The Secret Life of Prince Charming by cherry lou naval

Author:cherry lou naval [naval, cherry lou]
Language: por
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

"What do you do when a father isn't a father? Hmm? Tell me, because I just don't know,"

Frances Lee said. "Wait, the seat's going to be hot." She tossed us each a towel to sit on. Mine said Aloha! and had a tiki hut and palm trees on it. Sprout's had Cinderella and those mice from the Disney movie, dancing around the hem of her dress. It seemed like a funny towel for Frances Lee to have. But maybe Disney movies are one thing most people have in common.

The objects from Dad's house were in the backseat with Sprout, all except for the painting, which was too large and had to be put in the open bed of the pickup. Frances had put so much plastic and tape around it that it could have been dropped from a high building and been fine, but still I worried when I could hear it slide and thunk after Frances Lee started back down Dad's road. I could see Frances Lee's eyes in the rearview mirror, watching Dad's house grow smaller behind

her. I watched it too. I wondered if I'd ever see it again.

"If we don't go back, we don't go back," Sprout said.

"I'm not going back anyway, since I was never invited in the first place," Frances Lee said. She signaled to get back on the freeway, the truck's turn signal sounding frantic-fast. Tick-tick-tick-tick!

I seemed to be the only one who wasn't managing the who-cares-not-me attitude. My stomach

was heavy, and I felt that press inside my forehead that meant too many feelings were struggling for too little space. Maybe I was going to cry. Maybe there was no way I was going to cry in

front of Frances Lee and even Sprout right then. I loved him, that was the thing. I wanted him to love me. Sometimes it was hard to tell those two things apart.

We didn't talk for a long while, as Frances Lee drove back north to head for the ferry toward her home, our first stop. It was one of those times where there was too much to say, so you can't say anything. The job was too big, so we just rode like that, three separate planets with our own

histories, spinning in silence.

"Never met a fried food I didn't like," Frances Lee said. We'd gotten to the ferry terminal in the early evening, and Frances had parked the truck in line with the others and then made a beeline to a fish-and-chips stand next to the dock. She'd cheered up as soon as she drove down the

curved road toward the terminal, though I think we all did. The approach of the sea can do that, and so can the salty wetness of ocean air. That smell makes you feel that things are on the

horizon, and I could feel the heaviness inside lift, too, when I saw the glinty white water, sparkly with sun. The sea seemed patient and endless and wise. It was a visual sigh of relief.

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