Free Blackbird by Abigail Graham Page B

your instincts. Avoid situations where you can be taken advantage of. Promise me, though, that you won’t shut people out. Make some friends. It may take you a while to learn how. Don’t wall yourself off. A life lived alone is not a good life.”
    I nodded again. “Thank you, Mrs. V.”
    She scrubbed at her eyes with her fingers.
    “You know, I have to leave now.”
    “You could stay for dinner.”
    “I don’t think your father would like that, dear. No,” she sighed again, and I realized she was beginning to choke up. “I need to go. I have an appointment this afternoon, anyway.”
    I stood up and walked her to the front door of our house. At the door, she shocked me by throwing her arms around me. She hugged me. I stood there rigid, unsure what I should do. She held me by the shoulders and gave me warm smile.
    “Remember what I said. It’s time to leave the nest.”
    “Thank you,” I said, not sure what else to say.
    There was an awkward pause, and with a hitching breath she descended the front steps and walked down the street to her car. I waved as she drove off, and felt a crushing weight in the pit of my stomach as I walked back to the study that served as my classroom. My next tutor taught history and English and   we were not so close. Our final interaction was professional, the advice given more about choosing a field of study. I had already chosen. I would be studying business. Tonight, when Father came home, I was expected to inform him which school I would attend, and begin making the arrangements. After   the history tutor left, I sat at the desk and arranged the envelopes into piles. I was tempted to choose a college in Oregon, as far from home as I could get, but the idea of being so far away made my fingers tremble and my palms sweaty. It went in the No pile. I don’t even know why I applied.
    I don’t know why I applied to any of them. The envelope sat fat in front of me, heavy with the future. I was offered a full scholarship, not that we needed it.
    When Father came home I was waiting for him in the hallway. It was the same, every day. I lurked near the door, walked over as he entered and took his briefcase, and told him about my studies for the day as I walked with him to his office. Once inside I set his briefcase by the desk. He sat down behind the broad expanse of oak and bored into me with his icy blue eyes.
    “Well?”
    I did my trick. It’s a clever trick.
    I opened my mouth and his words came out.
    “A good choice,” was all he said. “You’re excused. Dinner is at six thirty.”
    Father employed a domestic to cook and clean for us. Most never lasted more than six months. Imelda, the latest, had been there for nine. She was quiet, only a few years older than I was, and had a way of looking through me as if I was not there. I ate my serving of steamed vegetables and lemon pepper chicken slowly, cutting neatly, taking small bites.
    Dinner conversation was never our strong suit.
    “Tomorrow afternoon, you will come with me.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    I didn’t ask where. It wasn’t my place.
    “We’ll be visiting Karen Amsel.”
    “One of your clients.”
    “She’s more than a client.”
    My stomach twisted. I looked at a bite of perfectly grilled chicken stuck on the tines of my fork and resisted the urge to put it down. I needed to clean my plate.
    Girls are supposed to have opinions about their fathers dating. I wasn’t sure what I thought about it. I knew he’d been spending a great deal of time with her for the last several months. He’d been eating with her, but I assumed   he was simply working late. My father was a financial advisor, working with any number of high profile clients. Mrs. Amsel was among the richest. I’d never met her. He wasn’t one to show me off to the clients. When they came to the house, either on business or for a social call, I was told to stay in my bedroom. Mrs. Amsel had never paid a call, socially or professionally.
    “We’ve discussed