Final Fall by Heather W. Petty

Author:Heather W. Petty
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers

Chapter 13

Some days require bloodred lipstick. Perhaps it would have been smarter if I’d tried to make sure I wore nothing that would stand out. No jewelry, no name brands, only bland colors, and makeup designed to help obscure my facial features. But I wasn’t so interested in taking the smarter path on that day. I wore lavish makeup and a bright white sundress that I’d seen in a shop window near my hotel. It looked just like one my mum had worn when I was small. I even pulled out my mum’s rubies from the tiny metal trinkets box I’d found among her things. I’d spent months thinking through what was about to happen, and I was going to enjoy it fully, with no restrictions or hesitation.

I clasped the ruby pendant at my neck, put on the matching dangle earrings, and tucked my hair behind one ear to show them off. I wanted my father to see them. To see me in her clothes, wearing her things. Because if my mum had been half the woman I was, she would have taken care of this chore long ago.

But when I wandered past the mirror, I caught myself scowling, which really wouldn’t do. I corrected my expression immediately as I pulled on white lace gloves. No anger or irritation allowed. I forced a smile that made my lower lip shine red and full in the mirror. That was exactly how I wanted to see myself when I faced him—how I wanted him to see me.

Gloriously happy.

My happiness would be the last thing he ever saw.

• • •

My smile was more natural as I entered the nursery school for the second time that morning. I set down my bag and overcoat on an old dusty counter by the front door and looked around. It was perfect. All the work was done. Today would change everything.

I felt light. Almost cheery. And seeing that Sherlock was already there, standing in the very center of the main room, made my smile widen. “I wasn’t sure I’d actually see you today.”

“I said I’d be here.” His eyes lit up as he took in my outfit, but there was a hint of confusion in his expression as well. “It appears I’m underdressed.” He straightened the tie of his school uniform.

“Your clothes don’t matter.” I started to say something else, but a familiar voice called out from the back room.

“Do mine?”

I managed to keep my smile, despite my father’s confident strides into the room. He looked older than he should—as if the five months of my absence had accelerated his aging. His eyes were more sunken, or perhaps the skin around them was darker. His hair was lighter with gray. He was even dressed like an old man: his trousers just a bit too baggy and pooling at his ankles, a wrinkled dress shirt peeking out from a cardigan sweater that was so tight, the buttons stretched their holes at his gut, which was much more pronounced than I’d noticed through the window.

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