Damaged: A Violated Trust (Secrets) Read Online Free Page A

really see her face — as it appeared superglued to my dad’s face.
    “Live and let live,” I say out loud. “Just chill and let it go.”
    By the time I’m drying my hair, I feel a little calmer. And by the time I put a little curl into the ends — I’m not sure why even, but I suspect I’m just trying to delay the inevitable — I think I can handle this.
    Finally, dressed and ready to face whatever it is that’s waiting for me, I emerge from my room to the smell of something good cooking, which reminds me that I really am hungry.
    “Hey, Hay,” my dad hails. “Come and meet Estelle.”
    So it’s Estelle, not Stella. I paste on a smile and go into the kitchen to see a very young-looking blonde woman stirring what looks like eggs. Dad does an introduction and, feeling conspicuous, I reach out and shake her hand. She looks a little surprised but shakes mine, too.
    “Do you like omelets, Haley?” she asks brightly.
    “Sure, but you don’t have to cook for me.”
    “Estelle brought breakfast things over,” Dad says. “She’s a really good cook.”
    “You just pick out what you want in it,” Estelle tells me. “There are mushrooms, green onions, and a bunch of other things by the sink. Just throw what you want in a bowl and bring it to me. I used to work in a resort restaurant where I had to pump these out for a waiting customer every couple of minutes.”
    I gather some things and take them to Estelle as she’s sliding an omelet onto a plate for Dad. He leans over and plunks a kiss on the top of her head. “Thanks, babe.”
    Thanks, babe? I try not to wrinkle my nose in disgust, but I can’t help but think I never saw him treating my mom like that. Still, I’m not going there.
    I wait and watch as Estelle cracks and whips up the eggs, then pours them into the sizzling pan. She adds my ingredients, using a spatula to gently turn the edges of the omelet, lets it cook a bit longer, and finally slides it onto a plate. “Here you go, Haley. And there are blueberry muffins by the fridge.”
    “Thanks.” I don’t kiss her on top of her head. I grab a muffin and go over to sit by Dad at the breakfast bar.
    “Isn’t she something?” he says to me.
    I just nod and say, “Uh-huh.” I’m watching her as I eat. Barefoot and dressed in yellow shorts and a white tank top, she looks shorter than me, about five foot six I’d guess, but her tanned legs look long and slender for her height, and her figure is good. Really good. Plus she’s got that kind of long blonde hair most girls seem willing to spend hours of breathing fumes at a salon to achieve. And she’s pretty. Not drop-dead gorgeous, but definitely pretty. I glance over at Dad and I swear he’s drooling as he watches her. Or maybe it’s the eggs.
    “This is yummy, Estelle.”
    She’s coming over to join us now, setting her plate opposite Dad and me. “Well, I thought with Haley here, you might want to have a real breakfast.” She sits down and gives him a coy grin. “Just don’t expect this kind of treatment every Sunday.”
    My dad feigns disappointment. “Oh, just when I’d gotten my hopes up.”
    “Well, I suppose we could arrange something.”
    I can tell their banter is full of sexual innuendo — things no daughter should have to hear coming from her father and his girlfriend. So I decide to change the subject. “Are you from around here, Estelle, or a transplant like Dad?”
    “I grew up just a few miles from here.” She rolls her eyes. “I keep telling Gordon I don’t understand why he wanted to live here in Mayberry.”
    “Because it’s cheaper than Fresno,” he offers.
    “But is it worth it?” She holds her fork in the air. “I mean, like the restaurants.” She looks at me. “There are two.”
    “Two?” I blink.
    Dad laughs. “That’s not true.” He starts naming them off, including ones like McDonald’s and Burger King.
    “Those aren’t restaurants,” she says. “I’m talking about places you’d take