Abandon - Meg Cabot [66]
“So, would now be a good time to schedule that appointment you mentioned in your note?” I’d asked.
“Now would be an excellent time,” the cemetery sexton had said. “When would you be available, Miss Oliviera?”
“Um,” I’d said. I’d glanced back at Seth and Farah. Still kissing. I looked away again. “Now. Now would be very good for me. Would now be convenient for you?”
“Now would not be convenient for me,” he’d said in his grumpy voice. “But at six o’clock, when my office closes, I should be available. I trust you know where my office is.”
“I do,” I’d said, ignoring what was obviously a dig at me, since he knew how much time I spent at the cemetery. “I’ll be there at six.”
“Don’t be tardy,” he said. “I will leave at six o’clock if you aren’t there.”
Then he’d hung up on me.
I’d stared down at my phone, my eyes narrowed. I might look like a honey-eyed schoolgirl on the outside, in my skirt with its regulation four-inch-above-the-knee hem.
But I’ll rip those tassels off your shoes, old man. Just try Googling me.
Okay, well, in my fantasies, that could happen.
“Can’t be too careful with these storms,” Uncle Chris was going on in my driveway. “Depending on what track they take, they can skirt us or hit us dead-on. Usually nothing to worry about, but we wouldn’t want this nice patio furniture to end up in your pool, as much money as your mom spent on it. Seth One.”
“Excuse me?” I needed to hustle if I was going to make it to my appointment with Mr. Smith on time. After Island Queen, Seth and Farah had taken me out to Reef Key to give me a tour of their fathers’ spec development. I’d had to pretend to find it thrilling, shaking both Mr. Rector’s and Mr. Endicott’s hands and acting like I cared about the extremely dull things they were saying, which just sounded to me like blah, blah, blah, luxury resort atmosphere! Blah, blah, blah. Freedom of a private island. Blah, blah, blah. Tennis courts! Blah, blah, blah. Private seawater swimming lagoons. Along with the eight little words I’ve gotten used to hearing wherever I go: Maybe your father would be interested in investing.
I’d been relieved to escape with my usual “Sure, why don’t you give him a call? Here’s his card.” I always keep one handy now for emergencies. I think Dad likes getting calls from people I give his cards to. He enjoys yelling on the phone as much as he does on TV.
Now Uncle Chris had begun moving towards the open garage door. “Seth One. That’s what it said on your friend’s license plate.”
“Oh,” I said. “Yes. His name is Seth. You know, you don’t have to do this, Uncle Chris. I think Mom pays for a service to come around and board up whenever there’s supposed to be a hurricane —”
“Too early to board up yet. But if you’re not using the furniture, it never hurts to move it inside. You probably want a truck like that,” Uncle Chris said. He stacked the chair on top of several others he’d already placed inside the garage. He didn’t appear to be listening to me. “Like Seth One. Don’t you?”
“Uh,” I said. “No, not really. For one thing, I can’t drive. And for another, that kind of thing isn’t really my style.” That was putting it mildly.
Uncle Chris seemed to look at me — really look at me — for the first time.
“You can’t drive?” His expression was perplexed. “Why can’t you drive?”
“Well,” I said, walking into the garage and setting my book bag down. Why had Alex’s dad chosen now, of all times, to suddenly get talkative? “Because I don’t really do well on tests, remember?”
I saw his face fill with something I’d never seen in it before: emotion.
“I’ll help you pass the test, Piercey,” he said.
“Oh,” I said, with a laugh. “That’s okay, Uncle Chris.” He followed as I went back around to the front of the house to unchain my bike. “I’m fine. See? I’ve got a