This made no sense to her at all. She'd basically written him off as boyfriend material, so why couldn't she stop thinking about him? As she finally felt sleep begin to descend on her, she knew with despair that she'd end up dreaming about Ken Preston that night.
But as it turned out, she did more than that.
Chapter 8
ARE YOU NERVOUS?" Tracey asked. Sitting on the bed, Jenna pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs.
"No."
Tracey grinned. "Liar."
Jenna relented. "Okay, but you have to admit, this is all pretty weird. I'm just about to sit down to have dinner with some complete stranger who claims he's my father. Wouldn't you be nervous?"
"I'd be a wreck," Tracey said. "Something like this could make me disappear again."
"Wish I could disappear," Jenna grumbled. But since she couldn't, she went the opposite route. Hopping off the bed, she went back to Tracey's dressing table, sat down, and reapplied her makeup. She added more kohl to her eyes and a thick layer of purple stain to her lips.
"How do I look?" she asked Tracey.
"Like someone I wouldn't want to run into walking alone through a dark alley," Tracey replied.
"Good." That was precisely the image she wanted to convey. Whoever this man was, she wanted to make sure he could see she was a tough chick, not some wimpy little girl who was craving a father figure.
"How come you weren't in class today?" Tracey asked.
"Because I didn't want Madame asking me how I felt about this Stuart Kelley guy showing up. I'm sure Mr. Jackson told her about it."
"How do you feel?"
"Tracey!"
"Okay! Sorry."
"Did I miss anything thrilling?"
Tracey shook her head. "Martin gave his career report. He said that with his special gift, he'd like to be a mercenary."
"He wants to be a soldier?"
"Not exactly. He thinks people would pay him to beat up their enemies."
"What about Ken? Maybe he could conduct seances to put people in contact with their dead relatives. That would make Emily happy."
"Ken wasn't there either. Emily said she could be a TV weather reporter, and Charles said he could hire himself out to couch-potato types so they'd never have to get out of their comfy chairs for another bag of chips. Madame suggested that he could help people who were like him, who couldn't get around easily, but he said he thought couch potatoes would pay more."
Jenna grinned. That was very Charles. She was enjoying this conversation--it kept her mind off the upcoming dinner. "How about Amanda? What does she think she could do with her gift?"
"Madame didn't call on her today, which was probably a good thing. She was looking even blanker than usual."
The sound of a doorbell made Jenna stiffen. "Uh-oh! Here he is. Whoever he is."
"You could always read his mind and find out."
Jenna nodded. That was exactly what she planned to do when the right moment came around. She took a deep breath. "Okay, let's go."
The Devon Seven, already fed and bathed, had been banished to their room with their babysitter so that the others could have a real grown-up dinner. When Tracey and Jenna arrived in the living room, they found Mr. Devon fixing cocktails and Mrs. Devon holding a huge bouquet of roses.
"Jenna, look what your father brought us!"
Refusing to smile, Jenna nodded. "They're very pretty."
"Tracey, would you find a vase?"
Jenna gave her friend a fierce don't-leave-me look, but Tracey took the flowers from her mother and went off toward the kitchen.
"Hello, Jenna." The stranger was smiling at her.
"Hi," she murmured.
Now that she'd recovered from the shock she'd felt in Mr. Jackson's office, she could get a good look at this man. He was definitely what Emily had predicted--tall, dark, and handsome. He was dressed neatly in a suit and tie, and he looked perfectly at ease, as if dinner with a long-lost daughter was an ordinary everyday event.
Tracey returned with the vase of roses, which her mother placed in the center of the dining table. Then she passed around a tray of crackers with squiggles of something on them.
"What do you think of your daughter, Mr. Kelley?" she asked gaily.
"Please, call me Stuart." He looked at Jenna. "I think she's beautiful," he said simply.
The squiggle on the cracker turned out to be cheese, but that wasn't what Jenna choked on. She stared at the man in disbelief." What?"
Mr. Devon laughed jovially. "I'm sure all fathers think their daughters are beautiful. I know I do--all eight of them."
Stuart Kelley nodded, but his eyes were still on Jenna. "And very special."
"Well, these two certainly are," Mrs. Devon said. "You do know about their special gifts, don't you?"
"The school principal did say something about Jenna having deep insights into people."
"I suppose that's one way of looking at it," Mr. Devon said. "My daughter can disappear."
"Dad!" Tracey interjected. "We're not really supposed to talk about this."
Her father brushed that aside. "Mr. Kelley-- Stuart, I mean--is one of us. A gifted parent."
Stuart shook his head. "Hardly that, considering I've been missing from Jenna's life. I don't know how I'm ever going to make it up to her."
The Devon parents looked at each other. "We understand," they said in unison.
The way he was looking at her with that adoring expression was getting on Jenna's nerves. "Why did you come looking for me now?" she demanded.
He sighed and took a small sip of his cocktail. Jenna noticed that he'd barely touched it. At least he wasn't an alcoholic--that was something.
"I've been a coward," he said. "I always wanted to see you. I wanted to see your mother, too, but I assumed she'd slam the door in my face. She certainly has the right to do that. I treated her terribly."
"You sure did," Jenna blurted out. "You walked out on her when she was pregnant. No wonder she started drinking."
"Jenna," Mrs. Devon chided her gently, "people make all kinds of mistakes in their lives. At least your father is trying to make amends now."
It dawned on Jenna that they were all talking as if it was an absolute certainty that Stuart Kelley was her real father. Including herself--she'd just accused this man she'd never seen before in her life of walking out on her mother. Maybe now was the time to do a little mental exploration and try to find out who this guy really was.
But Mrs. Devon chose that moment to call them all to the table, and there was no opportunity for Jenna to stare at him and concentrate. The next few moments were taken up with accepting portions of roast beef and scooping green beans onto plates.
Jenna might not have been able to read his mind at the moment, but she hadn't finished asking questions. "Why did you just show up at the door on Monday? Why didn't you call first?"
"I couldn't find a telephone number," he replied.
That was a good point. The phone had been disconnected ages ago because the bill hadn't been paid.
"Besides," he continued, "I assumed your mother would just hang up once she knew who was calling."
"And she would have slammed the door in your face if she'd been home," Jenna countered.
"True," he admitted. "She certainly had every reason to. I just thought I'd have a better chance of talking to her if I came in person."
He probably thought he was so good-looking that she couldn't resist him, Jenna thought sourly. Unfortunately, he was probably right. He was exactly the type of guy her mother liked.
"Have you spoken to her at all?" Mrs. Devon asked.
"No. She's not allowed visitors or phone calls at the hospital. When does she come out, Jenna?"