First Daughter - Eric van Lustbader [68]
Arms full, Kray kicked the refrigerator door closed, lined up the ingredients on the counter next to the stove, placed a cast-iron skillet on the burner, turned on the gas. So as not to expose his fingers to grease, he used one of the gleaming knives on a magnetic wall rack to peel off six slices of bacon, then laid them side by side in the skillet. Turning up the heat made them sizzle. The rich scent permeated the kitchen.
When the bacon was golden brown, he set the slices on a paper towel, drained off the fat from the skillet. Without washing it, he sliced off a thick pat of butter, plopped it in the skillet to melt. Then he put the carton of eggs, a stainless steel bowl, and a whisk on the table.
"How about you scrambling the eggs?"
Once again, it was a suggestion rather than a command. Alli knew she was free to say no. But she didn't want to say no. She opened the carton, broke six eggs one by one on the rim of the bowl, poured in a dollop of milk, then began to whisk the mixture.
"I don't know how anyone can eat those Eggbeaters," she said idly.
"Or an egg-white omelette, for that matter," he answered.
Quite quickly her arm began to tire. But she rested it briefly, then began again, bringing a pale yellow froth.
"Ready," she said.
Kray took the bowl from her, added three twists of salt, two of pepper, then tipped the contents into the skillet. He stirred the eggs a bit with a white plastic spatula.
"White bread?"
"Whole-wheat today, I think," Alli said.
"In the pantry." He put down the spatula, went into the small room. Immediately he turned around, stood watching her from the shadows. She rose, one hand supporting herself on the tabletop. Then she walked over to the stove. Her hand passed the knives in the wall rack, picked up the spatula. She stirred the eggs in the skillet. She hummed to herself.
Satisfied, Kray found a fresh loaf of whole-wheat bread, tucked it under his arm. Then he reached up, opened the cupboard. Carrie was curled and winding in her dark cave. Her red eyes stared at him enigmatically.
He put a finger across his lips, whispered to her, "Shhh."
Kray closed the cupboard door, returned to the kitchen.
Alli turned her head. "Almost done," she said.
Was that the ghost of a smile on her face?
They ate, sitting across from each other.
"I was right about you," he said at length. "Despite your hothouse upbringing, you're not a fool. You despise privilege."
Alli swallowed a mouthful of egg and bread. "Fear and loathing."
He nodded. "Hunter Thompson."
She looked up, not for the first time surprised by him. "You've read him?"
"Because he's a favorite of yours."
A shiver went through her—of pleasure, not fear.
"Tell me what you liked most about Thompson."
Alli didn't hesitate. "He was a subversive. He thought civilization was hypocritical, he loved to show how good people were at rationalizing their actions."
Kray bit off a piece of bacon. "In other words, he was like us—you and me."
"What do you mean?"
Kray wiped his mouth, sat back. "From my point of view, the civilization Thompson was writing about is inextricably entwined with religion. And what is religion, after all, but totalitarianism? The strictures god presented to Adam and Eve, that both the Old and New Testaments describe, are nothing more than a series of laws so extreme, so prohibitive, they're impossible to adhere to. In the so-called beginning, in the garden of Eden, god tells Adam and Eve that he's provided them with everything they could possibly desire or ever will desire. The only thing is, see that tree over there? That's the Tree of Knowledge. If you want to find out what's really going on, you need to eat the fruit. But hey, wait a minute, eating the fruit is forbidden, so forget that knowledge thing, who needs it anyway when I've given you everything you want. So, in