Heavenstone 01 - The Heavenstone Secrets

to go slowly, especially with that Kent. Now that you’ve seen a man like Porter, you can understand the difference, at least, can’t you? Well?”
    “Kent’s only a high-school boy. He’s not as old as Porter Andrew Hall.”
    “Makes no difference. You either have something of quality in you or you don’t. Never mind all of this for now. We’ll talk about it again when it’s time. Finish the drink.”
    I did, and she took the empty glass. She stared at me a moment.
    “What?”
    “I want you to start taking some vitamins, Semantha. Mother never believed in them, because we always ate so well, but there are nutrients you can’t get from the food we buy and eat. There’s too much processing. I’ll get some for you tomorrow.”
    “You don’t take vitamins.”
    “I’m going to start. We’ll start together,” she said. She smiled. “Like sisters should, okay?”
    “Okay.”
    “Good.”

    She left again, and I went to take a shower, dress, and go outside as she had prescribed. Although it made me feel better, I was still very confused and disappointed in how little I could remember. I tried so hard that it hurt my head again, so I stopped and went in to complete the homework Mrs. Underwood had assigned for the weekend. That wasn’t easy. It was hard to read with a dull, pounding pain above my eyes, but I managed to get most of it done by the time Daddy came home.
    I was nervous when he saw me, but he was so interested in Cassie’s dinner for Porter Andrew Hall that he didn’t pay all that much attention to me. I suppose I should have been happy about that, but I was also jealous of the interest he took in whatever Cassie did as compared with whatever I did, even if it wasn’t something of which I should be proud. Was this the sibling rivalry Mother described, only in me instead of Cassie?
    To keep him from asking too many more questions, she began to fire questions at him about his trip, and before long, they were into a detailed discussion about the Heavenstone Stores. I didn’t have much of an appetite at dinner, but I was afraid that might attract Daddy’s attention, so I forced myself to eat as much as I always did. As soon as I could, I pretended I still had lots of homework to do and excused myself.
    “Semantha,” Daddy called as I started toward the stairway.
    “Yes, Daddy?”
    “You didn’t tell me your opinion of our Porter Andrew Hall.”

    I glanced at Cassie. There was no way to tell from her bland expression what she expected me to say.
    “He seems very nice,” I said, “and very interested in our stores.” That pleased Cassie.
    “Your sister has been advocating a promotion for him. I guess I’ll have to give it some serious thought. How are things going with this Mrs. Underwood?”
    This time, Cassie knew I was looking to her for help.
    “The jury is still out on that, Daddy,” she replied for me.
    “Um,” he said. “Well, we’ll do what’s best,” he concluded, and went into the den for his after-dinner brandy.
    Cassie nodded at me, which was her stamp of approval, before she followed Daddy into the den.
    The days that followed seemed to run into each other until one became indistinguishable from the other. Cassie and Daddy were very busy with what Cassie called a full restructuring of our chain of stores. Sometimes, the two of them were so occupied that I was told to eat dinner without them. Aside from Mrs. Underwood, who was never the same since Cassie criticized her, I had nearly complete days without anyone else speaking to me. I watched a lot of television, ate junk food out of boredom, and slept a lot. After three weeks, I noticed I had gained some weight. My face looked bloated, and some of my jeans felt tighter at the waist. Neither Cassie nor Daddy noticed, or if either did, neither said a word. Even Mrs. Underwood didn’t mention anything, but at this point, she wasn’tlooking at me as much as she was looking through me. At least, that was the way I felt.
    She became far more mechanical, dictating my work, explaining things almost as if she were speaking into a tape recorder and not to me, and made little comments about the work I completed. I had the sense that she was afraid to give me a compliment now, afraid that Cassie might jump down her throat for praising work that was not really exceptional. On a few occasions, while I was working on a math problem or completing pages in a workbook, she looked as if she was falling asleep.
    Finally, one