She was glad to see Tom reach for the silver dial of the radio, filling the cab with Simon and Garfunkel. “The Sounds of Silence” was one of Sassy’s favourites, and the melody almost swept her anger away. Almost. She’d been meaning to learn it on the guitar—it wasn’t difficult, just a few simple chords—but she hadn’t yet. She didn’t realize she was humming along with the radio until the song ended and gave way to the Mamas and the Papas.
“Your dad told me you were a singer. You know this one, too?”
“?‘California Dreamin’,’?” she murmured, cheered by the music and intrigued. “Sure, I do. My dad called me a singer?”
“Well?”
She scoffed. “I’m not singing for you. I don’t perform on demand.”
“Fine. Just making conversation.”
She wasn’t sure why she didn’t like this man. He hadn’t done anything wrong. In fact, he was obviously making an effort to be nice. Whatever it was, something about Tom Duncan grated on her, so she kept quiet the rest of the drive. She knew the route to her father’s real estate office as well as she knew the walk to her apartment building, and the closer she got, the more she withdrew. She glanced sideways at Tom, but he didn’t speak again until they reached the building then parked.
“Nervous?” he drawled. That little curl at the side of his mouth was definitely teasing now.
Sassy climbed the three storeys to her father’s office then walked in, remembering at the last second to stop at the receptionist’s desk. As a little girl, she’d gotten away with dashing into his private office and acting cute whenever she arrived, but that kind of allowance had gone the way of her pigtails.
Miss Sloane had her hair up in a beehive today, and her green-rimmed cat’s-eye glasses matched her olive-coloured turtleneck almost exactly.
“You’re looking hip,” Sassy said.
Miss Sloane glowed with the compliment, but her smile subsided as she remembered the reason for Sassy’s visit. “Thank you, Susan. It’s nice to see you again. Go right in. Your father’s waiting for you.”
He was turning pages in a binder, checking them against another piece of paper at the side, and Sassy saw photographs of buildings flip by. She stood still, waiting for his cue.
She knew she was spoiled, like Tom had said. She knew she had it easy, like Davey suggested when he’d come to her for money and a place to stay. She’d never admitted to any of her friends how wealthy her family was, but she’d come close when she told Davey about the deal her father had made about her rent. It wasn’t that she was embarrassed about how much money they had, she just didn’t see any point in flaunting it.
From the very beginning, she and her father had been close. He loved Joey, but Sassy was the apple of her father’s eye. While she couldn’t remember a lot from when she was little, she’d seen pictures of him carrying her on his shoulders, pushing her on swings, laughing as they shared an ice cream cone. Those photos,he told her later, had been taken by her mother. Then she died, and Sassy got older. He devoted more time to his business, and she’d seen him less. After Joey left, her father had barely been home at all. She understood that. The big red house was so big and empty it practically echoed with every step, every sound. Now that Sassy was on her own, she imagined he basically lived at the office.
He didn’t notice her in the doorway, so she sniffed to get his attention. He glanced up, and her heart broke a little, seeing his initial joy quickly melt away.
“We have some things to talk about, Susan.”
“I’m sorry, Dad,” she said, stepping up until she was across the desk from him. She bit her lip to keep from crying. She hated disappointing him. “Thank you for bailing me out.”
“You assaulted a policeman,” he said flatly.
“He was being mean to my friend,” she replied lamely.
“You pushed him. A policeman.” He shook his head. “Never in my life did I imagine either of my children would be a criminal. I am so ashamed of you.”
The floor dropped beneath her. “I’m sorry, Dad,” she whispered.
“What kind of peaceful antiwar protestor shoves a cop? You know what that makes you?”
She blinked and her vision blurred. “No, sir.”
“A hypocrite, Susan. You are a criminal and a hypocrite. And if the policeman hadn’t been so kind, you’d have a criminal record for the rest of your life.”
She’d assumed she did have one now, so in the midst of this terrible storm, this was a sunbeam of good news. Not enough to change much with her father, though.
“What do you have to say for yourself?”
“I… I got carried away. It was exciting out there, and then the police stopped us and—”
“Were you high, young lady?”
Her cheeks burned. “A little.”
