gump?”

“My back is against the wall, Tory. This job is a way out.”

“You’ll adore Alabama,” Whitney said. “You just have to give it a chance.”

“What do you care?” I turned on her, furious. “Anxious for some personal space?”

Kit shifted. Cleared his throat. “Whitney’s decided to come with us.”

The shock rocked me to my core. My eyes began to burn.

Don’t cry. Don’t you dare cry.

“Coming with?” Oh, so very calm. “For a visit? To help us move?”

“Your father is my world,” Whitney gushed. “I can’t bear to lose him.”

“Whitney is moving, too.” Kit watched me intently. “We hope she can live with us, but only with your permission of course. If that makes you uncomfortable, she’ll find an apartment close by.”

A headache formed. Pounded my frontal lobe. I felt dizzy, like the room was spinning.

Alabama? Whitney? Kit had pummeled me with a deadly one-two.

“Don’t worry, darling.” Whitney, Queen of Saying the Wrong Thing. “You still have time to finish your debut. With a little luck, we can advance you to this season’s cohort.”

“This season?” I could barely form words.

“I’ll handle everything,” she chirped. “I’ll speak to the women’s committee after tomorrow’s gala. Remember, you have a brunch in the morning.”

“Tomorrow,” I stammered, my mind numb. The idea of living with Whitney was beyond horrifying. “Brunch. Yes.”

“Good.” Kit tried for levity. “You can remind your friends that you’re still grounded.”

“I don’t have friends at cotillion.”

“Tell that to whoever keeps ringing the house phone.”

His comment puzzled me. “No one calls me on the landline.”

“There are three new entries on the caller ID. Someone named Marlo Bates. I never said you couldn’t use the phone, but remember, you’re supposed to be under house arrest.”

The name jolted me fully alert. Marlo had gotten our phone number. How? Why? Yesterday’s encounter at the manuscript library had clearly been no fluke.

Those guys were tracking me.

“I’ll tell him,” I said, hiding my alarm.

“Don’t worry, sugar.” Whitney’s face was scrunched in earnestness. “This move will be good for all of us. You’ll see that one day.”

You are not my mother!

I pushed back from the table.

“May I be excused?” Glacial.

Screw permission. I bolted up the stairs.





“THE NERVE OF that bitch!”

My hand still gripped the doorknob. “What’s best for me? Piss off!”

“She walked all over you,” Chance said matter-of-factly. “Stop being such a pushover.”

“Be quiet.” I snapped the lock on my bedroom door. “What would you know?”

“I was bored. I eavesdropped. Dinner sounded delightful.” Checking my hands. “No plate for me, it seems.”

Chance was stretched out on my bed, idly thumbing through an old US Weekly. Coop was snoring at his feet.

Turncoat.

“There’s a box of granola bars on my dresser,” I huffed. “Go nuts.”

“Stick up for yourself.” Chance continued with the unsolicited advice. “It’s the same with Madison and her clique.”

“Who are you to instruct me? You’re an escaped mental patient.”

Chance’s mouth tightened into a thin line. “I know what I’m talking about. And even as a wanted lunatic, I’m still more popular than you.”