It Stood Up

The Bentley 8 Litre finally stopped in front of a towering building. A bearded man in a crisply ironed white shirt stood on the steps, looking impatiently at the plain quartz watch on his wrist, his black suit jacket draped over the crook of his arm. Beside him stood a slightly petite middle-aged woman with long brown hair pinned up. She wore gold-rimmed glasses, and aside from the same style of quartz watch as her husband, her only adornment was a pair of pearl studs. She was dressed in a navy professional skirt suit, every button of the jacket fastened with meticulous care, and wore a pair of white block-heeled shoes.

Mr. and Mrs. Clearwater stood ramrod straight. As Allen shut the car door and walked toward them, they lifted their chins slightly. Mrs. Clearwater's eyelids drooped halfway, leaving only a slit through which her eyes slowly swept Allen from head to toe. Seeing Allen's head of white hair and unusually pale skin, Mrs. Clearwater pressed her lips even tighter—so young, surely he did not have albinism, did he?

The Clearwaters exchanged a glance and sighed at the same time. Their daughter Penelope's profession could not be mentioned to relatives or friends, leaving them the subject of snide whispers behind their backs. Now she had found a boyfriend who was not only so much younger than her, but a freak as well. If the two of them appeared at home together and were seen, it was easy to imagine what people would say.

However, when the bearded Mr. Clearwater's gaze flicked to the Bentley 8 Litre Allen was driving, he did give a slight nod.

"Father, Mother, this is Allen Harris." Penelope, who had gotten out from the passenger seat, straightened her clothes and introduced Allen, who had already come