Livvy (41 page)

“Well, I wrote down the number. We’ll know when we get near it, won’t we?”

I sit quietly, getting used to the idea.

“We’re just taking a walk,” he says. “That’s all. And we can turn back at any time. But let’s try.”

“I’m not sure I’m ready.” I smile at him nervously.

“Not ready for a walk? I think you’re making too big a deal of this, baby. Dial it back–”

“It’s my biological father,” I stress to him.

“It’s just the place he lives. He’s probably out sculpting somewhere.”

I sigh, tapping my toe against the floorboard. I
am
curious about him, and he’s right. Maybe his home will say something about him, enough to answer some of my questions anyway. “Alright.” I step out of the car and fasten my coat, reaching in the pocket for a knitted cap to keep my ears warm. Jon meets me on the sidewalk, taking my hand in his.

“Cute neighborhood,” Jon says. “Middle-class. He’s doing okay for himself,” he comments as we walk. I focus on the houses we pass instead of the one we’re slowly approaching. A few have brown lawns, nearly barren of any grass, some in patterns where children may have ruined their landscaping by running circles around trees. A woman steps onto her porch, sweeping some of the newly downed leaves off of her patio and back into the yard. Her effort is futile with the front moving in.

“He drives a pick-up,” Jon says softly. I glance across the street, noticing the older-model Chevy in the drive. “Probably a necessity in his line of work. Speaking of which...” I look to the right of the driveway and get a better look at the sculpture. It had blended in so well among real trees that I didn’t really notice it was made of metal until I heard the muted clanking sounds in the wind. It’s a sound I’ve never really heard. Like a wind chime, but without distinct notes. It’s soft and somehow calming. “That’s pretty incredible.”

“It’s–” I stop talking and look away quickly after I see the man sitting on a bench in front of the house. I hold on to Jon tighter and start walking faster past the house and down the street. “Was that him?” I jerk on his coat when he turns around to look. “Don’t make a scene,” I whisper.

“It’s okay, Olivia. And I can’t be sure it was him. That guy has a lot less hair than the one in the article. But it’s been a few years. I guess it’s likely that it’s him. Just take a few deep breaths.” He starts walking slower, making me do the same. We eventually stop when we get to the end of the street. He pulls me into his arms and hugs me. “You’re fine,” he says. “Nothing has changed between this moment and thirty minutes ago.”

“I saw my biological father,” I tell him.

“You saw a man who may be your biological father. But let’s face it, Liv, you knew he existed. You even knew where he lived. So in essence, nothing has changed.”

I take a few deep breaths, beginning to see his logic. “Okay,” I say.

“Wasn’t that tree something else?” he asks. “The sound was mesmerizing. I can see why someone would want to sit on their porch on a windy day.”

“Do you think the whole thing was metal?”

“I’m not sure,” he says. “Definitely the leaves and limbs. The base, though... I didn’t even look at the trunk of the tree. Can you imagine how painstaking it would be to paint all of those leaves?”

“I didn’t get much of a chance to see it.”

“Do you want to cross the street and take a closer look?”

“I don’t know.”

“We can either walk on by... or linger and admire it. He’s probably used to strangers ogling it, don’t you think?”

“I’m not exactly a stranger.”

“Yes, you are, Olivia.”

“He may know who I am.”

“You’re right, he may recognize you as Livvy Holland. He won’t recognize you as the child he’s never known, and doesn’t even know he has.”

“Alright, let’s cross... and just follow my lead when we get near the tree. Maybe he’ll have gone inside,” I state, on one hand hoping he does, and on the other hand hoping to catch another glimpse of him.

“Deal. So tell me, what class are you most looking forward to this semester?” he says, an obvious attempt to distract me.

“Studies in Street Art,” I tell him.

“That sounds interesting.”

“Yeah. We learn about different cities that have actual initiatives to revitalize communities with art, and then we look at cities that are overrun with independently creative artwork... paintings, yarn sculptures, poster-ing, things like that.”

“Graffiti,” he says.

“In essence, yes, but... legal,” I say. We start to get closer to the tree, and I notice that the leaves are painted in different shades of green and yellow. It looks like a tree in springtime. I wish I knew the type of tree.

“Oak,” Jon says, as if reading my mind. I pull on his hand, stopping his forward motion. We both gaze up into the spanning limbs and leaves, marveling in the detail and construction. There’s an intricate web of supports that hold up what must be a considerable amount of weight in metal, but it blends so well in color and texture that it doesn’t at all take away from the beauty of the sculpture. I look to the porch, noticing the man standing up and walking down the porch, taking steps toward us.

“What do you want to do?” Jon asks quietly and quickly. “Keep walking?”

“This is incredible,” I state loudly as the man approaches, ignoring Jon. “Where did you get it?”

“I made it,” he says, his voice gravelly and low. “A few years back.”

“It’s beautiful,” Jon says.

“Thank you. You two new to the neighborhood?” he asks.

“Ummm...” Jon hesitates, then recovers quickly. “We’re looking for a place to settle down. Someone told me this was a nice neighborhood.”

“You kids look too young to settle down,” he says, his gaze lingering on me. I watch him watch me, studying his eyes. He looks away first.
They’re definitely my eyes.

“Well, we have a few years of college to finish,” Jon says plainly. “Just planning ahead.”

“Isaiah Grate,” the man says, holding his hand out to Jon. My heart pounds in my chest. They shake hands before he offers his hand to mine. I have gloves on, so I can’t tell what his hand feels like as I shake it, but from the looks of it, I imagine it to be calloused. It would make sense, with the metalwork he does.

“Jeremy Austin,” Jon says, “and this is my fiancée, Stella.”

“Pleasure to meet you both,” Isaiah says.

“The pleasure’s all ours. How’d you come up with such an idea?” he asks, gesturing toward the tree again.

“My prized oak tree got struck by lightening about eight years ago. I had to cut it to the trunk, limb by limb, and it was one of the most painful things I had to do. It provided shade and beauty, and then in literally a flash, the thing was gone. It would have taken a lifetime to have a new tree grow to its height. And a lifetime, I don’t have,” he chuckles. He glances up at his sculpture, reflecting on it for a few seconds before continuing.

“Fortunately, the neighbors missed the tree, too. It was the oldest on the street. The lady across the way joked about whittling a new one, and I realized it was something I could do. I had to get a city permit for displaying public art. I never thought they’d approve it, but with the support of my friends here, I got the go-ahead.”

“How long did it take you?” I ask, feeling comforted by his voice.

“Three years,” he answers. “About eight months in planning–it’s a pretty complex system of supports–”

“I can see that,” Jon says. “I’ve taken a few industrial design courses.”

“Then you can appreciate it,” he nods with a grin. “After the planning, it took me over two years to finish cutting and shaping and painting and welding.”

“It’s quite impressive,” I comment, still watching him talk, trying to recognize features of myself in him.

“Young lady,” he says to me, “you have such a pretty smile. It reminds me of a woman I once knew.” He says this with a wistful expression, and it’s at that point that I do recognize my eyes.

“Hmmm...” Jon says, ending the silence that I’d let linger, not even processing his words.

“Where’s your mother from, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Manhattan,” I say quickly, “well, New Jersey, originally,” I correct my answer. My mom never says she’s from New Jersey, although Dad will be the first to admit he was born and raised in Hoboken. He’s probably the second most well-known person from the city across the bay.

“Must just be a coincidence. She was from Rhode Island.” My heart skips a beat. Now his original question sinks in.

“Yeah,” I agree, looking away from the man with the weathered face, now recognizing the lie I hadn’t intended to tell. I glance at the tree once more, this time paying particular attention to the trunk. Like he explained, it’s actual wood, the actual tree he’d mentioned. About eight feet up, there was a clean cut to remove the top portion of the tree, and the metal sculpture begins there. There’s a carving in the tree, and I take a few steps closer to get a glimpse.

IG + SD

Isaiah Grate + Simone DeLuca?
It can’t be.

“We better get going, honey,” I say to Jon sweetly, although I feel like a scream or a sob is about to erupt from my throat.

“Yeah, baby, I guess so. We have a few other places to check out. Thank you for letting us admire your work. Again, it’s incredible.”

“You’re welcome. You kids be careful.” He squints his eyes once more, and the more I look into them, the more it seems I’m looking in a mirror.

I pull Jon along, walking at a faster pace than before. When we get in the car, we’re both silent. I stare ahead, my eyes unable to focus. I see Jon shifting in his seat. He starts the car, turning the heat on, but I’m already sweating and don’t want the warm air on my face. Uncomfortable, I shrug out of my coat before putting my seatbelt on.

“I didn’t expect you to talk to him,” Jon says eventually.

“I didn’t expect to, either. It just kind of came out.” He holds his hands up to a vent, rubbing them together. “I need some water,” I tell him, finally looking in his direction. He simply nods and drives slowly down the road, past the house one last time. Isaiah waves at us as we pass.

“You okay?” he asks, driving well below the speed limit.

“I think so,” I say. “He recognized my smile.”

“But it didn’t seem to be the same smile he was thinking of.”

“No, it was.”

“You said your mom’s from Jersey.”

I shake my head as we pull into the parking lot of a convenient store. “
Emi
is from New Jersey,” I explain. “Simone was from Rhode Island.”

Jon processes the information slowly, nodding, looking at the brick wall in front of us. “Just water?” he asks.

“And some aspirin?” I tack on. I feel a dull ache in my forehead.

“I’ll be right back.”

While he’s gone, I take out my cell phone and call my parents. “Hey, Daddy,” I say, feeling the lump rising in my throat.

“Hey, Contessa, Happy New Year!”

“Happy New Year to you... and Happy Anniversary, too.”

“Thank you. It’s Livvy,” I hear him tell my mother. “I’m putting you on speaker, okay?”

“That’s fine. How was your night?”

“It was great. How was Rachelle’s party?”

“It was crazy,” I say, happy to think back to the soiree at my roommate’s house. I don’t have to allow my thoughts to linger on Isaiah.
IG + SD. Wow.

My mom laughs a little. “Care to expand on that?”

“You should have seen her house! It was probably three times the size of Granna’s house, no joke. And I felt like everything inside was breakable. It was scary to even move around.”

“Was your dress a hit?” she asks.

“I felt pretty in it,” I tell her, “and Jon seemed to think I looked decent, too.”

“Just decent?” Mom asks.

“He may have said I looked celestial, but I could be making that up entirely.”

“It sounds like something he’d say,” she says. I agree.

“Did he have fun?” Dad asks.

“He fit in fine. He talked to, like, everyone there. They all seemed to like him.”

“Of course they did.”

Jon gets into the car, shutting the door softly when he realizes I’m on the phone. He opens the water for me, then the small package of tablets. Instinctively, he starts the car, forgetting about the powerful engine.

“What was that?” Dad asks.

“Oh, there’s a car next to us showing off,” I lie, backhanding Jon’s arm.

“Sorry,” he whispers. I take the water and pills from him, setting the tablets on my leg. Jon carefully maneuvers out of the convenience store lot.

“Did you do anything else interesting?”

I sigh. “Did I do anything else interesting?” I repeat his question. Jon glances over at me with a worried expression. “Did I?” I say once more. Jon shakes his head. “No, I can’t say that I did. Anyway, Dad, we’re on our way back. We’re just leaving Hartford, so I guess it’ll be a few hours. I’ll probably go over to the loft and say goodbye to his Mom before coming home since they’re leaving in the morning.”