Silence by Becca Fitzpatrick Page B

had friends everywhere. I prayed Coopersmith’s wasn’t on her radar, fearing how fast news of this date might travel. “I guess it depends on who you ask,” I mumbled.
    The hostess’s smile turned flustered. “Oh! How thoughtless ofme. You’re right. I’m sure his ex-wife would disagree. I shouldn’t have said anything. Right this way, please.”
    She’d missed my point, but I left it alone. I followed her past the bar, down a short flight of steps, and into the sunken dining area. Black-and-white photos of famous mobsters hung on both brick walls. The tabletops were constructed from old ship hatch covers. Rumor had it the slate floor had been imported from a ruined castle in France and dated back to the sixteenth century. I made a mental note that Hank was fond of old things.
    Hank rose from his chair when he saw me approach. Ever the gentleman. If only he knew what I had in store for him.
    “Was that Vee texting you?” Mom asked.
    I dropped into a chair and propped up the menu to obstruct my view of Hank. “Yes.”
    “How is she?”
    “Fine.”
    “Same old Vee?” she teased.
    I made a consenting noise.
    “The two of you should get together this weekend,” she suggested.
    “Already covered.”
    After a moment, my mom picked up her own menu. “Well! Everything looks wonderful. It’s going to be hard to decide. What do you think you’ll have, Nora?”
    I scanned the price column, looking for the most exorbitant figure.
    Suddenly Hank coughed and loosened his tie, as though he’d swallowed water down the wrong tube. His eyes went a little wide in disbelief. I followed his gaze and saw Marcie Millar stroll into the restaurant with her mom. Susanna Millar hung her cardigan on the antique coatrack just inside the front doors, then both she and Marcie followed the hostess to a table four down from ours.
    Susanna Millar took a chair with her back to us, and I was pretty sure she hadn’t noticed. Marcie, on the other hand, who was seated opposite her mom, did a double take in the middle of picking up her ice water. She paused with the glass inches from her mouth. Her eyes mimicked her dad’s, growing wide with shock. They traveled from Hank, to my mom, finally stopping at me.
    Marcie leaned across the table and whispered a few words to her mom. Susanna’s posture stiffened.
    A tight feeling of impending disaster slid through my stomach and didn’t stop until it settled in my toes.
    Marcie pushed out of her chair abruptly. Her mom grabbed for her arm, but Marcie was faster. She marched over.
    “So,” she said, stopping at the edge of our table. “Y’all having a nice little dinner out?”
    Hank cleared his throat. He glanced at my mom once, shutting his eyes briefly in silent apology.
    “Can I give an outsider’s opinion?” Marcie continued in a bizarrely cheerful voice.
    “Marcie,” Hank said, warning creeping into his tone.
    “Now that you’re eligible, Dad, you’re going to want to be careful who you date.” For all her bravado, I noticed that Marcie’s arms had adopted a fine tremble. Maybe out of anger, but oddly, it looked more like fear to me.
    With his lips barely moving, Hank murmured, “I’m asking you politely to go back to your mother and enjoy your meal. We can talk about this later.”
    Not about to be deterred, Marcie continued, “This is going to sound harsh, but it will save you a lot of pain in the end. Some women are gold diggers. They only want you for your money.” Her gaze locked solidly on my mom.
    I stared at Marcie, and even I could feel my eyes flashing with hostility. Her dad sold cars! Maybe in Coldwater that amounted to an impressive career choice, but she was acting like her family had a pedigree and so many trust funds they were tripping on them! If my mom was a gold digger, she could do much—
much
—better than a sleazy car salesman named Hank.
    “And Coopersmith’s, of all places,” Marcie went on, a note of disgust overshadowing her cheery tone.