Page 67 of The Parent Trap

His eyes are strangely serious. “You’ll just have to trust that I won’t ask you to do anything dangerous or flagrantly illegal.”

“Flagrantlyillegal?”

“Yeah, you know—larceny, grand theft auto, jaywalking.”

I snort. “Ahh yes, jaywalking, that heinous crime.” I sigh. “So you’re not going to expect me to do anything too crazy?”

“No bungee jumping, no skydiving, no car racing.”

I sigh. “Fine. Calgon, take me away!”

“The hell does that mean?” he asks, laughing.

“I don’t even know, actually. Some old commercial, I think? For a bubble bath? I don’t know. Mom used to say it when Dell and I were being crazy and Dad was working late. Which was every night.”

We’re back in a car together, and this time it’s with the top down and the sun shining on us and the sea in the distance. Fortunately, I’d had my hair in a braid, so it’s not going to get too tangled. There’s surprisingly little wind noise, so we can carry on a conversation. Funny thing is, by the time we reach civilization from the airport we’d landed at, we’ve been talking nonstop but I couldn’t tell you a single thing we talked about.

Thai is…shockingly easy to talk to.

He’s funny—and laughter has been in short supply in my life, past few years. With Dad getting—not sick, just frail and tired and…old—more and more of the pressure was on me. Plus everything with Dell, and the whole company relying on me as Dad’s ability to make decisions waned…

I guess I’m just now realizing how stressed I’ve been.

Sad.

Prickly and uptight.

Jesus, he was right.

I realize I’ve gone silent, and he’s watching me. “Thai…” I sigh. “Am I really prickly and uptight?”

“You’ve had damn good reason, Delia. You’ve had the weight of the world on your shoulders. But I only meant it as a joke.”

“I know. I guess I’m just…” I shake my head, trail off, unsure whether to say what I’m thinking.

“What?”

“I guess yet again I find myself surprised by you.”

He laughs. “Like I said—it’s just that you’re coming in with the lowest possible expectations. But in what sense, this time?”

“You’re a lot funnier than I ever really…than I thought you’d be. I remember you never being serious and always playing pranks and acting a fool, but…I don’t remember you beingfunny.”

“Am I?” He makes ahuh, who knewface. “I suppose I’ve always hidden my serious side beneath the whole clown persona. And when we were kids, I really was all about the jokes and pranks. And most of it wasn’t actually all that funny, come to think of it. But since then, I’ve learned that I enjoy putting people at ease through conversation. I’m good at it. Like this morning with Haimovitz. A lot of that was calculated. When we first met with him, he was checking baseball scores on his phone—I saw. So I started talking about baseball—I can’t fucking stand baseball, by the way. But we needed him loose, we needed a connection. People are more…receptive, if you create a personal connection, if you put them at ease, like, we’re all just people here. Just average folks having a conversation. When you go in all tight and—” he clenches his fists and jaw and turtles his shoulders up around his ears, “—everyone around is going to mirror that. To an extent, we’re all empathic.”

“So…the chitchat is a calculated act?”

He snorts. “No. Not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?”

“It’s not a charade,” he says. Pointing from me to himself. “This, with you? It’s not an act.”

“But you just said—”

“With Haimovitz, yes. You were freaking out. You were nervous. So I loosened it up with some conversation. That gave you time to realize he’s just a guy, and it’s just a conversation. Relax. Put your nerves back in the jar. Then you took over and went in for the kill.”

“So youweredoing it on purpose.”