A man who was unmistakably Randy Whitehead appeared on screen, wearing a pair of tighty-whities. Before anything untoward could occur, I ejected the tape, and inserted the next one titledTIFFANY .
“May I ask where you got these masterpieces of modern cinema,” Dad wanted to know, “and who that young man might be? He looks familiar.”
“He should,” I said, pressingPLAY . “He’s Randy Whitehead Junior.”
“Son of wealthy land developer Randall Whitehead Senior,” my dad said, sounding impressed, as we watched Tiffany fling herself across the bed in 1S all over again. “Randy’s peddling amateur porn now. His father must be so proud.”
“I’m not sure his father knows,” I said, popping out the tape. It was obviously a copy of the first one we’d seen.
“But why do I have the feeling,” Dad said, “that he’s going to find out shortly?”
“Because that’s the kind of daughter you raised,” I said, and popped in a tape markedKRISTIN.
“Be careful, Jess,” Dad said. “Randy Whitehead Senior is a pretty powerful guy around here these days. He’s rumored to have connections up in Chicago.”
“By connections,” I said, watching as the dark-haired girl I’d seen Randy kiss outside of 1S appeared on screen, “I’m assuming you mean the Mob?”
“You assume correctly.”
“Don’t worry,” I said, popping out the tape and inserting the next one markedKRISTIN . So that was the dark-haired girl’s name. Kristin. Where was Kristin now, I wondered? Holed up with Randy at his parents’ house? He’d have a hard time explaining to them what he was doing with a girl so much younger than he was. “I’ve got backup.”
My dad’s face was blank, his tone completely neutral. “So I heard. At least, I thought I overheard your mother mentioning something to you about Rob Wilkins.”
“Yeah,” I said. The second tape markedKRISTIN was obviously the same as the first one. I pressedEJECT again. “That’s why I came back. His sister—it turns out he has a half sister—ran away, and he asked me to help find her.”
I don’t know why I felt comfortable explaining all this to my dad, but not my mom. I guess it’s because my dad had always liked Rob, and Mom…hadn’t.
“And did you?” Dad asked, again in that carefully neutral tone.
I inserted a new tape. I said, keeping my eyes on the TV screen, “Yes.”
“So. It’s back.”
I didn’t have to ask what he meant. I knew whatit was.
“Yes,” I said, still looking at the TV screen, on which a redhead who couldn’t have been more than fourteen or fifteen was jumping up and down on the bed—the one in 2T.
“What are you going to do about that?” my dad wanted to know.
“I don’t know yet,” I said. I ejected the tape as soon as Randy appeared on screen.
“Do these tapes,” Dad wanted to know, “have anything to do with Rob’s sister?”
My hand hovered over the tapes markedHANNAH . I pulled out one with the redhead’s name on it instead.
“Yes,” I said. I didn’t feel as if I were betraying Rob’s confidence in admitting this to my dad. Because he was my dad.
“That’s tough,” Dad said. “He’s gotta be hurting.”
“He’s not too happy about it,” I admitted.
“Unhappy enough to do something stupid to Randy?” Dad asked.
“If I don’t stop him,” I said.
“Anything happens to Randy,” Dad said, “and his father will call in some favors from his friends in Chicago. Rob could find himself in a heap of trouble.”
“I know,” I said. Although I wasn’t as worried about Rob ending up with cement blocks on his feet as I was about him ending up inside a cell block. “I’m working on a plan that will be mutually satisfying to all parties.”
“Hmmm,” Dad said. “That’s a nice change of pace. Usually if a fight were brewing, you’d be the first in line.”
“Well,” I said. “I’ve had my fill of fighting.”
“That’s good to know,” my dad said. Then, in a tone that was no longer neutral, but filled with fatherly concern, he added, “Jess, I heard you and your mother up there. Don’t let her get you down. You know we’ll support you—she and I both—no matter what you decide to do.”
And suddenly, my eyes were filled with tears. The images on the screen before me swam.
“I don’t want to be a concert flutist, Dad,” I heard myself saying.
“I know,” was all Dad said.
“And I don’t want to go on the lecture circuit and talk about my powers,” I told him, not looking away from the blurry TV screen.
“I know.”
“And I don’t want to marry Skip.”
“I wouldn’t want to marry Skip, either. But whatdo you want?” Dad asked.
“I want…” I sniffled. I couldn’t help it. “I don’t know what I want. But I can’t go back to Dr. Krantz. Ican’t .”
“No one’s asking you to. And if they do, I think you should say no.”
“But how can I, Dad?” I asked, looking at him, finally. Although I couldn’t really see him, because of the tears. “Douglas was right. Peopleneed me.”
“They do,” my dad said with a nod. “Only I’m not sure they need you in the way that you mean. There are other ways to do good, you know, than the way you’ve been doing it. And I think you’ve done more than your share of that. Maybe it’s time to try something new.”
“But what, Dad?” I asked, my voice cracking.
“Something you actually like doing,” Dad said. “Something that makes you happy. Any idea what that might be?”
I tried to think back to the last time I felt happy. Really happy. It was kind of horrible that I couldn’t remember. All I could think of was the look on the faces of the kids at Ruth’s day camp—the look they gave me when I handed them a shiny flute, donated from some corporation, and told them I could teach them to play it.
“Well,” I said slowly. “Yeah. I guess I have an idea.”
“Good,” Dad said. “Now see if you can figure out a way to do that all the time. That’s what life’s all about, you know. Finding what it is that you love to do, then doing it as much as you can.” He glanced at the television screen. “So long as it’s legal, that is.”
I reached up to wipe away my tears. I don’t know why, since I was no closer to figuring out what I wanted to do with my life. But I felt a little better.
“Thanks, Dad,” I said. “That…that helps.”
“Good,” Dad said. And then he stood up. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m beat. I’m going to bed. I’ll leave you to this, if that’s all right.”
“Okay,” I said. “Good night.”
“Good night. Oh, and Jessica. About Randall Senior. I don’t know if this will help, but it’s something that might come in handy.”
And then he told me something. Something that made my jaw drop.
Then he said, “Turn the light off when you’re through down here. You know how your mom doesn’t like us wasting electricity.”
And he went upstairs to bed.
Fourteen
When I came downstairs the next morning, it was to find my father—Chigger at his side, as usual—looking out the living room window. The way he was ducking behind the curtain made it clear that whoever it was that he was spying on, he didn’t want them to see him looking.
“Let me guess,” I said. “Unmarked four-door sedan with tinted windows.”
He turned to me, looking astonished. “How did you know?”
“Unbelievable,” I muttered, though not in response to his question. I went into the kitchen and found Mom there making scrambled egg whites. Dad’s not allowed to have the yolks anymore since his cholesterol checkup.
“Morning, honey,” Mom said. “Sleep well?”
Until she’d asked, I hadn’t actually thought about it. But the surprising answer was “Yeah, actually. I did.”