Silence by Becca Fitzpatrick Page A

“You’ve got quite the negotiator on your hands, Blythe. Instinct tells me she didn’t inherit your sweet, unassuming nature.”
    Mom said, “Don’t be rude, Nora. Now you’re making a big deal out of nothing. Carpooling for one night isn’t going to kill you.”
    I looked at Hank, hoping he could read my mind.
Don’t be so sure.
    “We’d better get going,” Mom said. “We have reservations for eight and don’t want to lose our table.”
    Before I could roll out another argument, Hank opened the front door and motioned my mom and me out. “Ah, so that’s your car, Nora? The Volkswagen?” he asked, looking across the driveway. “Next time you’re in the market, stop by my dealership. I could have hooked you up with a convertible Celica for the same price.”
    “It was a gift from a friend,” Mom explained.
    Hank let out a low whistle. “That’s some friend you’ve got.”
    “His name is Scott Parnell,” Mom said. “Old friend of the family.”
    “Scott Parnell,” Hank mused, dragging a hand over his mouth. “The name rings a bell. Do I know his parents?”
    “His mom, Lynn, lives over on Deacon Road, but Scott left town over the summer.”
    “Interesting,” Hank murmured. “Any idea where he ended up?”
    “Somewhere in New Hampshire. Do you know Scott?”
    Hank dismissed her inquiry with a shake of his head. “New Hampshire is God’s country,” he murmured appreciatively. His voice was so smooth, it instantly grated.
    Equally as irritating was the fact that he could have passed as Mom’s younger brother. Really and truly. He had facial hair, a fine scruff that covered most of his face, but where I could see, he had excellent skin tone and very few wrinkles. I’d considered the possibility that my mom would eventually start dating again, and maybe even remarry, but I wanted her husband to look distinguished. Hank Millar came off as a frat boy hiding under a shark-gray suit.
    At Coopersmith’s, Hank parked in the rear lot. As we climbed out, my new cell phone chirped. I’d texted Vee my new number before leaving, and it appeared she’d received it.
    BABE! I’M @ UR HOUSE. WHERE R U?
    “I’ll meet you inside,” I told Mom and Hank. “Text,” I explained, jiggling my cell.
    Mom sent me a black look that said,
Make it fast,
then took Hank’s arm and let him escort her toward the restaurant doors.
    I keyed in a response to Vee.
    GUESS WHERE IAM.
    CLUE? she texted back.
    SWEAR U WON’T TELL A SOUL?
    U HAVE 2 ASK ?
    I reluctantly texted, @ DINNER W. MARCIE’S DAD .
    #?@#$?!&
    MY MOM IS DATING HIM .
    TRAITOR! IF THEY GET MARRIED, U & MARCIE …
    COULD USE A LITTLE CONSOLATION HERE!
    DOES HE KNOW UR TEXTING ME ? Vee asked.
    NO. THEY R INSIDE. I’M IN THE PARKING LOT—COOPERSMITH’S.
    THE PIMP. 2 GOOD 4 APPLEBEE’S, I SEE .
    I’M GOING 2 ORDER THE MOST EXPENSIVE THING ON THE MENU. IF ALL GOES WELL, I’M GOING TO THROW HANK’S DRINK IN HIS FACE 2.
    HA! DON’T BOTHER. I’LL COME PICK U UP. WE NEED 2 HANG OUT. BEEN 2 LONG. DYING 2 SEE U!
    THIS SUCKS SO BAD ! I texted back. I HAVE 2 STAY. MOM IS ON THE WARPATH .
    TURNING ME DOWN ?!
    PAYING FAMILY DUES. CUT ME SOME SLACK .
    DID I MENTION I’M DYING 2 SEE U ?
    ME 2. UR THE BEST, U KNOW THAT, RIGHT ?
    WORD.
    MEET @ ENZO’S TOMORROW 4 LUNCH? NOON?
    DEAL.
    Hanging up, I crossed the gravel parking lot and let myself inside. The lights were dim, the decor masculine and rustic with brick walls, red leather booths, and antler chandeliers. The smell of sizzling meat overwhelmed the air, and the TVs over the bar blared the day’s sports highlights.
    “My party just came in a minute ago,” I told the hostess. “The reservation is under the name Hank Millar.”
    She beamed. “Yes, Hank just came in. My dad used to golf with him, so I know him really well. He’s like a second father to me. I’m sure the divorce has just devastated him, so it’s really nice to see him dating again.”
    I recalled Marcie’s earlier comment that her mom