Daughter of Light (3 page)

“You don’t need me to promise,” I said. “But I will.”

“Good luck, then, Lorelei, and watch yourself. The road ain’t no place for a grown man, much less a young girl,” he added.

“Thanks again,” I said, and watched him walk off.

I looked out the window when my dessert arrived and saw him getting into his truck. Moments later, he pulled away and disappeared on the highway, swallowed up by the same darkness that awaited me, a darkness without promise except for the promise of more danger and unhappiness.

“Excuse me,” I heard just as I lifted my fork to eat some of the apple pie I had ordered.

A young man in a gray pinstripe suit and black tie poured his smile down at me like someone hoping to wash away any resistance to speaking to a stranger. He had wavy, neatly styled dark brown hair and soft hazel eyes that seemed to sparkle in the restaurant’s bright lights. Clean-shaven with that well-manicured
GQ
look, he leaned against the back of the booth a little arrogantly. He was someone who knew how good-looking he was, and Daddy had once told me that those sorts of people spent most of their time posing for imaginary cameras. “Usually,” he had said, “they are a lot more vulnerable than they could ever imagine.”

“Yes?”

“I’ve been in the booth right behind you,” he said, pausing as if I were to understand everything from that fact.

“Yes?” I said again, practically demanding that he come to his point and tell me what he wanted.

“Being alone and bored,” he explained, “I permitted
myself to eavesdrop on your conversation with that truck driver who gave you a ride.”

“I’m not sure that was something you had a right to permit yourself to do,” I told him, and he laughed.

“You sound more like a lawyer than I do, and I am one. Anyway, I overheard that you were heading to San Francisco and waiting for the bus.”

“So?”

“I’m heading there myself. I could give you a ride.”

“I see.” I shifted my eyes back to my dessert. I was dependent on the kindness of strangers at the moment, perhaps, but I still had to be careful. I couldn’t just immediately agree to go with him before I knew more about him, could I? Moses the truck driver’s warnings were still fresh in my ears.

The young man didn’t get discouraged by my lack of enthusiasm and gratitude and walk away. I looked up at him again.

“Have you ever ridden on these buses?” he asked.

“No.”

“You don’t want to get on one of these buses if you can help it. The lowest element of traveler takes the bus. It’s no place for an attractive young girl. All sorts of creeps will bother you, and the bus driver won’t care. I know what I’m talking about, believe me.”

“Really?” I asked. “How do you know? Did you used to ride buses?”

He laughed. “No, but clients told me, and I heard from other people, especially young girls who had had some horrendous experiences. In one case, I had to sue
the bus company for negligence.” He nodded at the seat across from me. “Mind?”

“No.”

He sat. “I really am a lawyer,” he said, obviously to make me comfortable.

I still looked skeptical, so he reached into his inside jacket pocket to produce a business card and handed it to me. It read: “Keith Burton, Attorney at Law, Burton, Marcus, and Lester.” It had a San Francisco address.

“I was down this way because I had to do a deposition. You know what that is?” he asked, taking back his card.

“Yes. You were getting testimony for a case.”

“Exactly. It fell to me to make this trip since no one else wanted to do it and I’m the youngest partner,” he said with a smirk. “The deposition took longer than I anticipated, or else I’d be back by now. These things always drag on. I could have stayed overnight but decided I’d rather go home. You’d be doing me a favor if you came along. It would be great to have some company. I’m tired of my CDs, and I hate talk radio. Anyway, I just found out I have to be in court tomorrow, so I have little choice in the matter.”

He signaled the waitress.

“Could you bring me another cup of coffee, please?” He smiled at me. “Please,” he said, nodding at my apple pie, “don’t let me interrupt your eating. I had a piece of that, too. It’s great. The only advantage in coming out to these off-the-beaten-path places is usually they have food that tastes like real home cooking.”

I started to eat again. He smiled, nodded, and looked around. I thought he was acting quite nervous, but I attributed that to his approaching me. Maybe, despite his good looks, he wasn’t that experienced when it came to girls. And yet I didn’t sense any shyness. Ava used to say we could smell it.

“So, are you from San Francisco?” he asked.

“No. I’m going to visit an elderly aunt of mine. I’ve been promising her I would for a long time.”

“That’s very nice of you. In this country, the elderly are often put on a shelf and forgotten. Until they can be declared incompetent or something and their children or grandchildren can get control of whatever wealth they still possess, that is. I just fought one of those cases recently. I kept the wolves at bay, but I had the feeling it wasn’t going to be too much longer before I could do nothing more for the poor old lady.”

“How long have you been an attorney?”

“Nearly fourteen years now,” he said.

“You don’t look that old.”

“Believe me, in my profession, that is not an advantage. Everyone wants to treat you as if you’re a naive kid just learning the ropes. Even the court clerks and security people treat you with less respect. I was thinking about growing a beard. What do you think? Would it help?”

“Probably not, unless it was gray,” I said, and he laughed.

“You don’t have school or anything right now?”

“I have a break,” I said.

He nodded. The waitress brought him his coffee,
and he sipped it and then looked around. “I’m always amazed at how many people are out and about during dinnertime. Most of these people aren’t travelers. I can tell. This is a night out for the local yokels, but it’s not much different in San Francisco. Kitchens in homes might disappear soon.”

“Are you married?”

“No. Came close, twice actually, but lost my courage at the last moment.”

“Why does it take courage to get married?”

“You’ll see when you get close,” he replied. He smiled and leaned toward me. “When you get married, you can’t be selfish anymore.”

“Why do you want to be selfish?”

“We’re all selfish until we have to compromise to keep someone’s love,” he replied. “Wow, listen to me. I sound like I know what I’m talking about. Most lawyers think that they can elaborate on any subject. Talk, talk, talk. We hammer words into people’s ears like carpenters trying to build houses out of verbiage.”

I laughed. Should I be so relaxed so quickly with a complete stranger? I immediately wondered. Wasn’t this exactly the sort of thing Moses the truck driver had warned me about? But if I didn’t trust anyone, how could I survive alone in the world? All my life, I had been overprotected. As a young girl, I believed my father had the power to keep everything evil and harmful away from us. Like most young people, I had lived in a rose-colored bubble. Everything bad happened to other people, older people, perhaps. Really terrible things didn’t usually happen to us ever, unless they involved
the Renegades, vampires who didn’t obey the territorial rules and were dangerous to us. Of course, there were sick children, but our amazing family never experienced illness. Like my sisters, I attributed our good health to how our housekeeper and cook, Mrs. Fennel, fed us with her magic herbal potions and recipes.

The more protected you were when you were younger, the more vulnerable you were when you were older, I thought. To me, that made sense. If we lived in a world without dangerous bacteria and then traveled to places where dangerous bacteria were common, we wouldn’t have the natural immunity that the people who lived there had. If that was true for germs, why wouldn’t it be true for deceptive, dishonest, and violent people? We didn’t have the skills and perception to recognize the signs and the clues when we were as young and as inexperienced as I was. As long as I was with Daddy, I didn’t need those skills. I had no choice now that I was on my own. I had to grow up fast, very fast, almost overnight.

“So, what about you?” Keith asked. “Do you have a steady boyfriend?”

“Not anymore,” I said.

“Oh, so you live in Heartbreak Hotel, huh?”

“Something like that,” I said.

“Is that the real reason you’re heading for San Francisco?” he asked. “I don’t mean to pry,” he added quickly. “If it is the reason, you’re probably doing the right thing. A change of setting is refreshing. You’ll meet new people, see new things. Can’t hurt to be able to forget. When I broke up with my girlfriend, I took
an immediate vacation and went to the Greek islands.”

He finished his coffee and looked at his watch.

“I guess I have to get on the road,” he said. “About three hours to go. On a bus, it will be more like four and a half. With other stops along the way, maybe even five,” he warned.

I nodded in agreement with my own thoughts. How foolish it would be to pass up this good luck. Besides, I was nervous staying there, being in one place too long. I couldn’t help watching the front doors, anticipating either Ava or even Daddy walking in and heading for me. I wasn’t yet far enough away for them not to smell me out. Daddy might even be able to hear my voice.

“So, do you want a ride?” he asked, now sounding a little upset that I wasn’t jumping enthusiastically on his offer.

“Okay. Thank you,” I said. I realized that he hadn’t asked me my name. However, I imagined he had heard Moses say it. He did say he was eavesdropping on us.

He smiled, put money down for his coffee, and got up. “I noticed you don’t have any luggage,” he said, suddenly realizing.

I wondered now why Moses hadn’t asked about that and thought he had been too kind to ask me too many personal questions. No wonder I looked like someone in drastic flight. “I have everything I need at my aunt’s,” I said.

He shrugged. “Fine. Ready?”

“Yes.”

I took my purse and followed him out. He had one of those hybrid SUVs. When we got in, I noticed the
backseats were down and had a small carton on them.

He saw me looking. “That’s a case of this great wine I picked up at a vineyard near here. I’m bringing it back as a gift for someone who’s done me some big favors,” he explained. He started the engine, and we headed out of the parking lot.

“What was your case about?” I asked.

“Case? It’s Pinot Noir, a red wine.”

“Not the wine case, your deposition.”

“Oh,” he said, laughing. “Right. It’s an action involving a challenge to a will. Two brothers are at each other. When it comes to money, blood thins out,” he added. “You’d be surprised at how many court actions involve family members. Families aren’t the way they used to be. That’s why I’m a little freaked about committing myself to a long relationship. You know how many marriages end up in divorce? I mean, that alone can support half of the legal profession in this country. I see a lot of that, and you can’t help but be affected.

“And what about the children, huh?” he asked me quickly, as if I had said something to defend divorce. “That’s what I mean about being selfish. They only care about their own feelings, their own egos or whatever. My parents are divorced. They got divorced when I was only six, and then they would fight over who would do what for me all the time. They both counted what they did. How would you like hearing that argument when you were only six? ‘I took him to school all last week. I met with his teacher. Where were you?’ ‘I was there when he had a cold. I had to buy him a new pair of shoes. Where were you?’ ” he
rattled off, changing his voice to sound like two different whining people.

He turned to me. In the vague light of cars approaching, I saw his lips writhe with anger. His good looks seemed to fly off his face with the way his jaw tightened and sent currents of electric rage through his cheeks, into the bridge of his nose, and into his eyes.

“You know what I began to do?” he asked.

I shook my head. His outburst seemed to get louder and more intense with every word. I was afraid to speak.

“I began to keep track myself of what each one did for me. How’s that? Pretty clever, right? I was only six, but a bright six-year-old. I wrote down what they said the way a little boy that age might, and then I made a chart with ‘Daddy’ on one side and ‘Mommy’ on the other. ‘Daddy, school.’ ‘Mommy, wash clothes.’ Stuff like that. One day, I brought it out and showed them while they were arguing, and they just stared at me and at my chart for a few moments before they turned on each other and started blaming each other for what I had done. I ripped up the chart and threw it at them.

“What do you think of that? I bet you didn’t have parents like that. Did you?” he asked when I didn’t reply.

“No, but I never really knew my mother,” I said.

“Divorce or death?”

“She ran off when I was very young,” I said.

“Selfish,” he muttered. “Couldn’t compromise. Never should have said ‘I do.’ ”

He was silent a moment, but it was a deep silence, the silence of someone seized by his own dark memories.
I saw the way he gripped the steering wheel, too. His knuckles seemed to grow more pointed, the veins on the backs of his hands pressing up against his skin.

“They abuse us,” he muttered finally. “They abuse us when they create us. How lucky are the sperm and the eggs that never meet.”

“Who’s going to win in the case?” I asked, hoping to get him onto another topic.

“What case?”

“The one you’re on, the deposition you just did.”

“Oh.” He shook his head. “I don’t care, really.”

“How can you not care?”

“Hey,” he snapped back at me, “do you think the doctor you go to really cares about you? He’s just pumping out medicine and racking up insurance payments.”

“Well, what’s the argument?”

“What argument?”

“In the case you’re doing? Why is one or the other contesting the will?”

“This stuff really interests you?” he asked, sounding annoyed.