Part 14 (1/2)

”Oh,” I said softly. ”I love you, too.”

Chapter Sixteen.

The next few days pa.s.sed in a happy blur. Dex loved me! I loved him! How could life possibly get any better?

Okay, so there was still the lingering issue of whether I was going to London in the fall. But now that the L-word had been said, how could I possibly go? Which wasn't to say I'd definitely made up my mind, but all of the reasons to go to London-the culture, the excitement, the adventure-seemed insignificant when compared to love.

I still hadn't gotten to the bottom of why Dex and Wendy had been together at the mall the other day. All of my concerns that night had been swept away after Dex told me he was in love with me, and it hadn't felt right to bring it up again since then. But I had to believe that Dex was telling the truth about not being romantically interested in Wendy. He wouldn't have told me he was in love with me if he still had feelings for her.

But other than my lingering worries about Wendy, everything-for once-seemed to be going my way. I'd been taking Amelia to the pool every day, and under Dex's tutelage, she was turning into a little fish. She clearly liked Dex better than she liked me. She laughed at his jokes and obviously wanted to please him with her progress during her lessons. Still, I thought that maybe she was lowering her defenses a bit with me, too. I wasn't sure if Amelia's mom knew about the swimming lessons. I'd mentioned we'd been to the pool, which had surprised Mrs. Fisher, although she hadn't objected, especially once I'd a.s.sured her there were lifeguards on duty.

I was getting a lot of writing done while Amelia practiced. I'd been slowly expanding on How to Get Noticed, and was pleased with how well it was coming out.

At the beach house, there had been a sharp decrease in the amount of fighting. In fact, I hadn't heard a raised voice since the night Hannah came home. Surprisingly, Dad and Peyton hadn't been at all upset with Hannah for setting up an appointment with the marriage counselor. They'd just nodded thoughtfully, and said it was something they'd been thinking they should do, and thanked Hannah for her help. I couldn't believe it. If I'd been the one to make the appointment, Peyton would have thrown a hissy. It seemed to be working, though. After only one counseling session, Peyton and Dad were going out of their way to be polite to each other and to us. Peyton even offered to make me toast one morning before I went to work, which nearly caused me to fall over in shock. Coming from Peyton, this was tantamount to her making a tearful announcement that she wanted to adopt me.

Finally, I was starting to think that maybe-just maybe-I might possibly pa.s.s my driving test after all. Or, at least, I was no longer convinced I would fail. Despite the mailbox incident, my dad had taken me out every night to practice driving, and I was definitely getting better. I could now perform a three-point turn, change lanes without sideswiping another vehicle, and had even successfully merged into traffic on the highway once. Still, success was by no means guaranteed. The looming possibility of epic failure continued to gnaw at me.

”What if I fail?” I said during dinner Sunday night.

Dad had grilled some fish, which we were eating taco-style, folded into tortillas with cheese, diced avocados, and sour cream. Or, at least, Dad and I were eating. Peyton never ate anything. She mostly just pushed her food around on the plate. Hannah, too, was picking at her food.

”Aren't you hungry, Hannah?” Dad asked.

Hannah shook her head and pushed her plate away. ”My casting call is in the morning. I don't want to look bulgy.”

”I don't think that's a word,” I said. ”Besides, even if it was, you're not.”

”But I will be if I eat a taco,” Hannah said.

”Why don't you take the fish out and eat that?” Dad suggested.

Hannah considered this, and finally nodded, pulling her plate back and picking out the slices of white fish. This problem solved, Dad turned to me.

”You won't fail,” he said. ”You're doing great.”

”I hit the garbage can when I was backing up today,” I reminded him.

He'd set up two garbage cans a few car lengths apart so I could practice backing up in a straight line. Instead, I'd backed into one garbage can and then, panicking, pulled forward, overcorrected, and backed up into the other.

Peyton noticeably stiffened, and I thought her eye might have twitched, but rather than criticizing me, she just took a deep breath and continued to pretend to eat.

That was unusual, I thought. Normally, Peyton relished every chance she got to criticize me.

”You've gone from mailboxes to garbage cans. That's an improvement,” Dad said cheerily. ”Besides, we needed a new garbage can anyway. The old one had a crack in the lid.”

I glanced at Peyton again. Still no reaction.

”I'm going to have to back up on a real road around actual cars during my driver's test,” I said.

”We'll keep practicing,” Dad promised. He glanced at Peyton. ”Do you like your tacos, honey?”

”They're wonderful, dear,” Peyton said smoothly, although I hadn't seen her take a single bite. ”Thank you for making dinner.”

”You're welcome. Thank you for setting the table,” Dad said.

”Happy to help,” Peyton replied.

Hannah and I glanced at each other. They were being bizarrely polite. It was the nicest they'd been toward each other in ages.

”Are you excited about your first modeling a.s.signment tomorrow?” Dad asked Hannah.

”It's just the casting call. I haven't been hired yet,” Hannah said. But her smile and the small wriggle gave away how excited she really was.

”What time do you have to be there?” Dad asked.

”Nine o'clock. And it's down in West Palm, so we'll have to leave early,” Hannah said. ”Right, Mom?”

”I think we'll be fine if we leave by eight,” Peyton said.

Dad frowned. ”Don't forget there'll be heavy traffic. You'll be right in the middle of the morning rush hour.”

”I know how to drive, Richard,” Peyton said, in the cold tone I was more used to hearing her speaking in.

”I know you know how to drive. But I don't think you've ever had to drive south during the morning rush, have you?” Dad asked. There was a definite edge to his voice.

Peyton's eyes flashed, and she opened her mouth, clearly getting ready to blast Dad with a stinging retort. But instead, she closed her mouth, drew in a deep breath through her flared nostrils, and said in a very calm voice, ”When you say I've never driven in rush hour, I feel like you're implying that I've never had a real job. And that makes me feel as though I'm being criticized.”

Hannah and I both stared at her. It was such an oddly un-Peyton-like thing to say.

Dad cleared his throat. ”I didn't mean to diminish what you do. I very much appreciate all of the hard work you do running our home. I'm just concerned that you won't give yourself enough time to get there, and will end up rus.h.i.+ng. I don't want you getting into an accident.”

Hannah's and my heads swiveled from my father back to Peyton, as though we were spectators at a tennis match. I wanted to ask my dad what exactly he was talking about in regard to Peyton's hard work in running the house. She didn't really do anything, other than writing out checks for the various housekeepers and gardeners she employed. But I figured this wasn't the best time to bring it up.

”I appreciate your concern. Would it make you feel better if Hannah and I leave at seven thirty instead?” Peyton asked.

”Yes, it would,” Dad replied.

”All right, then, we'll leave at seven thirty, Hannah,” Peyton said. She took a sip of water and pretended to nibble on a black bean.

”Um, okay,” Hannah said, shooting me another confused look.

”That was weird,” Hannah said, walking into my room without knocking after dinner. I was sitting on the floor, rubbing Willow's stomach, while she lay on her back, all four legs waving in the air. Willow grunted with bliss.