DOMINION Bentley Little (accelerated reader books .TXT) 📖

if she was disappointed, angry, hurt, sympathetic, whether he was tainted in her eyes or it made no difference to her at all. The silence dragged on, and he felt he had to say something.

“My mom’s a slut,” he said.

He regretted the words instantly. The statement did not really express how he felt, and outside the confines of his brain it sounded much too harsh, much too cruel. He had wanted to disassociate himself from his mother and at the same time show that her values, her lifestyle, were not his own. But he did not like the cold, judgmental tone of his own voice, the thoughtless dismissal implied by his words. And he could tell that Penelope didn’t like it either.

“You dare to say that about your mother?” she said, turning on him.

He wanted to take it back, wanted to explain what he meant, but he couldn’t. “I don’t know,” he said ineffectually.

“Don’t you have any respect for your parents?”

He was quiet.

“I’m scary,” she said, pulling back. “I didn’t mean to jump all over you. I don’t really know the circumstances of your life, but I just don’t think that you should heap everything on your mother. If you’ve had a tough time, then she has too. She’s probably doing the best she can. It’s hard being a single parent, you know? I mean, I don’t blame my mothers for…” Her voice trailed off.

“For what?”

“My father.” She looked away.

Neither of them said anything as they continued walking across the grass. It was Dion who spoke first. “What about your father?”

She did not answer.

“Penelope?” he prodded gently.

“My father,” she said, “was torn apart by wolves.”

Dion was shocked into silence. He looked at her, turned away, not knowing what to say. He took a deep breath, “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

Penelope nodded slightly, her voice subdued. “I am too.” She pulled ahead of him. “Let’s just forget about it.”

Dion hesitated for a moment, unsure if he should continue with the conversation or let it drop. She’d said she didn’t want to talk about it, but he sensed that she did. The subject of his father was a sensitive one for him; he knew how he felt when other people asked about it, and he was sure that she probably felt a thousand times worse.

Nevertheless, he hastened forward and caught up with her at the edge of the parking lot. “Do you remember him?” he asked.

Her steps slowed. She stopped walking, turned to face him. “I was a baby when he died. I have pictures of him, and from the way my mothers talk about him, I feel as though I know him. But, no, I don’t remember him. My father exists only in my mind.” She looked at her watch. “It’s almost five-thirty.”

“Yeah, I’d better go.”

Penelope licked her lips. “Still friends?” she asked.

He nodded. “Still friends.”

“You don’t hate me?”

“You don’t hate me?”

“No,” she said. “Of course not.”

“I don’t hate you either.”

Penelope looked toward the house, met his eyes shyly. “My mother said I could drive you home alone this time.”

“Good,” Dion said.

He meant it. He had nothing against Penelope’s mother, but the drive home last time had been extremely uncomfortable. Penelope had been in the backseat, right behind him, but he’d still felt as though he was alone in the car with her mom. Her mother had done most of the talking, asked all of the questions, and most of those questions had been strangely personal. Or just plain strange. There had seemed something vaguely sexual about the way she’d smiled at him, something promising or threatening in the way her eyes had examined him. In a bizarre manner she reminded him of his own mom, and that made him extremely uncomfortable. He had quickly revised his initial impression of her. And he had been grateful when the car had pulled up to the curb in front of his house and he had gotten out.

He’d said nothing to Penelope, of course. And this time when he’d seen her mom again, she’d seemed once more a typical, if slightly mousy, housewife.

But he was glad he wouldn’t have to ride in a car with her again.

“I’ll get the keys and tell them we’re going,” Penelope said.

“Okay.”

He followed her up the steps and into the house.

Penelope turned out to be a good driver, a safe and cautious driver. She drove with her hands at ten and two on the steering wheel, and she slowed for yellow lights. Dion found himself smiling at her conscientious concentration.

She must have seen him out of the corner of her eye. “What are you grinning at?”

“Nothing.”

“Are you making fun of the way I drive?”

“Of course not.”

She turned on her blinker to make a left turn. “I don’t drive that often, you know.”

He laughed. “I never would’ve guessed.”

She left the engine on as she pulled in front of his house and put the car into Park.

“We didn’t get much studying done,” Dion said, picking up his books from the seat between them.

“No,” she admitted. He looked at her, wanting to touch her, wanting at the very least to shake her hand and say good-bye, but he was afraid to.

“Do you want to come in?” he asked.

“Oh, no!” She shook her head, as if shocked by the offer. “I couldn’t. I have to be straight back.” She looked embarrassedly down at the steering wheel. “Besides, my mothers wouldn’t like it.”

“Mothers?”

“Huh?”

“Mothers. You said your ‘mothers.’”

“Did I?”

“Yes. And you said it before too.”

She blushed. “Well, I guess that’s how I think of them. I mean, I know it seems weird, but they all take care of me. The women of the combine share business duties, and they also sort of share family duties too. It’s…” She shook her head. “No. That’s not exactly true.” She sighed.

“I might as well be honest with you. I’ve never told anyone this before, but to tell you the truth, I don’t know which one’s my mother.”

He stared at her incredulously. “You’re kidding.”

“No. It’s true. I mean,