“Get Callie her tea. She’ll want to hear all about the orchestra. Put a smile on your face and make her believe it was the best night of your life. Can you do that? I’ll pay you eighteen dollars an hour to do that.”
“Yes, sir.” I stand.
“Did you just call me ‘Sir’?”
“Yeah.”
He slides on his reading glasses and focuses on his computer screen. “There’s hope for you after all.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Flynn
Callie ison the covered balcony instead of in her room. She peeks open one eye when I set her tea on the table between the two loungers.
“It’s going to rain,” I say. “Not a great morning to watch the sunrise. Are we going to Pilates?”
“Yes. After you tell me about the orchestra. How did June look in her dress?”
I stretch out my legs, grateful we’re going to Pilates instead of practicing three hours of silence. “She looked nice. Thank you for doing that for her. For us.”
“Nice? Not beautiful? Elegant? Stunning?”
“Yes, all of those.”
“Did you like the orchestra?”
“It was fine.”
“Flynn, give me three better words than fine.”
“I didn’t graduate from high school.”
“Three other words for fine,” she repeats.
I sigh. “Good. Okay. And, uh … entertaining.”
“Where were your seats?”
“In the front row.”
She lifts her head. “Wonderful. I’m so glad you had good seats for your first time. The orchestra is such an emotional experience.”
“Mr. Rawlings said you thought June looked familiar.”
“How did this conversation come up?”
“Who does she remind you of?”
Callie sips her tea. “Why do you ask?”
“If you’re asking me why I’m asking you, then you probably know. Did she tell you?”
I ready myself to snap at her if she tries to say, “Tell me what?” But she doesn’t say that.
“There’s an edge to your tone, Flynn.”
“Probably because I’m feeling a littleedgythis morning.”
