Enshadowed (Nevermore #2)

Enshadowed (Nevermore #2) Page 90

Isobel felt the blood rush from her face as he thrust her phone out to her, screen first.

Her eyes widened at Gwen’s response.

DON’T HOLD IT AGAINST HIM. YOU CAN TELL THE POOR GUY’S NEVER KNOWN WHAT IT’S LIKE TO BE POPULAR. BY THE WAY, HOW’S THE HARBOR? I’M PARKED RIGHT BY THE HUDSON MYSELF. I CAN SEE ALL THE WAY TO NEW JERSEY. IF ONLY THERE WAS SOMETHING TO SEE.

Despite the insult, Isobel felt her shoulders ease in relief. She knew the message, again coded, must mean that Gwen was nearby, waiting somewhere outside and in sight of the harbor.

Regardless of what would happen now, it was time to move.

“Uh . . . sorry about that, Dad. You know Gwen. She’s kind of . . .”

“Rude? Yeah, I know.”

Isobel reached out to wrap her hand around the phone still clutched in her father’s outstretched grip. She had to tug it to get it free from his hand. “Listen, Dad. I think you’re right. I think I’ll just turn it off for a while, okay?”

Isobel held the power button until the screen on her phone went dark. Next, she snapped the phone shut and pushed it to his side of the table. “Here,” she said, “you keep it.”

“Humph,” he said. He picked up his tea, the redness in his face ebbing away. She almost had to wonder if what she’d perceived as anger had really been embarrassment. “I’d be happy if you could just find a way to turn her off,” he muttered before taking a sip.

“Hey, Dad?”

“Yeah, okay. I’ll can it,” he said, “but I’m taking you up on the phone blackout.” Picking up her cell, he leaned to one side, the booth seat groaning underneath him as he tucked the phone into his back pocket. “If this isn’t going to be a Gwen-free trip, it should at least be a Gwen-free meal, don’t you think?”

Isobel had to force herself to move. She slid down the booth, leaving her coat and scarf tucked against the wall.

“Hey, where you going?”

She aimed a thumb over her shoulder. “I just . . . bathroom. I’ll be . . . back.” She nodded toward her things, hoping to draw his attention away from her face. “Watch my stuff?”

“Like it’s going to sprout legs and walk off while you’re gone.”

Isobel turned to go, but she couldn’t seem to take another step away from the booth. It was as if something magnetic was holding her in place, a pull that told her she wasn’t quite done there yet. She glanced back to her father and saw that he had since picked up the dessert menu and seemed to be eyeing the caramel apple pie.

She took a moment to study his features one last time and really absorb the details of his face, like taking a mental snapshot. She loved how he looked whenever he went a day without shaving. It was his Sunday afternoon look, she thought. The pepper-colored stubble on his chin always made her think of old rough-and-ready yet sophisticated movie-screen rogues like Harrison Ford and Sean Connery. Guys who you knew would always save the day, no matter what.

“Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“Um . . . I just . . . Thank you,” she said. “For bringing me here. I needed to go. I mean . . . to come. I don’t think you’ll ever know just how important this is.”

He lowered the menu to the table and folded his hands in front of him. “I know it’s important.” He ducked his head in a low nod. “That’s why we’re here, right?”

“I love you, Dad.”

He arched a brow at her. She knew she probably shouldn’t have said it, that it would only raise a red flag. But she also knew she didn’t care anymore. If she was going to do this, if she was going to walk away right this moment, then at the very least, she needed him to understand that it wasn’t because of him.

“I love you, too, kiddo,” he said. He watched her with one eye keenly squinted. “Is everything okay?”

She nodded. “Yeah. I’ll be back,” she said, and she hoped that the statement wasn’t a lie.

“Okay,” he said, and smiled.

Turning again, Isobel strode down the line of booths, this time without looking back.

Her legs felt stiff beneath her as she left her father behind, knowing that, fifteen minutes from now he’d be panic-stricken, left to wonder what had happened and where he’d gone wrong. She pushed the thought aside, reminding herself that she’d already made her decision. That the decision had long since been made for her.

She walked on.

At the last booth before the pathway opened toward the exit, Isobel noticed a family of four, their table jam-packed with glasses and plates of food. A little girl in a red jumper sat next to a man who shared the same corn-silk hair. The little girl watched her father, swinging her legs while he leaned over her to cut her chicken strips for her.