I swallow. "Okay. Dumb question."
She grins, her lower lip caught between her teeth, then all of a sudden her whole attitude changes. Her spine straightens, taking the sexy tilt of her hips with it. She gets this kind of neutral, country-club expression on her face and quickly reaches for the wine bottle. "Refill?" she says.
I almost laugh, but she gives me a warning look. Cockblocked by John Gillespie - there's one to add to the celebrity scrapbook.
Chapter Eight
Amber
My heart skips a beat when I see my Dad standing there. "Sorry to barge in," he said. "But I wanted to see this miracle for myself."
Jimmy has gone the weirdest color - a kind of putty-gray. His eyes are drawn inevitably to my feet; my panties are lying there in full view. I'm guessing Dad can't see them from where he's standing, else he wouldn't still be smiling. Oh God. This looks bad. There's no way this is going to look anything but bad. After more than six months of sweatpants and not washing my hair unless someone pointed out it was hanging in lumps, I'm suddenly all dressed up and no place to go? I can see the worry behind his smile.
"You want some wine?" I ask.
"Is that a good idea?"
"I can handle a glass, Dad."
He moves towards us. With a deft little flick of his foot, Jimmy shifts on the couch and neatly conceals my underpants beneath it. I doubt they taught him that step in dance lessons, but I'm both relieved and grateful. Dad gives me a squeeze and pops a kiss on the top of my head. "You're privileged, Jimmy," he says. "This is the furthest she's been out of her shell for a while."
He's behaving so far, but I know he doesn't like this. He can't like this. It's way too soon.
"It's a pleasure," says Jimmy. "We've been...talking and stuff. For a while now, right?"
"Yes," I say, stiff as a store mannequin. There's no way I'm sitting down. I don't want to run the risk of Sharon Stoning my own father. Oh my God - why did I think this was a good idea? Dad is smiling so hard I think his teeth will crack.
"Well," he says. "Don't be too late, poppet. Remember you've got the doctor in the morning."
Yes, Daddy. I know, he knows. I'm seeing a shrink, because I'm crazy. It's only when the door closes behind him that Jimmy and I finally exhale.
"Do you think he's..."
"Oh, he's beyond pissed," I say, filling my glass. "Believe me. He won't show it but one way or another we'll both know about it."
Jimmy groans. "But I like this job."
I am such an asshole. I didn't even think of that when I invited him here. "You're not going anywhere," I say. "Not if I have anything to do with it."
He gets up from the couch. "I should probably go."
I want to ask him to stay, but I know it's pointless. The little world we constructed for ourselves has gone and it's never coming back. I'm ashamed of myself for putting his job at risk and angry because I know what tomorrow will bring. "I'm sorry," I say. "I don't think. This is how I got into this mess in the first place. Really poor impulse control - you have no idea."
He takes my hands and gives them a squeeze. "Amber, I don't even know what mess you're talking about." His smile is sad but he's said it all. He's right. I don't know him. He doesn't know me. And if he did know me he'd run screaming.
I have to talk to my Dad. When Jimmy's gone I'm alone and staring into the abyss again. Just stepping into another room was enough to make my heart skip, flutter and fly, but I realize I'm going to have to do this. Jimmy could lose his job - what the hell does it matter if leaving my rooms gives me a panic attack? The thought spurs me on. As I walk out into the hallway it feels like my feet are barely touching the ground. I'm defenseless, unsafe. Nothing is familiar any more, not the Navajo wall hanging opposite, not the tall red vase where I once puked following an experimental teenage vodka session with Everglade. My back burns, as if a million gazes were fixed on it at once, but there's nobody there.
We've talked about this before - me and Dr. Stahl. She says it's normal, that it will take time to feel safe again, but deep down I know it's worse than that. Sometimes I see him, like he was really there. I turn around and there he is, in the chair in the corner, in the bathtub, in my bed. And even when he's lounging back in the tub or whatever, he's never really relaxed - he never was. He was always on edge somehow, something I found thrilling at first. So un-California of him, the way he strained his whole self towards my next word or gesture.
I creep down the hall like an anxious crab, my heart hammering in my ears as I approach my Dad's living area. It feels like an age since I was last here. I can hear him talking to someone on the phone and I pray it's not Cory at the lodge. The fish-tank gurgles away, same as it always did, but the corals look different and when I approach it my shadow startles up a bright, skittish flash of red and blue tetras. New additions. Everything changes but me.