Good Lord.He sure as hell hoped he was mistaken aboutthat.
“What’s up?” He spun, walking over to turn down the volume ofBack in Black, one of his favorite albums to crank up while he was working—and to put some space between him and thegroupies.
“Here, Dad,” Stephanie said, and shoved a button-down shirt at him. Christ, was she embarrassed too? But he could relate. It must be like the time she was walking toward him on the beach in one of those damn little bikinis the girls all seemed to wear now and he got to watch how all the young men noticed her—no, ogled, slathered,drooled—as she strolledby.
Mortifying.
“Thanks. What’s up?” he asked again, acutely aware of the blushes—yet avid looks—that had colored the faces of his daughter’s friends. Awk-ward, as Steph would say. He began to struggle into the shirt—which was easier said than done, considering how damp and sweaty hewas.
“We’re leaving, Dad! I just came to let you know. You’ll be at Paul Hammady’s house by six,right?”
He realized for the first time that his daughter’s hair was twisted up in a fancy style for which he’d paid an unreal amount of money, and that she was holding a garment bag and a pair of impossibly high-heeledshoes.
You’re going to break your neckwalkingin those, he wanted to say.Forget about dancing.But he didn’t. He was still feeling his way around as the new dad, and wasn’t completely certain what his boundaries were—both in general, and in front of herfriends.
God help him if she ever got aboyfriend.
Which…would be over his dead body. At least until she wasthirty.
Fortunately, she didn’t have an official date for tonight’s dance. It was just a group of friends—both guys and gals—eating dinner, then going together. He heartilyapproved.
“Right. I’ll be there. Six o’clock at Hammadys’ house. You left me theaddress?”
“I texted it to youyesterday,Dad.”
“Right. Thanks. Okay, I’ll see youthen.”
“I guess all the parents are going out for dinner after,” Stephanie added with a sly look after her friends had stepped out of earshot. “I told Brooklyn’s mom you’d definitely want togo.”
“All right. Thanks,” he said, then, despite the stinky sweatiness of himself, gave her a good smacking kiss on the cheek. “I’ll see you there. You look great so far. I can’t wait to see you in yourdress.”
“Thanks, Dad,” she said, smiling. “And by the way,” she said, leaning toward him with a furtive glance toward her friends’ backs, her brow furrowing with disgust, “you should know they were creeping pics of you on their cell phones while you were working. I just hope they don’t tag me when they post themonline.”
What?Holy crap—post them online? What thehell?
But Declan couldn’t even get the words out—he didn’t even know where to begin—before Stephanie wasgone.
How did this happen to me?he wondered, turning around aimlessly.How did I get to be the father of a teenager whose friends take pictures of meon their cellphones?
His face was hot and flaming now, and it had nothing to do with the furnace or his work. Sonofabitch, if Baxter or Ethan ever heard about this, he was never going to live it down. If Emily Delton found out… Good God. OrLeslie…
Jesus. I need a damnedbeer.
But the forge was calling him, and if he got back to it, he could finish the main curve of that piece before he had to get in the shower and make himself presentable for the Homecoming Dance picture fest. As that might take some time, he mused, he figured he’d better get back towork.
* * *
By the timeDeclan emerged from his work, it was almost five. He swore when he saw the time—and the number of texts and voice mails that had come through while he was jamming to AC/DC andNirvana.
At first, his heart leaped into his throat when he saw all of them from Stephanie, and a few calls and texts from a number that was familiar but he didn’t recognize. What hadhappened?
But he calmed down after he realized if something was really wrong, someone would have come pounding on the door of the workshop…and then he smiled. The familiar number might be Leslie Nakano’s. It probably was, after all, checking in after lastnight…
Like a responsible father, though, he read the six texts from Stephaniefirst.
Mrs. Delton’s car won’t start. She really wants to be here for the pics. I told her you’d pick her up. Okay, Dad?Followed by winky face and laughingface.
The rest of the texts were along the same line:Dad? Can you please get back to her? I told her you’d pick herup.
