The Four Stages of Loving Dutch Owen - Debra Kayn Page 0,85
as she kept one foot on the carpet, one on the wood.
"Hands off the rail and walk in the middle of the stairs, Katie," reminded Ms. Gray from behind her.
For a fleeting moment, she wished Ms. Gray walked in front of her. She could imagine the middle-aged woman tripping on the runner she thought was so important to walk on, and toppling down the thirty-two steps.
A flash of bright light came through the high windows above the entryway. She gasped, stopping midway down.
"It's only lightning." Ms. Gray touched her back, pushing her to keep going. "Don't dawdle."
Her father died during a storm, much like the one tonight. She walked slower. Was her mother home or on the road up the hill to the gated community? Or was she crossing the Megler Bridge?
"At the rate of speed you're moving, you'll be late," said Ms. Gray.
She stepped off the stairs and turned to face her nanny. "She'll fire you."
"What are you talking about?"
"Mother." She shrugged. "She gets rid of all my nannies. You have to find it strange that she hired you to watch me. How many twelve-year-old girls have you babysat before?"
"Go on with you." Ms. Gray planted her hands on Katie's shoulders and turned her. "If you have questions about my employment, ask your mother."
Like that was going to happen. The less Katie talked to her mom, the easier her life was.
She walked down the hallway, turned the corner past the kitchen, and stepped inside of the formal dining room at the back of the house.
Believing her mother would be late, she stopped in surprise at the sight of her mom sitting at the head of the table.
Her mother's gigantic smile landed on her, though the joy at seeing her daughter never reached her mom's eyes. Her mom's arched brows raised even higher as Katie remained standing in the archway. Obviously, she was expected to do something she forgot, and already her mom was upset at her.
"Darling." Her mom came at her with her arms spread out wide to her sides, taking small steps on high heels as if she walked across hot coals.
Her mom's brown hair, dyed even lighter than the last time she'd seen her, flowed around her shoulders. Was that a new dress?
Her mom hugged her. Not a normal hug like she'd receive from her teacher on her birthday, but one of those hugs where her mom squeezed her upper arms with her hands, forcing her to lean backward and always left red marks on her arms.
"Behave, or you'll regret it," whispered her mom.
Flowery perfume filled her nostrils. Through her mother's heavily sprayed hair, she noticed a man standing at the side of the table.
She stiffened, and her mom let go of her, but not before grabbing her hand and dragging her forward to the table.
"Katie, this is Dr. Race Conner. Please, say hello to him." Her mother rushed to sit down.
Left alone at the side of the table, opposite the man, she eyed him carefully. He was quieter than the men her mother usually brought to dinner at the house. His dark, brown hair touched his shoulders. He was more unkempt than the other men her mom hung around, too. Though he wore a cream-colored dress shirt and black trousers, he skipped wearing a tie and had rolled up the sleeves of his shirt past his elbows.
He had whiskers, darkening his jaw. Katie tilted her head, studying the shadow on his face. Her father had shaved every morning. When she was little, she would often hear the buzz from his shaver through the wall to her bathroom.
"Hello, Katie," said Dr. Conner in a low voice that was almost too quiet.
"Hello." She pulled out her chair and slipped onto the seat, putting her hands on her lap under the table.
Her mom pointed to her napkin, then put the cloth on her lap. "Betsy, please serve dinner."
Copying her mother's manners, she sat still. Adults hated hearing children talk, especially at dinner, she was used to sitting quietly.
Betsy, one of the three women who worked in the kitchen, brought in the plates, already fixed. The guest must be important, because her mother ordered steak and lobster to be served. On nights when her mother wasn't home, Katie ate in the kitchen. Usually, some form of chicken dinner. A lot of rice and chicken, noodles and chicken, vegetable medley and chicken.
She hated chicken.
The different offering made her stomach to growl. She picked up her fork.