When I come out five minutes later, the elder Dr. Black is taking the microphone. “Let’s go,” Beckett says throatily, offering me his arm. “We can’t leave now,” I protest. “Your dad is about to give his speech.” “He won’t mind,” Beckett assures me brusquely. “I’m sure he’d be happy to read it to you next week if you’re that interested.” “Beckett, it’s your dad! We have to stay, at least until his speech is over.” “Fine,” he says shortly. Grabbing my hand and pulling me along with him, he winds through the crowd that has gathered around the makeshift stage until we are standing near the front. I look at Beckett, puzzled. He’s definitely acting strange, like he can’t wait to leave. I wonder if he’s trying to avoid Camille, either for my sake or his, or if he’s just tired of worrying about me. I hope it’s just that he’s avoiding Camille.
