Kiss of Death Page 0,14

to talk to Shane first." Oh God, now they were bargaining. Or she was being blackmailed. Sometimes it was hard to tell the difference. Claire mumbled that she'd try, or something like that, choked down another bite of food that no longer tasted even a little good, and jumped up to clear her plate. "Claire!" her mother called after her as she dashed into the kitchen. "You're not running off tonight, are you? I was hoping we could spend some time with you!"

"You just did," Claire muttered as she rinsed the plate and put it in the dishwasher. She raised her voice and yelled back, "Can't, Mom! I've got to study! All my books are over at the Glass House!"

"Well, you're not walking over there in the dark," Mom said. "Obviously."

"I told you, I've got a pin from Amelie! They're not going to bother me!" Her dad opened the door of the kitchen. "And what about just garden-variety humans? You think that little pin protects you from everything that could hurt you?"

"Dad--"

"I worry about you, Claire. You take these risks, and I don't know why. I don't know why you think it's okay." She bit her lip. There was something in his voice, a kind of weary disappointment that cut her to the core and nearly brought tears to her eyes. She loved him, but he could be so clueless. "I didn't say I'd walk, Dad," she said. "I make mistakes, sure, but I'm not stupid. " She took out her cell phone, dialed a number, and turned her back on her father. When Eve answered with a bright, chirping, "Hit me!" Claire said, "Can you come get me? At my house?"

"Claire," her father said. She turned to look at him. "Dad, I really have to study."

"I know," he said. "I'll drive you home." He said it with a funny little smile, sad and resigned. And it wasn't until she smiled that she realized what he'd really said. Home. The Glass House. "It's hard for us to let go," he said. "You know that, right?" She did. She hesitated for a second, then said into the phone, "Never mind, Eve. Sorry. Dad's bringing me." Then she hugged her father, and he hugged her back, hard, and kissed her gently on the forehead. "I love you, sweetie."

"I know. I love you, too."

"But not enough to eat more stuffed bell peppers and play Jenga with your folks."

"No more bell peppers, but I'd completely play Jenga," she said. "One game?" He hugged her even harder. "I'll get the game." Three games of Jenga later, Claire was tired, happy, and a little bit sad. She'd seen her mom laugh, and her dad look happy, and that was good, but there'd been something odd about it, too. She felt like a visitor, as if she didn't fit here anymore, the way she once had. They were her family, but seen from the outside. She had too many experiences now that didn't include them. "Claire," her dad said as he drove her home through the darkened streets of Morganville. It was quiet out, only a few cars moving about. Two of them were white police cruisers. At least three other cars they passed had heavy tinting, too heavy for humans to see through. "Your mom had a talk with me, and I'm not going to insist you keep on living at home with us. If you want to live with your friends, you can."

"Really?" She sat up straight, looking at him. "You mean it?"

"I don't see how it makes much difference. You're seventeen, and a more independent seventeen than I ever was. You've got a job and responsibilities beyond anything I can really understand. It doesn't make much sense for us to keep trying to treat you like a sheltered little girl." He hesitated, then went on. "And I sound like the worst dad in the world, don't I?"

"No," she said. "No, you don't. You sound like--like you understand." He sighed. "Your mother thinks if we just put more restrictions on you, things would get back to normal. You'd go back to being the same little girl she knew. But they won't, and you won't. I know that." He sounded a little sad about it, and she remembered how she'd felt at the house--a little out of place, as if she were a visitor in their lives. Her life was splitting off on its own. It was such a strange feeling. "But about Shane--," her father