The Secret Sister by M. DeLuca (leveled readers txt) 📗

“Okay. I’d say he’s proud of you, but at the same time you’re a constant reminder of his own inadequacy and that’s what drives his engine. His need to dominate the upstart professor is in constant conflict with the guilt that he’s competing with his only son. How’s that?”

I could swear tears glistened in his eyes. “Right on the money,” he said, reaching out to grasp my hand. “That’s why he’s always needling me – always trying to call the shots. If he has the upper hand then he feels he’s less of a loser. So he goes on the attack before anyone else can fire the first missile and put him down.”

“Why do you go along with it?”

He shook his head. “It’s easier that way. When he’s happy, everyone’s happy.”

“You mean your mom?”

“Especially her.”

“But not you.” I squeezed his hand. “You put so much into that street kids’ outreach program. Why don’t you just tell Gord you want to keep going with it?”

His eyes narrowed and he chewed his lower lip. “You mean well, Anna. I know you do, but you just don’t get it. Going against Dad is like starting a mutiny. It’s not worth the headache.” He paused for a moment, then lowered his voice. “Our family has had its share of troubles in the past and now things have settled down. I’d like to keep it that way.”

“What kind of troubles?”

He nodded. “Mom and Dad went through a rough patch when I was younger. A long time ago.”

“What happened?”

He adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat. Concentrated on the road ahead. “I don’t know. Other women, I think. It’s tough to talk about.”

“She left him?”

“She tried. But it’s not easy when you have a kid and… shit…” The screech of brakes and blare of a horn shattered the moment. “I almost sideswiped that guy.”

A truck squealed by. The driver gave Guy the finger.

“Can we talk about something else?” he said, lifting his glasses and pressing at his eyelids.

“But this is about your life and your ambitions. Not your father’s. So what’s the worst that can happen? He’ll have a hissy fit and then he’ll get over it. We’re all adults, aren’t we?”

“Sometimes Dad can be like a big kid. Mom and I know it’s best to humor him at those times. Life runs smoother for everyone if we do.” He sighed as we pulled up to yet another traffic light. “But I promise I’ll think about keeping the project going. I’ll do it on the quiet.”

I remembered Robin’s sad, puppy-dog face. “Robin’s gung-ho about his street kids’ outreach program. Thanks to you and Brian they got a grant for it.”

We pulled away, following the slow stream of rush-hour cars on their way to the suburbs. A light drizzle fogged the windshield. “That was the luckiest day of my life, coming to your school.” We pulled up at another red light and he dipped over to kiss my temple. “I met you.”

“So what did you think when Robin first called you about the presentation?”

“Let me think. I should remember because his accent stuck with me. That weird Brit and US mix. He rambled on a bit then mentioned that I’d come highly recommended, by some talented teacher at his school.”

My face flushed and I turned away to watch the drab brown freeway walls flashing by. I glanced back, hoping the blush wasn’t too evident. From the corner of my eye, I could see him grinning.

“Holy crap – was that you? Were you the one who recommended me?”

I watched a homeless man wheel a packed shopping cart up a steep incline away from the freeway.

Guy persisted. “C’mon, Anna. That’s sweet. I love the idea that you noticed me. I remember when I got to your school I had this weird feeling that something life changing was about to happen. I mean I don’t usually believe in all that karma crap. But I was actually looking out for someone to walk up and tell me they were my secret admirer. And I was hoping like hell it wasn’t the wiry female bodybuilder with the fake tan. Or the weird science guy with the bed-head hair. But all the time it was you. I should have known. The way you were hanging back but still checking me out. You had a hungry look in your eyes – sort of predatory and brooding. I couldn’t resist you.”

“I did no such thing,” I said, playing with my silver medallion. “You were the one checking me out.”

“I couldn’t take my eyes off you. That wild, dark hair and those lips. It was all I could do to stick to my notes. And I was terrified I’d develop a huge hard-on and they’d kick me out for lewd behavior.”

“Beast,” I said, snuggling closer.

“I love you, Anna,” he whispered. My chest tightened. I felt that old fear creeping in again, but somehow I felt more connected to the present – to the reality of what was actually happening now.

“I’m glad we met, Guy. So glad.”

25

Gord was in a prickly mood. I could sense it as soon as I walked through the polished teak doors. The whole mood of the place was off. I had a nose for that kind of thing. When you move from one shitty foster home to another you become an expert at reading the mood of the people in a house, at sniffing out danger.

I’ve been in many abusive households. Seen it all. The way a woman jumps up from the couch when her husband comes in, because she doesn’t want him calling her a lazy slut. Or the way she hovers round the dining table, not tasting a bite until he takes the first and nods his head or grunts to let her know it’s okay for her to sit down and eat. The way members of a family touch or don’t touch each other. When a father or stepfather’s hand lingers too long on his