chiseled mouth relaxed. All thought of anyone else vanished.
Chapter 4
We pulled up to my parents’ house at about seven o’clock. Peter’s car was a big black Mercedes with a powerful engine and comfortable leather seats. It also had a backseat big enough to hold my folded up wheelchair, if only just.
It had taken a lot of courage to ask him to come with me. I was shocked when he accepted. He seemed pleased, like it was an honor or something. I would have laughed if he hadn’t been so touched.
He parked the car out front, behind my father’s Lincoln, and I took a deep breath, bracing myself for the fun to come. Peter looked at me in concern. “Are you afraid they won’t like me?”
I laughed. “Oh, they won’t like you.” He gave me a surprised look, a little bit of hurt in his eyes, and I rushed on to explain. “They wouldn’t like you if you were Jesus.” I sighed, puffing my bangs out of my eyes. “You’re a guy. And I’m just their little mentally impaired and completely vulnerable little girl.”
He nodded slowly. “I see.” He gave my hand a squeeze before going around to get my chair. The curtains in the front window twitched and I knew Mom was watching. I had no doubt she was giving my dad and sister the play by play, interjecting any number of crazy hypotheses about Peter’s origins and intentions- not to mention my lack of good judgment. Peter opened my door for me and I waited for him to bring my chair close so I could transfer in myself. Instead, he stooped and slid an arm behind my back and under my knees. He cradled me in his arms and lifted me slowly, masking just how effortless the maneuver really was. He gently placed me in my chair, and I felt bereft without his touch.
Mom greeted us at the door, looking Peter up and down before taking him in to introduce him to Dad and Chelsea. I could hear the unvoiced judgments, and it made me want to shout at her, but I restrained myself. She held me back for a moment with a hand on my wheelchair. “He’s kind of old for you isn’t he?” Her voice was pleasant, unaware that she was being judgmental.
“He’s the same age I am, Mom,” I said patiently. He could be, if he wasn’t immortal. But no need to bring that up. I wheeled into the living room to find Peter obliviously flipping through a Time magazine while Dad glared at him, and Chelsea drooled. He was dressed up tonight, wearing a pair of pants that fit him well and a grey silk shirt that made his dark green eyes stand out. I didn’t blame my sister a bit.
Chelsea was one of those girls you want to hate, but just can’t. She was a senior in college with a perfect grade point average. Every aspect of her appearance was perfect, from her meticulously straightened and highlighted blond hair- tucked artfully behind an ear- to her shiny red leather ballet flats. Peter looked up from his magazine when I entered the room, and she took the opportunity to flash him a dazzling smile. He was far too attractive and successful to be with me. Obviously, he had the wrong sister.
Dinner was an awkward affair as Mom and Dad tried to appear warm and welcoming, while being nothing of the sort. Mom considered Peter, her fork poised in her hand. “So, Melody tells me she met you on the subway?” The tone said it all. You picked her up on the subway.
Peter nodded and flashed her a brilliant smile. “Yes. I was running late and she held the door for me.” He turned the smile on me. “Melody is very considerate.”
My dad snorted. “And gullible,” he said shortly. Mom shot him a scandalized glance, though she was obviously thinking the same thing.
I glared at them both. “Knock it off,” I warned under my breath. Chelsea sniggered at me and asked me to pass the mashed potatoes.
They quizzed Peter about what he did for a living, his family, his religious beliefs, his education, and how we had met. “What do your parents do for a living,” Dad asked, at one point. I chewed slowly, watching Peter to see how he would handle the question.
Peter took a sip of his wine, and his expression softened. “My mom was a homemaker,” he said with a smile. “She took