A Bad Day for Sunshine (Sunshine Vicram #1) - Darynda Jones Page 0,2
her hands over her ears again. “Mom!” she said, her chastising glare the stuff of legend. The stuff that could melt the faces off a death squad at fifty yards. Because there were so many of those nowadays. “You can’t go to prison, either. You’ll never survive. They’ll smell cop all over you and force you to be Big Betty’s bitch before they shank you in the showers.”
She’d put a lot of thought into this.
Sun set down the cup, walked to her daughter, and placed her hands on the teen’s shoulders, her expression set to one of sympathy and understanding. “You need to hear this, hon. You’re going to have to fend for yourself soon. Just remember, you gave at the office, never wear a thong on a first date, and when in doubt, throw it out.”
Auri paused before asking, “What does that even mean?”
“I don’t know. It’s just always worked for me.” She walked back to her coffee, took a sip, grimaced, and stuck the cup into the microwave.
“Grandma and Grandpa can’t go to jail.”
Sun turned back to her fiery offspring and crossed her arms over her chest, refusing to acknowledge the apprehension gnawing at her gut. “It would serve them right.”
“No, Mom,” she said as she pulled a sweater over her head. “It wouldn’t.”
Sun dropped her gaze. “Well, then, it would serve me right, I suppose.” The microwave beeped. She took out her cup and blew softly, having left it in long enough to scald several layers off her tongue, as usual. “But first I have to check out my new office.”
While she’d been sworn in and taken office on January 1, she had yet to step foot inside the station that would be her home away from home until the next election in four years. Barring coerced resignation.
She and Auri had taken an extra week to get moved in after the holidays. To prepare for their new lives. To gird their loins, so to speak.
“I need to decorate it,” she continued, losing herself in thought. “You know, make the new digs my own. Do you think I should put up my Hello Kitty clock? Would it send the wrong message?”
“Yes. Well?” Auri stood up straight to give her mother an unimpeded view. She wore a rust-colored sweater, stretchy denim jeans, and a pair of brown boots that buckled up the sides. The colors looked stunning against her coppery hair and sun-kissed skin.
She did a 360 so Sun could get a better look.
Sun lowered her cup. “You look amazing.”
Auri gave a half-hearted grin, walked to her, and took the coffee out of her mother’s hands. That kid drank more coffee than she did. Warning her it would stunt her growth had done nothing to assuage the girl’s enthusiasm over the years. Sun was so proud.
“Are you nervous?” she asked.
Auri lifted a shoulder and downed half the cup before answering, “No. I don’t know. Maybe.”
“You are definitely my daughter. Indecisiveness runs in the family.”
“It’s weird, though. Real clothes.”
Auri had been in private school her entire life. She’d loved the academy in Santa Fe, but she’d been excited about the move regardless. At least, she had up until a few days ago. Sun had sensed a change. A withdrawal. Auri swore it was all in her mother’s overprotective gray matter, but Sun knew her daughter too well to dismiss her misgivings.
She’d sensed that same kind of withdrawal when Auri was seven, but she’d ignored her maternal instincts. That decision almost cost Auri her life. She would not make that mistake again.
“You know, you can still go back to the academy. It’s only—”
“Thirty minutes away. I know.” Auri handed back the cup and grabbed her coat, and Sun couldn’t help but notice a hint of apprehension in her daughter’s demeanor. “This’ll be great. We’ll get to see Grandma and Grandpa every day.”
Just as they’d planned. “Are you sure?” Sun asked, unconvinced.
She turned back and gestured to herself. “Mom, real clothes.”
“Okay.”
“I swear, I’m never wearing blue sweaters again.”
Sun laughed softly and shrugged into her own jacket.
“Or plaid.”
“Plaid?” Sun gasped. “You love plaid.”
“Correction.” After Auri scooped up her backpack, she held up an index finger to iterate her point. “I loved plaid. I found it adorable. Like squirrels. Or miniature cupcakes.”
“Oh yeah. Those are great.”
“But the minute plaid’s forced upon you every day? Way less adorable.”
“Gotcha.”
“Okay,” Auri said, facing her mother to give her a once-over. “Do you have everything?”