The Truth About Delilah Blue by Tish Cohen Read Free Book Online Page B

her ears. “Please. No canine gynecology before I have my coffee.”
    With an impish expression, he turned to face the mirror over his dresser. “Who knew I raised such a lightweight?” A green tie hung loose from his neck and he picked up one end and wound it around the other. When she saw he’d left the narrow end too short, she moved to help. Positioning herself behind him, she wrapped her arms around the front of his neck and began looping the silk around itself into a triangular knot.
    The dog crowed again from next door.
    “I did a bit of research,” Lila said, smoothing his now-perfect knot. “The neighborhood bylaws say no excessive noise between eleven and seven.”
    He let out a long tired breath. “If only you would throw these research skills into learning the value of a good business education. You can do anything with a business degree. You don’t have to follow in my footsteps. Start an arts-based business. It’s the best damned foundation for almost any career.”
    “Dad…”
    “I mean, look how you’ve spent the last few weeks. Holed up in the cellar all day every day. You’re wasting your life.”
    “I’m working.”
    He grunted in disbelief. “Working? What kind of work?”
    “Painting.”
    “Well at least show me what you’re working on. Where do you keep these paintings?”
    She pushed her toe into a snag in the rug. “I don’t.”
    “Don’t what?”
    “I work like crazy on them. I just don’t keep them. Not yet.”
    “You destroy them?”
    “For now.”
    He seemed distressed, wiping his forehead and looking around. “I just don’t want you to turn out like…”
    “Like?”
    He exhaled. “No one. But I’d feel better if you’d show me a painting.” He slid the business school brochure along his dresser until it lay in front of her. “Better still if you looked at this.”
    Ignoring it, she picked up a pair of silver cuff links and set about adjusting his cuffs. “Don’t worry about me. I’m working on a plan.”
    “Plan. I’d like to hear more about this—”
    The dog let out a long, plaintive wail that sounded sickeningly human.
    “You know that dog’s a Basenji,” Victor said. “The only breed in the world that doesn’t bark. Comes from the Congo, you know, once used as a Pygmy hunting dog. Extremely unsuited to spending its nights outdoors. It can be quite cool at night in Los Angeles.”
    Lila studied her father, searching for a sign he was joking. But Victor just blinked, sincere as anything. It was then that she noticed his shirt collar was rumpled on one side.
    “What?” he said.
    “Nothing. It’s just…you just told me about the Basenjis. Then you told me all over again.”
    He edged closer to the foot of his bed, dropped down onto the folded duvet, and pressed his mouth into a defiant frown. “Pass me my black shoes,” he said in a quiet voice.
    Lila stood frozen for a moment, unsure what to say. She searched the situation for reason. Had she not reacted appropriately the first time around? Was he testing whether she’d been listening? Was age catching up with him and this was a sign of senility?
    “Pass me my goddamned shoes!”
    She jumped up to grab a pair of black loafers from his closet and held them up as a question. When he nodded, she set them on the floor by his feet and watched, mute, as he slipped them on.
    The Basenji yapped twice.
    Of course. Her father was sleep deprived. Sleep deprivation could do terrible things to the mind. Confusion, memory problems. Hallucinations, even.
    She sat on the bed and pressed her hand over his. “I’ll go next door and get them to quiet their dog. Threaten them with animal services. Things will get back to normal once we both get a full night’s sleep.”
    E VERYTHING ABOUT THE neighbors’ house was weighty and thick, like a bunker. Tiny cypress-framed windows were sunk deep into pinky-brown adobe walls. Planks of dark wood, held together with hammered iron straps, formed the arched front