Free Daughter of Deep Silence by Carrie Ryan Page B

inside of the house has about as much character as the outside: furniture in various shades of white with severely sharp angles; walls that sport grayish-toned abstract paintings; and a polished concrete floor that echoes our every footstep.
    It’s quieter than a church, less personal than a hotel suite.
    “I’d been thinking about offering to show you around town.” He steps aside to allow me to enter the kitchen first. It’s enormous, the ceiling intricately vaulted and the entire far wall a row of French doors looking out toward the ocean. There’s nothing at all homey about this room with its twelve-burner gas stove and row of gleaming Sub-Zero refrigerators. If anything, it’s more designed to cater elaborate parties than family dinners.
    “But clearly you don’t need that anymore,” he says, holding up the basket as evidence that I know my way around.
    I lean against the marble-topped island and laugh. “Yeah, but I had to use the GPS to get to the store and relied on the clerk to let me know what your mother might like. Speaking of . . .” I pull free the extra bottle of Refreshergy and I pretend to slice my nail against the seal in order to uncap the lid. I sniff at the contents, bracing myself for the smell of rotting fish and honeysuckle. “What is this stuff?”
    Grey sets the basket down and rolls his eyes. “Some organic crap my mom puts in her breakfast smoothies. One of her friends recommended it—convinced her it would somehow make her look younger and give her more energy.”
    I wrinkle my nose. “Have you tried it?”
    “God, no,” he says, shaking his head adamantly. “Though she swears by it. Drinks it religiously every morning before her swim.”
    “That’s what the clerk at the store said.” I place the vial back on the counter and riffle through the rest of the basket, holding up the contents and inspecting them as though I’d never seen any of it before. “I basically just asked him to grab anything he thought your mom would like.”
    “You really didn’t need to do all of this,” he tells me. “But I know my mother will be very touched you thought of her.”
    My smile turns rueful. Playful. “Well, I felt bad she fell ill at the fund-raiser. I figure poisoning the neighbors doesn’t give the best first impression.” There’s something reckless and delicious in the admission of truth.
    Grey’s just started laughing when his father walks in, attention focused on a stack of letters in his hand. The sound chokes in Grey’s throat.
    Senator Wells glances up and the moment his eyes land on me, his expression tightens. Ever the consummate politician, he quickly shutters his true thoughts behind a slick smile.
    “Miss O’Martin,” he says with a slight tilt of his head. “We weren’t expecting you.” His words are perhaps sharper than he intends.

THIRTEEN
    S ensing the tension, Grey jumps in before I have a chance to. “She came to check on Mom.”
    Senator Wells keeps his attention focused on me. It’s not surprising that he’s found so much success in politics—power radiates from him.
    “I was so sorry y’all had to leave early last night and I didn’t have a chance to say good-bye in person.” I feel Grey’s eyes on me, his awareness that I’ve just lied to cover for him. “I also really wanted to thank you for continuing my dad’s legacy with the conservation efforts. It means a lot to me that he’s remembered that way.”
    Senator Wells’s response is brisk. “Of course. I appreciate your support of my campaign. Now,” he says, turning toward Grey, “if we don’t want to miss our tee time we’d better be going.” He walks toward a door that leads into the garage and, just like that, he dismisses us both.
    Grey’s eyes flick toward me, distressed by his father’s rudeness. “I . . . uh . . .”
    I lightly touch my fingers to the back of his hand, cutting off his floundering. “It was good to see you again,” I tell him. I start