He let it sit. They made it out of Uptown and onto the connector road that ran toward the east side of the city, where the Witmore estate sat behind its iron gate and its line of carefully maintained oak trees. 10 minutes, maybe 12. He wasn't in a hurry. She didn't seem to be either.
Then about halfway there, without any warning at all, she said, "Daniel, yeah, don't take me home. " He glanced at her. She was still looking out the window. Her hands were in her lap. Her jaw was doing that thing he'd noticed. That set jaw, the one that looked like her father's, except it wasn't confidence.
It was effort. Like she was holding something in place. Where am I supposed to take you? He said she was quiet for 3 seconds. Four, five.
Somewhere private, she said. Somewhere I can just sit and not have 16 people watching me. I understood immediately what that could sound like. He understood immediately what it could look like. A man in his position, his employer's daughter, a late Friday night.
Those exact words and the understanding landed in his chest like cold water. He pulled over. Not dramatically. Just ease the truck to the right side of the road near an empty parking lot that used to be a Sears one of those ghost retail spaces where the light stayed on in the parking lot even though the building had been dark for 3 years. He put it in park.
"I need to be straight with you," he said. She finally turned and looked at him directly. Up close in the parking lot light coming through the windshield, he could see that her eyes were tired. Not the tired of a long night, the tired of a long time. "Okay," she said.
"I work for your father. He called me tonight because he trusts me. I have a daughter who is currently at your family's house eating cookies and watching television. And you just said the kind of thing that could be very badly misunderstood by about 15 different people. I know, she said.
I know exactly how it sounds. So, help me understand what you actually mean. She let out a breath. Not a sigh, not the dramatic kind. Just air leaving her body like she'd been holding it since she came out of that lobby.
I need to go somewhere that is not my father's house, she said. Where I can sit in a room or a parking lot or whatever and think without anyone who works for him being 20 ft away. That's it. That's the whole thing. What happened tonight?
She looked at him. Nothing happened. That's the problem. She paused. Have you ever been in a room full of people who all think they know your whole future and none of them asked you a single thing about it?