11. Claire
11
CLAIRE
“ W ho taught you to braid hair?”
The river gurgles below us. I sit on the picnic blanket with Ransom behind me. His fingers twist strands of hair over and over.
“My mom,” he says. “Sometimes she’d pass out on the couch in the middle of a movie and I’d spend the rest of it twisting little braids into her hair.”
I’m facing the river, so I can’t see his expression. I can hear the warmth in his voice when he talks about her, though. With my back to him, I feel bold enough to ask: “Do you miss them?”
“Sure I do. All the time.”
I press my lips together. “I think I’d hate my father, if he ever did something like that. I don’t think I’d be able to get over it.”
For a moment, there’s silence, and just the sensation of tugging on my scalp as he trades one strand for another. “The way I see it…for the most part, people are good. Sometimes, they just make a wrong move.”
“So you forgive them?”
“Not exactly. I guess it’s more like…I see they made a mistake, and I let myself love them anyway. To take away that love…I don’t know. Seems like a worse thing than death.”
I tilt my head back. “Daddy says mistakes are unforgiveable. They show a lack of integrity.”
Ransom yanks my braid back so I lose balance. I’m forced to settle onto my back with my head in his lap. I blink up and I see those brown eyes staring down at me.
“That’s all well and good,” he says. “But what do you say?”
I open my mouth, but I don’t have words.
No one’s ever asked me for my opinion before.
I wouldn’t know where to start.
Then I notice the length of the shadows in the trees.
“Oh…crap. What time is it?”
Ransom checks his watch. “Quarter to six.”
“I’ve got to get home.”
I scramble up to my feet. I pull my shorts up. My clothes are still damp and they stick uncomfortably.
I hop on Calypso. “Hey,” Ransom says. “See you tomorrow?”
Those brown eyes look so hopeful, it makes my chest go tight.
I shrug. “If you’re lucky.”
A grin inches up his mouth as I nudge my heel into Calypso’s hind legs, pushing her forward. I coax her into a gallop and her hooves thud against the hardened earth.
By time Daddy exists his study for the night, I’ve washed the river off of my body, re-dressed into a white sundress, and I’m sitting in the library with Pride and Prejudice in my hands.
I can feel him staring at me. Watching me. Suspicious.
“Dinner’s on in ten,” he says.
“Yes, Daddy.”
He walks out of the room and I turn a page, not reading a single word.