"Dad, you're doing a great job." I smiled, hoping my relief didn't show. "I've never minded being alone—I'm too much like you." I winked at him and his eyes welled up in tears, even as he tried to force out one of his signature crinkly-eyed smiles.
I slept better that night because things were better. When I woke to the pearl-gray morning,263 my mood was blissful. Everything was going to be all right. The tense evening with Billy Ray and Squaw seemed harmless enough now; I decided to forget it completely. I caught myself whistling the Macarena while I was pulling the front part of my hair back into a barrette, and later as I skipped down the stairs. Unfortunately, Charlie noticed. Even worse, he commented on it.
"You're cheerful this morning, buttercup!" he commented over breakfast.
I shrugged and tried to keep from gagging. "It's Friday."
I hurried so I would be ready to go the second Charlie left. I had my book-bag ready, my running shoes on, my perfect teeth brushed, but even though I rushed to the door as soon as I was sure Charlie would be out of sight, Fredward was faster. He was waiting in his shiny Volvo car, windows down, engine off.264
I didn't hesitate for a second this time, climbing into the passenger seat quickly, the sooner to see his face. It was like a drug now, and I could hardly go ten hours without a hit. He grinned his crooked smile at me and my heart skipped.
"How did you sleep, buttercup?"
"Fine. How was your night?"
"Pleasant." His smile was amused; I felt like I was missing out on an inside joke that Fredward had with himself. The isolation began to close in again, and my high began to fizzle.
263. The Hour of the Pearl by John Steinbeck (1995). A novella-length meditation on the benefits of waking up early.
264. Just the way Bella likes it.