Mapmaker (6 page)

I rolled my eyes. “Privacy? We work for a company whose business it is to map every millimeter of the Earth. Privacy goes out the window when it’s impossible to get lost.” I stared at him. “Isn’t that part of why you wanted to go to Tanzania?”

He smirked. “Point made.”

I couldn’t resist persisting. “So, you didn’t answer the question. Is she your girlfriend?”

Connor let out a sigh. “Isabel was in my freshman lit class. We sorta-kinda started seeing each other last semester.”

“She’s pretty,” I said.

“Thanks.”

An awkward few minutes ticked slowly by. Avoiding each other’s eyes, we chewed our messy pitas and wiped our mouths with napkins. My stomach felt tight. I could barely taste the food. My phony confidence was fading into real embarrassment. Talking about his girlfriend was a no-no. But why? She was smart (she went to Stanford) and pretty (in the universal guy-taste way), and straight-white-teeth smiley (in a toothpaste-commercial way). If I were a guy I’d have been proud if she were my girlfriend. Why was he acting so
cagey about the whole thing? Why would anybody try to hide something like that? Unless …

My mind jumped back to the conversation we’d had on the bike path.

“Wait,” I said, thinking out loud. “Do you think Beth and Harrison are …?” I wasn’t sure how to phrase this, exactly. What would you use for middle-aged parents? Everything sounded seedy, gross. Hooking up? Dating? “Seeing each other?” I finished.

Connor sneered. “My dad and Beth? Are you kidding me? My dad only dates second-tier Victoria’s Secret models.”

“You mean he doesn’t find the turtleneck/​fleece/​baggy jeans/​clogs combo hot?” I was joking, but I felt a cold, sick feeling start in my stomach and spread into my throat. I’d never really trusted Beth. I’m not sure exactly why; she’d never been anything but good to me. Maybe it was because she was
too
good. Maybe it was the cloying way she showed up on our doorstep with lasagna and pies right after my mother died. Or the way she had sewn a lace collar on my favorite green sweatshirt, thinking I’d like it.

“Tanya—”

“Forget it,” I interrupted. “I’m sure she had a good reason to be there.”

Connor shifted in his chair uncomfortably. He reached for his coffee, taking a sip and glancing back at the hippie singer.

“What?” I asked.

“What do you mean, what?” he said.

“You’re a crap liar. You always have been, even when we were kids. You’re all fidgety now, which means you’re hiding something.”

He turned back to me and raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t realize I was having lunch with an undercover FBI agent. Do you really want to know why Beth was at MapOut? She wanted access to your dad’s private computer. She wanted to see the last emails he sent from work.”

I blinked at him. “Did Harrison let her?”

“Yes. My dad wants access to his computer, too. I guess there’s some company business he needs information about.”

“So did Beth get in?”

Connor shook his head. “Nope. He triple-gated the encryption. Your dad was secretive—” He stopped himself. There was an edge in his voice.

I shoved my plate aside. “What are you saying?” I snapped. “He was trying to hide something from your dad?”

He swallowed. “Not from my dad,” he muttered, avoiding my eyes. “I really didn’t want to be the one to tell you this … Beth thinks he was having an affair.”

“Oh, come on.” I burst out laughing. “That’s insane. Your dad’s the affair type, not mine.”

Connor leaned back. His lips pressed into a tight line.

What the hell was my problem? Not only had I said the wrong thing, I’d used a thoughtless insult as a weapon. I wished I could take it back. Harrison’s affairs were what led to the divorce, which led to Connor moving away, which led to the ensuing custody battle where he was forced to take sides … and finally to the separation from his mother and his foray into being an über-achiever. All to win back the impossibly hard-to-get approval and attention he craved. In seconds, I’d turned his Achilles’ heel into a glib joke.

“You need a filter,” Connor said.

“I’m sorry.”

He held my gaze under his bangs. “Anyway, I’m not the one who accused your dad of having an affair. It was Beth. That’s why she wanted to see his emails.”

I nodded. I had a sudden flashback to that wintry day when I saw the footsteps in the snow—so convinced my dad wasn’t dead, so convinced that everything was normal. I could feel my flesh turning cold.

“Are you okay?” Connor asked, his voice softening.

“Yeah.” I focused on him, shoving the pain from my mind. “It’s just … someone came by our house last winter, someone who didn’t want to be seen. I wonder if Beth asked your dad to snoop around on
my
dad.”

Connor chewed his lip. “I don’t know. I doubt it though.”

I didn’t think so, either, really. I couldn’t imagine Harrison’s doing anyone else’s bidding but his own. But
someone
had wanted something from my dad. I leaned closer. “Listen. Can you get me into my dad’s office? Then I can get into my dad’s computer.”

Connor flashed an amused smile. He mimicked me, leaning in, closing the distance between us, speaking in a hushed voice. “Just so you know, my dad had his three top computer guys try to hack in. Then he hired Blaze from MIT.”

“Blaze?” I repeated. Clearly the name was supposed to mean something.

“A hacker. Never mind. He couldn’t do it, either. Whoever your dad was emailing had serious security paranoia.”

I nodded. “Got it, but I still want to try.”

“Tanya—”

“Just let me try, okay? If my dad was having an affair, I want to know. You can understand that, can’t you?”

His smile faded. Once again, he held my gaze. “I need you to promise me,” he whispered in a low voice. “You can’t tell anyone I did this.”

I nodded, thrown by his intensity. “I won’t. I swear.” I held my hand out to shake on. He took my hand in his. He didn’t shake it, but turned my palm upward. I felt his forefinger tracing letters in my palm:
P … R …

It was something we used to do when we were kids, seated next to each other when we’d be trapped at dinner with our parents. I giggled as he continued.
O … M …
We’d finger-write messages to each other and stifle our laughter.
I … S …
Our hands were bigger now, of course, but the sensation brought back a flood of memories—swift and intense. I raised my eyes to meet his, feeling just a slight flush as I smiled.

“Promise,” I whispered.

He traced the final
E
and held on for a moment, his finger lingering. Just like on the fire escape, I didn’t want him to let go.

Beth was planting green beans in the garden when I pulled my bike around the side of the house. She looked up at me, raising the brim on her straw sun hat.

“Hey there. How was your first day?”

I stood watching her, my backpack hanging from one shoulder. It was close to six. The early evening sun was still high above the western woods. “It was all right. I can’t believe the renovation Harrison is doing. Have you seen it?”

Beth removed one of her gardening gloves and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. “I’ve seen it. I … went there to talk to him.”

So she passed the test; she’d admitted to being there, and more. Normally this would have been where I walked into the house, grabbed a snack from the kitchen, and locked my bedroom door behind me. Instead I asked, “Do you need any help?”

Beth looked up, startled. “Really? Do you want to pull out some carrots? If you’re in for dinner?”

I nodded. “I’m in.”

In the kitchen I
peeled, washed, and chopped the carrots. I let the cool water wash over my hands, looking into the metal sink, strategizing how I would get Beth to open up about Connor’s suspicions.

The oven timer rang, jolting me.

I turned to see Beth taking the quiche from the oven.

While I’d been at the sink, she had set the table, complete with a fresh pink peony from the garden. She’d folded yellow cloth napkins in triangles and set the knives and forks. I thought she did this type of thing only for my dad: the flower in the vase, the delicious-looking meal complete with decorative tomato and pinched pie crust. Maybe this was her way of showing me I was family, too. That we were all we had left.

“So I have a
stack of summer reading I thought I could get away with sneaking at the internship … Did you ever read
The End of the Affair
by Graham Greene?”

I shoved a piece of lettuce into my mouth. Was I being too obvious? Dinner had been ten minutes of excruciating silence so far. Was there a way I could get her to tell me who she thought my dad was having an affair with? Or what I really wanted to know: if she’d recruited someone to snoop around his things after he’d passed away.

Beth put her fork down on her plate, making a clinking sound. She seemed to be staring at the wall. “
The End of the Affair
? Yes. It’s one of my favorites.”

I sipped some water. “I think Dad liked that book a lot. Well, I know he loved Graham Greene. You know what’s weird that I’ve been thinking about?”

“What?” Beth smiled. Not a real smile, only a turn of her lips, weak and tired.

“Whenever Dad went away, he would send me an email. I mean even if it just said ‘Hi, I’m in Cambodia’ or whatever. Always an email, never a text … you know how he was. The other day I looked back at my emails from him and the last one he sent was five days before he died.”

She touched the water glass, moving it an inch, then the silverware. This was a nervous habit of hers, rearranging things. I could tell there was something she was holding back. “He wasn’t a fan of texting,” she said in a tight voice.

I shrugged to ease the tension. “Maybe he just didn’t have Internet access. He was in Cambodia. Did he send you any emails while he was there?”

Beth shook her head. “No, he didn’t. To be honest, he’d been distant before he left.” She looked as though she were about to say something else, then stopped herself. Her eyes met mine. “You were always the first person on his mind wherever he was.”

I opened my mouth to protest. No words came. I hadn’t been prepared for that. “Thanks,” I whispered. “I’m sure you were, too.”

“I wasn’t.” She squeezed her eyes shut, then stood, taking her plate and mine briskly to the sink. Her shoulders shook as she turned on the faucet.

“I’ll clean up,” I offered, not sure if she heard me over the water.

I knew she was crying. She must have known that I knew, because she hurried out of the room. There were footsteps on the stairs, followed by the sound of her bedroom door closing.

Night had already fallen
when my phone dinged in my sweatshirt pocket. My pulse beat a little quicker as I pulled it out.

Meet at Amherst Cinema 9 p.m.

A text from someone who hated texting. So it was important. I could guess what Connor was really telling me: he was going to get me into Dad’s office. Tonight. It was already quarter past eight. I cleared the dishes from the table, rinsing and putting them in the dishwasher, and wiped the table clean. Then I hurried up the stairs to my bedroom, quickly changing out of the shorts I’d worn all day that were now dirty from the garden.

I rummaged through my drawers, all the while keeping an eye on the clock, before settling on a pair of jeans and my favorite navy-blue T-shirt. Once changed, I brushed my hair in the long mirror in the closet that, depending on how far the door was open, at times made you look tall and thin or short and squat. Tonight I opened it to the tall-and-thin angle to give myself the benefit of the doubt. Hair up? Hair down? This was the perpetual question. Down. Wait, no. Up. Up in a casual, high pony.

Then my rational voice interrupted.

Dummy, this isn’t a date. What are you thinking? It doesn’t matter if you wear your hair up, down, or sideways—you are no match, you’re not even on the same team as Isabel Chase. This is about Dad’s cheating, not Connor’s. Not that I think Connor would cheat, anyway
.

I stepped closer to the mirror, analyzing my flaws. People told me I had a heart-shaped face, which I guess was good. I had nice lips, but I tried to keep them closed when I smiled because of my gap tooth. My hair was light brown in the summer and wavy (meaning it frizzed easily). It came an inch below my shoulders. My eyes were brown, kind of deep set, not like Frankenstein or anything. Some girls in my class were always being told they were pretty, but only a few people ever really ever told me that (my dead mom, my dead dad, and Beth). Mostly people would ask me why I looked so sad or worried or preoccupied. That was a question I got a lot. I assumed it was because I was so self-conscious of my smile and hardly ever smiled, but now I realized it was in my eyes.

Before I left, I knocked quietly at Beth’s bedroom.

“Come in.” Her voice was hoarse.

I opened the door a few inches. She was sitting on a chair by the window, her knees pulled to her chest. The lights were off. Dusk lit the room in a soft glow.

“Um, I just wanted to tell you I’m going to the movies with some friends.”