"What about it?"
"I consulted a psychic about the decorations."
Missy, although a few years older than me and not attending the reunion tonight, was on the reunion organizing committee. It was a yearly thing and it kept her busy.
"You consulted a psychic about the reunion decorations?" I repeated it to make sure I'd heard her right.
"It's hard to make a gymnasium look like a fairy-tale castle. A little help goes a long way."
"I'm sure that it does." I took a sip of my wine. "And what did she have to say?"
"She said that a beautiful varnish wouldn't change the darkness that lurks inside" She swallowed hard. "I have no idea what she meant by that. Her eyes went all white and weird and then she snapped back to normal and didn't even remember what she said at all."
"White eyeballs? That is weird."
She chewed her bottom lip. "Do me a favor and be careful tonight. Madame Chiquita is apparently extremely accurate."
"I promise to be on the lookout for any dark, lurking varnish." Great. White-eyeballed psychics were giving unpleasant predictions about the reunion. Or maybe Missy was just paranoid.
That made two of us.
"Missy!" Richard called. "Uncle Charlie wants to plan a fishing trip with me. Can you come over here, please?"
She grinned at me. "Duty calls."
I turned away, wondering how much money Missy had been charged by her reunion psychic, and realized my father was standing directly behind me.
"Hey, Dad." I smiled without showing my fangs and gave him a hug. "Great to see you."
My chest gave out a weak twinge of pain and I had a quick and unexpected flashback of the stake being in my chest.
Just relax, I told myself. Act normal You're normal. Everything is fine.
My father eyed Thierry, who, across the room, seemed to be having an awkward conversation following a rather tight hug from my aunt Mildred.
"Who is this fellow, anyhow?" he asked. "You've never mentioned him before. What happened to George? I thought you two were engaged?"
Long story. A case of mistaken identity at Missy's wedding. Hilarity ensued. Ancient history.
I cleared my throat. "I'm with Thierry now. I'm sure you'll love him."
"He doesn't seem your type."
"Oh, he is my type. Trust me."
"Where's he from?"
"Toronto mostly."
"What does he do for a living?"
"Uh… he owns a nightclub."
He gave me a look that informed me that he didn't consider that a worthy or respectable occupation. Until five years ago when he retired, my father was on the Abottsville police force. He was well known for his excellent interrogation skills.
"How old is he?"
I swallowed. "He's thirty-six. Just turned."
"Eight years older than you? That is a significant age difference, Sarah."
Right. If only he knew the truth. "It doesn't make a difference to me."
"He's wearing a very expensive suit. He has money?"
"Sure." I gulped another mouthful of wine.
"Have you gotten another full-time job yet?"
"Um, no, not yet."
"So are you saying that this new rich boyfriend of yours is supporting you?"
"More wine, please!" I hollered. My mother came by and topped off my glass.
My father's expression softened a bit and he put his hand on my shoulder. "I'm sorry if it seems that I'm being judgmental, but I only care about what's best for my little girl." His eyes narrowed and he took another look at the suspect in question. "I get a strange vibe from him. Like there's something off. But you say you're happy with him?"
"Ecstatically so."
He looked at me sternly. "What is the rule about sarcasm in this house?"
"Only on Saturdays?"
"Sarah—"
"Look, Dad, what do you want me to say? I'm in love with Thierry. I wanted you and
Mom to meet him. He's really great."
He nodded and watched my mother tentatively approach Thierry and a couple of aunts to see if they wanted some cheese and crackers. The aunts went for it. Thierry declined.
"Are you planning on getting engaged?" he asked.
I choked a little on my latest sip of sparkling wine. "Not in the immediate future."
He frowned. "Why not? Doesn't he want to commit?"