“Don’t be ridiculous,” Dad says, exasperated now as he draws his arm over his chest. “I wanted to call and check in. How are things at the ranch?”
“Boring,” I say, sticking to my deal with Sheri. Dad isn’t to know that I’ve gone beyond the gates again since the night of the tailgate party. “Sheri won’t let me go anywhere ever since I snuck out the night I arrived,” I lie. And I know I’m my father’s daughter, because I can muster up a good performance when I need to. I sigh heavily and even kick the dryer behind me for good measure. “I’ve just been sunbathing and helping with the horses.”
“I think that’s for the best,” Dad says. “There isn’t much to see in Fairview, anyway. You aren’t missing out on anything.”
The realization that Dad is lying straight back at me and has no intention at all ofadmittingthat he got Ruben to send Sheri orders behind my back sends a tidal wave of rage ripping through me. However, I maintain a calm coolness – thanks again to my hereditary acting ability. If only I could utilize my skills around Blake when he’s wearing nothing but wet swim trunks. . .
“The movie is out next weekend, right?” I ask politely, as though I’m not internally seething. “The eighteenth?”
Dad nods and stretches out his other arm now. “Your mom and I have the premiere next Thursday. I wish you could be there too.”
And then, before I can stop myself, I mutter, “Why? I would probablyembarrassyou.”
“Mila.” Dad stops stretching and tilts his head to the side. “You don’t embarrass me.”
I stare at the wall rather than my screen, grinding my teeth together. “No, I just ruin your publicity campaigns.”
I hear a sigh from Dad’s end of the call, but it doesn’t belong to him. It’s lighter, feminine. I look back at my phone.
“Is Mom there?” I ask, glaring at Dad. “Is she supervising this? Making sure you actually talk to me?”
Mom, as suspected, is indeed in the study. She slips into the frame behind Dad and places a hand on his shoulder, leaning over him. The surprised look she rearranges her features into is so painfully fake. “Mila! I’ve just popped in to say hi, honey.”
“Dad, have you been giving Mom acting classes?” I snap.
This is – seriously – ridiculous. Not only did Mom have to specifically schedule time for Dad to talk to me, she also has to watch over him while he does. I have never felt less important than I do in this exact moment. An inconvenience –that’swhat I am.
“Oh, Mila,” Mom says, frowning. “I’m sorry. I’m just here to make sure your dad doesn’t accept any phone calls right now. This is a no-work-allowed hour.”
“Your mom thinks I’m totally trapped under Ruben’s thumb,” Dad scoffs, rolling his eyes in an attempt to inject some humor into the supremely tense atmosphere that stretches all the thousands of miles from Fairview to Thousand Oaks.
“You are,” I say, unblinking. “But he’s also under yours, apparently.”
“Mila,” Mom says sharply. “Your dad wants to talk with you. Can the two of you not discuss work right now?”
“Yes, Mila – how is Popeye doing?” Dad asks, but I’m really not in the mood for strained chit-chat.
“Popeye wonders why his son doesn’t call him,” I snap as I push myself off the dryer and pace the small laundry room, suddenly nauseous from the overwhelming scent of lavender. Before I end this video call, I need to ask the question that’s been playing on my mind ever since Sheri planted the seed last week. “But you know that already.” I stop pacing and brace myself. “Do you know the Mayor of Nashville?” I fire at them, moving my phone even closer to my face to scrutinize my parents. “Her name is LeAnne Avery. Ring any bells?”
Straight away, Mom and Dad both stiffen. There is a long silence as though they are holding their breaths, and then slowly they look at one another, obviously having a silent dialogue that I can’t decipher. But what I do know is that LeAnne Avery’s name has made them both uncomfortable.
“Mila, why are you – why are you asking us that?” Mom asks faintly.
“Has Sheri been running her mouth?” Dad questions. I watch as he grabs his computer and scrapes the monitor closer to him, amplifying the discomfort in his and Mom’s eyes. “What exactly has she told you, Mila?”
“Nothing,” I say. “She wouldn’t answer my questions. She told me to ask you instead.”
“But why are you asking anyone questions about LeAnne Avery in the first place?” Mom asks. She has gone a shade paler and I notice the way she keeps nervously squeezing Dad’s shoulder. I have hit a nerve, which only makes me all the more desperate to get an answer.
“We – um – bumped into her at church,” I say, because I can’t mention that I’ve been hanging out with her son. Besides, Ididmeet Mayor Avery for the first time at church. “Are you going to tell me howyouknow her?”
“You’ve been going to church?” Dad says, eyes widening. “You aren’t supposed to—”
“Leave the ranch?” I finish, raising a challenging eyebrow. “Yeah, I know. Thanks for ruining my summer, Dad. Now what’s the deal with the Mayor of Nashville?” I demand into my phone, riled up with frustration and determined to be heard. Right now, I don’t even care about hearing Dad stammer out apologies and excuses for his military-style orders to ensure I keep out of trouble, all I want is a straight answer. How do they know LeAnne Avery, and why is that relationship on such terrible terms?
Dad clenches his jaw and sets his dark eyes on me. The look he fixes me with makes me relieved to be two thousand miles away. Visibly rattled, he slides back in his chair, straightens up, and without another word, slams the laptop screen shut.
17
