A sob escaped through Patti’s hand. He’d hit her soft spot. Not only did he compliment her mothering, but he’d compared her to an angel.
“But I failed her,” Patti said, her freckled face streaked with tears. “I didn’t get her to Sister Ruth in time.”
“Let go of that guilt; it’s all part of the plan.”
“What if I messed up the plan?”
He broke into a knowing grin.
“The plan’s always changing and rearranging. You can’t mess it up.”
She wiped her face, and the darkness of fear faded. I still hadn’t moved. I was trying to wrap my mind around the fact that Patti had gone from wanting to kill him to being comforted by him.
“Would you like some sweet tea?” she asked. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Patti Whitt.
“Yes, ma’am, I’d appreciate it.” And my father, the fear-provoking gentleman.
As she went to the kitchen, he gave my shoulder a hard pat. I shook my head in wonder. We went over and sat down at the small table.
“So, where do you wanna do this thing, kiddo?” he asked.
Patti was busy with the drinks, but I knew she’d heard by the way her colors went haywire. I shrugged. I didn’t want to do “this thing” in front of Patti. She brought the glasses of tea over and set them on the table.
“You know,” she said, “I’m real tired, and I got a new book from the library yesterday, so I’ll just be in my room this afternoon. Why don’t y’all stay here, and I’ll be nearby if you need me. I can come out and make dinner later when you’re ready to take a break.”
I nodded my agreement. As long as she stayed back there, I could do it. Patti leaned down to kiss my cheek, and then headed back to her room.
“Stuff’s in the car.” He hitched a thumb toward the door.
I went out with him to help, even though he insisted he could get it himself. My eyeballs popped when I saw the layout in the backseat. All sorts of snack foods, along with bags and bags of bottles: beer, wine, liquor, juices, sodas, condiments like cherries and limes and olives. We hefted everything up the stairs.
I can’t believe I’m about to drink with my father. This was wrong on so many levels.
The drinks and ingredients that needed to be chilled were put in the fridge, and the rest were set out on the counters. I rubbed my arms, feeling jumpy inside. At least it wasn’t a buffet of drugs, because I would be a harried, frantic mess by now.
“Nothing wrong with having a drink, Anna.” He set out two shot glasses and I sat down in front of one while he poured something clear. I looked at the bottle. Rum. “We’re never told not to drink. Just warned against drunkenness. There’s a fine line between the two, and all we’re doing is trying to find yours. You’ll be drinking a lot of water and eating as we go. Should help you some.” He pushed my shot glass forward. Mine was not as full as his.
“I’ll need to see your colors to help me gauge your intoxication.”
I assumed it would be a relief to let down my mental guard, but I felt exposed and didn’t like the way my dad’s eyes squinched up when he saw my colors. I’d been trying not to think about Kaidan, but that only made me think of him more. My dad pinched the bridge of his nose. I was guessing he didn’t think dark pink passionate love had any business being in his little girl’s wardrobe of emotions. But he didn’t say anything about it—only let out a jagged sigh and began.
“Note the time. You’ll need to pay close attention to the time when you drink. You got a watch?” I shook my head, and he took his off, tossing it at me. “Use this one tonight, but get yourself one right away. It’s three twenty-five. Pick it up.” We both lifted our tiny glasses. “Drink the whole thing at once. Don’t try to sip it or take multiple swallows. And don’t you dare spit it out.”
Got it. No problem. I could do this. The liquid was clear, like water. A bubble of giddiness rose up inside me as I followed his lead, bringing it to my lips and tilting back my head.
Gah!
My entire face, mouth, and throat lit on fire as the gulp made its way down. I coughed and sputtered and smacked the table. My father laughed and clapped me on the back. I let out a sputtering breath and could not wipe the disgust from my face.
“Good job not spitting it out,” he said.
“That was terrible! Why would anyone purposely drink that?”
And then the warmth hit. It started in my chest, went down into my belly, and bloomed throughout my limbs.
“Oh.”
“Nice, huh?” he asked, but he wasn’t smiling anymore. He was studying me as I ran my eyes over the bottle of rum, then up to the counter where the other bottles stood in line, waiting for me.