Virals(53)

Ignoring his gesture, I crossed to a wing chair and sat, cross-legged.

Kit allowed my small rebellion to slide. "The last few days have been crazy," he said. "Truth now. What's going on?"

The question irked me. Why the sudden interest in my life?

"I already explained. If you want the details, ask your pal Karsten."

Low blow, but I didn't care.

"I don't like what happened any more than you do." A flush spread Kit's face. From anger? Embarrassment? Who knew?

Awkward silence. Then, "I'm trying to help."

"Why?"

"I'm your father."

"Thanks, Kit"--emphasis on the name--"but you're a bit behind schedule. The interrogation was yesterday. Too late to play super-dad now."

Kit looked as though he'd been slapped. I felt awful. Why was I being such a bitch?

"Tory, I apologize." He sounded genuinely sorry. "I wasn't aware you'd be grilled like a suspect. I wouldn't have allowed it."

That seemed to require no response, so I gave none.

"I know I can't replace your mother. I'm doing the best I can."

Silence. This time, because I didn't trust myself to speak.

"I'll file a complaint on Monday," Kit said. "Dr. Karsten's actions were totally inappropriate."

"No!"

My stupid mouth might get Kit in trouble.

"It's no big deal. I promise." I moved to the couch, gave my best plastic smile. "I'm just being a brat. Please don't make waves at work."

"You looked petrified in that conference room. Karsten should not have questioned you alone."

"I overreacted." Nonchalant shrug. "Karsten's done with us anyway."

"It's up to you, Tory."

"Really. I'd rather just move on."

Kit's face relaxed, and his usual self-deprecating humor returned. "Just as well. I'd probably cause more problems than I'd solve."

I smiled for real. Kit was pretty likeable when just being himself. And, to be fair, I was the main reason he rarely could do that.

"But you will explain your whereabouts these last few days." Kit assumed a parental tone. "Spill. Start with this dog festival."

I tiptoed through the past week's events, sticking to the gang's agreed upon version. It was hard to believe that seven days earlier I'd never heard of Katherine Heaton.

Kit listened, asked a few questions, seemed to accept my story. He shook his head when I'd finished.

"Sounds like you've had a rough patch. And I missed it, always being at work. I'm sorry I let you down. I promise to be more available in the future."

"Hey, no sweat."

"As soon as I complete these salinity tests," he said, "we'll do something together. Deal?"

"Deal." Like what? "I'm just tired now. I'm going to catch a nap."

"Fine. Whitney's coming for dinner, so don't disappear."

Great. The last thing I needed.

"Maybe tonight isn't the best--"

He waved off my objection. "I've already invited her; I'm not canceling now." Kit's eyes grew almost plaintive. "She not that bad, right?"

"She's not trying to train you like a dancing bear."

"Ha!" Kit snorted. "Shows how much you know."





Except for the chink of utensils, dinner progressed in silence. I made no move to break it, knowing her ladyship would start in on me eventually.

I wondered how she'd go about it. Obliquely, by casually mentioning some new dresses she'd seen? Or directly, with a pass hurled straight at the numbers.

One thing was certain: Whitney would take aim. I was her new Barbie doll. She wanted to dress me up and star me in her games.

And I was definitely sick. Headache. Fever. Runny nose. Nausea.

Survive the meal. That's all.

Whitney had prepared our dinner at home. As I ate, I fantasized her drive to Morris from Tradd Street. I imagined slammed brakes, a slopping kettle, shrimp and grits splattering her immaculately detailed Mercedes and Laura Ashley sundress.

Uncharitable? Sure. But the image tickled me.

Normally I eat like a heavyweight in training. That night the thought of food turned my stomach.

The nap hadn't gone well. As soon as my head hit the pillow, the room started spinning. My gut roiled. Every few minutes, I'd crawled to the porcelain god in terrible anticipation. After the final purge, I'd gone fetal in bed until Kit summoned me to dinner.

So I rearranged the contents of my plate without eating, hoping that Whitney would spare me out of some cosmically transmitted pity.

No such luck.

"Tory! Good news!" Whitney's drawl was pure Southern belle.

My heart sank.

"The committee has agreed to consider your application for next season's cotillion. You're as good as in!"

They already agreed? She hadn't even asked my permission!

Whitney continued, oblivious to the dismay on my face.

"Even better, you can attend this year's functions as a junior debutante. Isn't that just the best?"

They will never find her body.