Shadow of Doubt (8 page)

“Maybe he's trying to quit,” I said. “Look, I gotta go.”

“Go where?”

I pointed to the gray car sitting across the street. Morgan squinted at it.

“What do you think he's doing here? Is he here to see you? Hey, you don't think your mom dumped him again, do you?”

“She never
dumped
him in the first place,” I said. “She just needed a little space.”

“Right,” Morgan said. “When a guy finally gets his nerve up to propose and the woman responds by taking a time-out, she might as well be dumping him.”

“They've been back together since before Christmas,” I pointed out.

“Then what's he doing here?”

“That's what I'm gonna find out.”

“I'll wait for you. I really need your help, Robyn.” I couldn't have been more surprised if she had announced that she was going vegan like Billy.

“You need
my
help? What for? To carry paint samples?”

“I don't want to just bring back a bunch of samples,” Morgan said.

“Even though that's what Billy asked you to do?”

“I want to bring back the exact right colors.”

“But Billy said—”

“Do you know who else is on the set-design team?” she said, giving a nasty zing to the word
team
. Morgan is not a team player. When Morgan shines—and she shines all the time—it's as a solo act.

“No. Who?”

“Keisha Minotte.”

“So?”

“Keisha has a thing for Billy.”

That was news to me. “So? Billy has a thing for
you
.”

“She kept him for twenty minutes after our first set-design meeting and asked him all about DARC and how she could join. She says she
loves
birds.”

Unfortunately, Morgan didn't feel the same way. She had participated in some DARC activities during the last migration season and had discovered that she abhors birds—especially dead ones—even more than she abhors teamwork.

“I don't think Billy cares how you feel about birds, Morgan.”

“Billy doesn't
know
how I feel about birds. And did I mention that Keisha is a vegan?”

“He loves you, Morgan. And if anyone knows colors, it's you.” Morgan spends all of her spare time shopping. She's always up on all the latest trends, including the hot new shades. “You'll be fine.”

She continued to grumble about Keisha.

“Call me later,” I said. I hurried across the street.

Even though I walked directly to Ted's car and stopped right beside it, I had to rap on the window to get his attention. He jolted in his seat, as if my fist had punched through the glass. The window whirred down.

“Robyn,” he said, genuinely startled, which made me think he hadn't been waiting for me after all.

“I saw your car. Is everything okay, Ted?”

He nodded, but in a distracted way. I circled the car, opened the passenger door, and got in. Then I waited.

“Do you know a teacher named Ms. Denholm?” he said at last.

“Sure. She's my English teacher.”

Ted looked surprised. “She's a substitute,” I added. “She's only been here since Christmas.”

Ted nodded and glanced at the school again.

“What's she like?”

“She's nice. Enthusiastic. She's directing the school play. I'm assistant director.”

Ted turned to look at me.

“Your father tells me that her name used to be Bonnie Gold.”

“Your...daughter,” I said.

He nodded.

That explained why my dad had known where Ms. Denholm lived. He had done his research. He'd probably been checking everything out so that he was one hundred percent sure of his facts before he passed the information on to Ted. If Ms. Denholm hadn't already been outside when he'd arrived, he would have found some other way to meet her face-to-face.

“Your father gave me her new name. He told me where she works, where she lives. He said it was up to me what happened next,” Ted said. “Wished me luck.”

I could imagine my father doing that. He would have met Ted somewhere, maybe Ted's condo or maybe my dad's loft. He would have sat directly opposite Ted—when he has something important to say (or to ask), my father always sits directly opposite the person he's talking to so that he can see their face—and told him what he had found out. He would have laid it out slowly, allowing Ted to digest everything. And when he wished Ted luck, he would have been sincere, even though Ted had proposed to my mom, and my father still acted like he had a chance of winning her back. (I couldn't tell anymore if he really believed it or if it was an act.) He would know that the news he had given Ted was a big deal. He would know that Ted would be nervous—that he'd be wondering if his daughter ever thought of him, if she hated him, if she would reject him when he approached her. My father would be kind. Maybe it's true what my mom says, that he's impossible to live with. But he isn't a bad person.

“I don't know what to do,” Ted said. “Can you believe it? I'm terrified. I've been sitting here for nearly an hour, and I haven't been able to make myself step out of the car.”

“She's really nice, Ted,” I said.

“The last time I spoke to her, she told me that she never wanted to see me again.”

“That was a long time ago.”

He reached inside his coat and pulled out a sheet of paper.

“Mac gave me this,” he said, unfolding it and handing it to me. I recognized it immediately—a photocopy of Ms. Denholm's driver's license, with her address and her picture on it. My father has a lot of contacts who are willing to do favors for him and a lot of sources who are willing to give a little in return for getting a little.

“It's not a very good picture of her,” I said. “She's much prettier in person.”

“Her mother was a knockout,” Ted said. “Not that your mother isn't,” he quickly added.

“She's still in there,” I said, nodding at the school. “In the auditorium. If you want, I'll show you the way.”

Ted turned and looked at the school again. He said nothing for a few moments.

“She's going to be at my school until the end of the year,” I said. What I meant was, he didn't have to do anything that day if he didn't want to. He could take his time.

He sighed and pulled his keys from the ignition.

“There's no time like the present,” he said. He got out of the car. “I'd appreciate it if you would show me the way.” I scrambled after him.

We crossed the street together. Ted's expression was grim as we approached the school, climbed the steps, and pulled open the big front door. I led him across the atrium and peeked in through the little windows in the auditorium doors. Ms. Denholm and Billy were up on the stage. Ms. Denholm was closing her thick binder. Billy was standing opposite her, rolling up a big sheet of paper. Ms. Rachlis was nowhere to be seen, so I guessed that their meeting had already ended.

“That's her, isn't it?” Ted said. He swallowed hard.

“Do you want me to introduce you?” I felt sorry for him. He looked terrified.

He stared in through the glass.

“Maybe this isn't the right time,” he said. He backed away from the door and then stopped and stood motionless, as if fear had literally paralyzed him. He glanced at me and said, “You must think I'm the world's biggest chicken.”

“No, I don't,” I said.

He drew in another deep breath and pulled himself up straight. “Okay,” he said. “Here goes.”

He opened the door and plunged into the auditorium. I trailed a few paces behind him, just in case. In case of what, I wasn't sure.

Once he was inside, Ted stopped, looked at the stage, took a few steps, and stopped again. I saw his shoulders rise as he drew in another deep breath. He walked slowly down the inclined aisle toward the stage. He was three-quarters of the way there when Ms. Denholm squinted out at the rows of seats.

“Who's there?” she said, sounding alarmed. Billy turned around and raised a hand to shield his eyes from the brightness of the stage lights. Although the stage was lit, the rest of the auditorium was dark.

Ted picked up his pace, moving briskly now into the light from the stage. Billy broke into a smile.

“Hi, Ted,” he said. “If you're looking for Robyn—”

Ms. Denholm relaxed at the sound of my name. “Robyn isn't here,” she said.

Ted was standing right in front of the stage by then, his head tilted back so that he could look up at Ms. Denholm. He said, “Bonnie?”

Ms. Denholm stared down at him. Billy looked confused. Ted moved to the left and slowly climbed the five wooden steps that led up to the stage.

“Bonnie,” he said again. “Do you remember me?”

I followed Ted up to the stage. I like Ted—a lot. I didn't want him to get hurt. But I felt for Ms. Denholm too. She had been eight years old the last time she had seen her father. According to her driver's license, she was currently twenty-four.

Ms. Denholm was as still as a mannequin. As her eyes searched Ted, his hand went self-consciously to his head. Except for a thick fringe that ran behind his head from ear to ear, Ted's hair was sparse, but I guessed it hadn't been that way the last time Ms. Denholm had seen him.

“You're Ted Gold,” she said in a quiet voice. “You're my father.”

Ted stood rigid on the stage.

“Mom died last year,” Ms. Denholm said.

“I know.” My father must have told him. “I'm sorry.”

“When I moved here six months ago,” Ms. Denholm said, “I knew you lived here. I Googled you. I found out where you work.”

“You did?” Ted said. He sounded like someone who had just been handed a ticking, gift-wrapped box and was trying to decide what was inside—a brand new clock or a bomb.

“I was trying to work up the nerve to call. I even picked up the phone a couple of times,” Ms. Denholm said. “But after what I said to you the last time we spoke—”

“That was a long time ago,” Ted said. “You were a child.”

Ms. Denholm looked him over. It was impossible to tell what she was thinking. Then she held up her right hand. Ted stared at it.

“That ring was in my grandmother's family for generations,” he said. “Her great-great-grandfather gave it to his only child. Since then it's been passed to the eldest child. I gave it to your mother for you when you were born.”

“I found it in one of her drawers when I was thirteen,” she said. “I used to babysit for the man who owned the jewelry store in the town where we lived. Just before I left for college he resized it for me. I've worn it ever since.” She smiled nervously at Ted. “I'm glad you're here.”

I gestured to Billy to get off the stage so that Ted and Ms. Denholm could be alone. It took a few moments before he finally got the picture. He gathered his things and jumped down. Ms. Denholm and Ted didn't notice. They were staring at each other, both wide-eyed and dazed. I grabbed Billy by the arm and pulled him up the aisle. He kept glancing back over his shoulder.

“What was that all about?” he said as I pushed open the auditorium doors.

“Ms. Denholm and Ted haven't seen each other in a long time,” I said.

“Oh.” He still looked puzzled. For a moment I thought he was going to ask me all about it. But all he said was, “Well, she looked happy to see him. That's good. She seems sad, you know, Robyn?”

“Well, someone
did
trash her car.”

“I mean besides that. You heard what she said. Her mom died last year. Maybe it'll make her feel better having Ted around.”

I peeked back in through the window in the auditorium door. Ted and Ms. Denholm were still on the stage. They were still talking.

“I hope so,” I said. I knew Ted was hoping the same thing.

Billy handed me his backpack while he put on his jacket and dug his phone out of a pocket. He made a quick call. When he finished, he said, “Morgan wants me to meet her at the paint store. Wanna come?”

I shook my head. Morgan and Billy were my oldest and best friends, but since they'd become romantically involved they were sometimes hard to be around. I still found it strange to see Morgan, who used to tease Billy for being such a good-guy geek, turn to mush every time he beamed at her. And it was weird to see Billy, who until recently had had more respect for wildlife than he did for people, smiling at Morgan, who thought animals were fine so long as they were on plates or on leashes.

“I'm going home,” I said. “I've got a pile of homework to do.”

Billy veered off toward the school parking lot, and I headed for the bus stop up the street.

The man Morgan had pointed out earlier was still standing in front of the school and still twisting an unlit cigarette between the leather-gloved thumb and forefinger of one hand. Tiny shreds of tobacco littered the snow at his feet. He didn't turn when I walked past him, but continued to stare at the school, watching the door as if he were waiting for someone to walk through it. He'd been there for at least twenty minutes in the bitter January cold. I wondered who he was waiting for. He looked too young to be the father of a high-school student, but you never know.