The Survivor - Cristin Harber Page 0,66
friend was involved.”
It was only a matter of time before Mom would break out science analogies amidst her questions. Amanda had no choice but to give them more details. “I didn’t know that he was Dylan’s younger brother.”
“If you didn’t ask, and he didn’t say…” Dad frowned. “Why would he think that you knew?”
She stared at the ceiling. “It was obvious Jared Westin and Parker Black knew.” Tears burned the back of her throat. “And that I was the reason they didn’t speak up.”
Dad’s cell phone chirped, and he quickly unclipped it from his belt and read the screen. “I’m sorry. I have to get back.”
They’d been here longer than she could’ve expected. Besides, if they left, no one would remind her how stupid her contracts and rules had been. “It’s fine. I’ll come over for lunch soon—”
“I’m free for the rest of the day,” Mom volunteered.
“How’d you manage that?” Dad asked.
“Someone phoned in a threat to free the test animals in the science building.”
“Mom.” Amanda scowled. “You test animals in the labs?”
“No.” Mom scoffed. “I suspect someone wasn’t ready for an exam. If so, they got their wish. Campus is closed for the day.”
The cell phone chirped again. “That’s my cue. I have to run.” Dad hugged Amanda. “Bye, kiddo.” Then he laid a smooch on Mom that made Amanda turn away.
The majority of the security detail left with Dad. Mom’s detail remained in the hallway and outside the building. Once the entourage had left, Amanda fell apart again. Mom coaxed her onto the couch and went into the kitchen to set a kettle on the stove.
She returned to Amanda’s side. “Dylan’s younger brother—”
“Hagan.” She wrapped her arms around her knees and hugged them to her chest.
“He’s the man you kicked.”
She pressed her forehead into her kneecaps and moaned. “Yeah.”
Mom sat down and rubbed Amanda’s back. “He’s a handsome guy.”
“I know.” Amanda leaned against her mom. “It turns out I’m not a robot.”
Mom sighed. “So, you liked him?”
“That’s an understatement.”
“You like him a lot?” Mom put an arm around Amanda. “Something more?”
Amanda translated into a language her mother might understand. “He agitates my molecules.”
Mom laughed. “That’s a good thing, baby.”
“Not really, Mom.”
“Miscommunications won’t ruin agitation.” She crossed her leg and hummed, quietly teasing, “If that’s not an example of scientific law, I don’t know what is.”
“We’re pretty far beyond a miscommunication.” Amanda sniffled. “He hates me, and I don’t blame him.”
The kettle whistled, and Mom stood. “If he’s part of Dylan’s family, he’s got a good head on his shoulders. You two just need time.”
“I wish I had your optimism,” she muttered.
“Maybe it comes with age.” Mom lifted her hands, then walked into the kitchen. The kettle stopped whistling. The mugs clanked on the counter, and she called, “Why don’t you call Halle? She could always use a girls’ night in.”
Halle was surprisingly easy to convince, and an hour later, she arrived with three pints of ice cream as Mom opened the microwave to make popcorn. Amanda queued up her Netflix, and they settled in with their junk food.
Seven o’clock rolled around, and like clockwork, the Secret Service’s shifts changed. Amanda didn’t recognize the agent but found comfort in their routine. Same stations, same rotation, no matter who worked the detail.
Maybe that was the problem with her rules and contracts. The presidential detail allowed for a routine with moving parts. Amanda never allowed for deviation, believing she’d never change. Got that wrong…This was an awful way to learn her lesson.
Halle excused herself to take a call near the end of the movie. Mom had fallen asleep on the couch sometime after that. Amanda made it her duty to finish off her mom’s ice cream and pick at Halle’s popcorn until she returned, somewhat more sour than normal.
Amanda paused the movie. “Everything okay on your call?”
“Yeah.” Halle waved for her to turn the movie back on, then struggled to find a comfortable place on the floor, fidgeting until the credits roll ended.
“Maybe I should call Hagan,” Amanda mumbled and tossed the remote on the floor. “Or maybe not.”
“That’s my vote,” Halle added. “Let him wait.”
Amanda frowned. “It’s not like he’s in the wrong.”
Halle shrugged. “So long as it’s just us tonight.”
That made Amanda smile. Just like they avoided guy-talk, they generally didn’t stretch girls’ nights in. Halle was too high-strung to sit around and do nothing. “Maybe we should do this more often.”
Halle didn’t look well. “Maybe.”
Mom stirred and stretched, yawning. “Did I miss the end?”
“Not by much,” Amanda said.
“That’s