She Has Your Eyes (13 page)

“It’s not like your father wasn’t around at all before he died.”

“But I didn’t
know
him. And I never felt understood or appreciated by him. I know you don’t like to hear me say such things, but that’s how I felt.”

The line went quiet for a few seconds before she resumed the conversation and changed the subject. “I called to ask you to come over tomorrow and stay overnight. Your brothers will be here too.”

“Sorry,” I said. “Can’t. Next weekend, perhaps?”

“It has to be tomorrow.”

“Why?”

“Because it does. It’s hard enough getting your brothers to stay in one place for more than a week or two, and I’ve got several appointments in the coming week.”

“What, are you running for election?” I quipped.

“Please, Andi!” Her tone was pleading rather than admonishing. It was a tone I’d never heard from her before. “I really need you here. I’m sorry to take you away from David and your weekend, but this is more than an invitation.”

Every muscle in my body tightened. “Mom, what’s wrong?”

“I’ll even pay your ferry expenses, if you want.”

“Never mind that. I’ll be there tomorrow, OK?”

I heard what sounded like a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Andi. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

That was my signal to say good-bye. I put the phone down and went back to the den, but no one was there. I could hear voices coming from upstairs, and traced them to the study, where Wylie was sitting at the desk, a full-color, enormous book of Manet paintings spread open before her, and David standing behind her, pointing out depth-of-perception points. She looked enthralled. He looked changed.

“Excuse me, Dev?” I asked. They both looked up. “David,” I corrected. “I’m sorry to interrupt you, but could I speak to you for a moment?” I diverted to Wylie. “Excuse us, please.”

I could tell he was disappointed that I’d just disrupted the moment and broken the fledgling bond between them. We stepped into the hallway. “What?” he said slightly above a whisper, a snip to the word.

“My mother called. Something’s wrong,” I whispered back.

“What is it?”

“She wouldn’t say over the phone, but I have to go to Long Island tomorrow and stay overnight.”

“What do you mean you
have
to go? Didn’t you tell her we have Wylie here this weekend?”

“Of course I did, but she practically begged me.”

“Don’t you teach on Mondays?”

“So I’ll cancel. Missing one day of class in the semester doesn’t kill anyone.”

David brooded. “She’s going to think you don’t want her here,” he said of Wylie, pointing to the other side of the wall and trying not to raise his voice.

“Look, this is
my mother
we’re talking about. She doesn’t ask me for anything unless she really needs it. I don’t know what’s going on, but she needs me, and I’m not saying no to her.”

He shook his head and muttered, “Fine,” as we reentered the room.

I willed a smile and said to Wylie, “I was just wondering what you wanted for dinner, or are you still stuffed from lunch?”

“Whatever is OK,” she replied.

“We’ve got a ton of leftover Chinese food in the fridge. That OK?”

“Sure, whatever,” David said, waving his hand as if to swat me away, and with that I was exiled.

Later, after dinner, Wylie offered to help me clear the table, no doubt to give herself a break from David, who had been practically hovering over her all day. While he went back to the study to find more books that she might like, she handed me each plate and glass as I rinsed and transferred them to the dishwasher.

“So I was wondering, why’d you call him ‘Dev’ before?”

Damn. She’d heard.

“It’s just a nickname. He hates ‘Dave,’ so we kinda settled on ‘Dev’ instead.”

“Does everyone call him that?”

“It’s something only
I
call him. You know, like a pet name.” I could hear the possessiveness in my tone, wishing it wasn’t outing itself and hoping she wasn’t perceptive.

“Because I heard my mom call him
Devin
the night you came over. So I was wondering why he used another name.”

Oh God. How in hell do you explain to a kid that the father she’s never known used to be an escort?

“I think at the time he wanted to keep his work life and his personal life separate,” I replied. “Kind of like authors who use a pen name.”

“What did he do?”

Please, please, please don’t ask me this!

“Umm…” I started, but came up short. What was I supposed to say? Sales? Public Relations?
Ask your father
?
Ask
your mother
? I didn’t want to lie to her, but telling her the truth was certainly out of the question.

“Well, um, he was a consultant of sorts. But art was always his passion.”

Fortunately she dropped the subject and moved on to her next question. “When you two stepped out of the room before, did you have a fight about something?”

I almost dropped a glass. “I have to see my mother tomorrow. She lives on Long Island, which means I’m going to stay there overnight. I know it’s bad timing, but it’s important.”

“And he’s mad at you for it?”

“We both feel bad about it. This is your visit, after all. And I’d like to spend some time with you. But my mother wouldn’t have asked if she didn’t have a good reason.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. An expression of worry and guilt accompanied her words.

As if on its own, my hand reached out and gently touched her arm. “No. No, Wylie, it’s not your fault. This was… unexpected. My mother and I have a difficult relationship.”

The second those last words slipped out, I regretted saying them.
Why
had I said them?

“How come?” she asked.

“We always have. I don’t know why. I mean, I know now, but…” I stalled for an explanation and a chance to crawl out of the hole I was digging before it caved in on me. “Anyway, I’m the one who’s sorry to leave you this weekend. I hope there’ll be others.”

“Sure.”

“I guess it’ll be nice to have some one-on-one time with—” I stalled again. “With David.”

“My mom will
love
that,” she muttered. “She and I haven’t been getting along at all lately.”

I wanted to ask why, but the question felt too prying. “It’s your age,” I offered instead. “Most girls don’t get along with their mothers at this age. It’ll improve once you’re out of high school and on your own. Besides, you’re both going through a lot of change right now. Change is hard. And she’s afraid of losing you, that’s all.”

“I’m not going anywhere. I mean, sure, I’m
here
. But I’m not, like, dumping them for a new family.”

“She’ll see that in time,” I assured her. I had to assure myself too. “But in the meantime, that’s what it feels like to them. Your father especially. This is incredibly hard on him. Painful, even. He must feel like you don’t want him anymore.”

“That’s silly. I just… I need to do this right now.”

“I’m sure he understands that. But, Wylie, you’ve got to see how much he loves you. Enough to let you do this humongous thing. Heck, he
drove
you here himself. Do you realize how loving a gesture that is? How courageous?”

We finished cleaning the kitchen in silence.

“I can see why your students like you,” she said after a bout of contemplation. “You get people to see things in ways they didn’t before, without making them feel stupid.”

“Thanks,” I said. “That’s nice of you to say.”

“I could tell when you saw them today that you really like being a teacher.”

“I love it,” I replied.

“English isn’t one of my best subjects—it’s not that I don’t like it—” she quickly backpedaled, and I smiled. People always felt the need to apologize for not loving words as much as I do. But before I could tell her that, she continued without a pause, “I just don’t get it most of the time. I never seem to know what my teacher wants. And my essays…” She made a gagging face. “Forget it.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re not the first one to tell me that. Unfortunately, I think school ruins English for a lot of students.”

“Totally! It’s like, can we make this any more boring?”

“Don’t even get me started on the five-paragraph essay,” I said. “Are they still teaching that?” I was enjoying this conversation. And she seemed to be equal parts surprised by and pleased with my validation.

“I was thinking that maybe you could help me,” she said.

I stopped what I was doing and looked at her. She seemed so open and innocent at that moment, and I was moved by it. I felt an instant connection unlike one I’d felt with anyone else. Was it as a friend? A teacher? An aunt? A mother? All of the above? I had no idea. Maybe it was acceptance—she wanted
me
in her life as much as she wanted David. She was asking, inviting me in. And I wanted in, I realized. Maybe that’s what David had felt when he was so eager to make a space for her here. Hell, he probably felt it tenfold.

I smiled. “I would love to help you, Wylie.”

Her eyes sparkled, and their familiarity was almost too much for me to bear. “Really?”

“Sure. Maybe we can make a standing appointment. You know, like tutoring. I’ll come to your house once a month, or something like that—if it’s OK with your parents, that is,” I quickly added.

She frowned quizzically. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Well…,” I started, but couldn’t finish.

She didn’t wait for me. “Do you, like, have Shakespeare memorized and stuff?”

I laughed. “Hardly! I hated Shakespeare growing up. All throughout college and grad school too. Didn’t get it. I mean, I have an appreciation for him now, but I’d still rather see
The
Social Network
than read
Julius Caesar
, or even watch it onstage.”

Wylie lit up. “Ohmigod, I
love
that movie! Jesse Eisenberg is such a hottie.”

I laughed again. “The writer is pretty cute too.”

The puzzled frown returned. “What writer?”

It occurred to me that she thought I was referring to one of the film’s characters. Before I could clarify, David came into the room and announced that he’d found another art book for Wylie.

“Hey, guess what? Andi’s gonna help me ace my English class!” she said.

David peered at me, then returned his attention to Wylie and smiled. “That’s great.” He couldn’t have sounded less enthused. “Come on,” he said, excusing the both of them, and practically pulling her away.

“Thanks for helping out,” I called out as she left the room.

Wylie had gone to the guest room around ten o’clock. She bade us good night, although she wore earbuds attached to her smartphone and rummaged through her backpack. I retreated to David’s and my room, got ready for bed, checked e-mails and found another one from Andrew. I silently groaned, logged out without opening it, and shut down my laptop.

Thing is, a part of me was glad to see it.

chapter nineteen

David joined me in bed. Typically he snuggled with me and kissed me good night, but this time he didn’t even brush up against me.

“So far, so good, don’t you think?” I said. “I mean, you two really seem to be hitting it off.”

He didn’t answer.

I couldn’t take his chilly disposition toward me for another minute. “What the hell is your problem?” I said, trying to keep my volume in check.

“My
problem
,” he said with a sneer, “is that you’re walking out in the middle of my daughter’s visit. Way to make her feel welcome, Andi. Way to make her feel like she’s a part of the family.”

“Are you really that insensitive? I told you that something’s wrong with my mother. I told you that she’s reaching out to me. Doesn’t
my
family mean anything to you? Besides,” I pressed, and knew I was as good as throwing a lit match on a spill of gas, “I could’ve left without telling you and you probably wouldn’t have even noticed until it was time for bed.”

“Right. Like you’re standing on the sidelines. Tutoring?”

“What, did I do something wrong? I thought you’d be happy to see that we’re getting along.”

“This isn’t some competition for my attention, Andi.”

“
Your
attention? You’re the one who’s competing for
her
attention!”

“She’s not some ex-girlfriend; she’s my
daughter
. I’m not cheating on you.”

My thoughts immediately went to Andrew and the unopened e-mail that I knew was lurking on my laptop.

“That’s real classy, Dev. And way to manipulate me by bringing up my ex.”

He looked insulted. “Who’s bringing up your ex? I’m trying to reassure you, not manipulate you,” he said. I took note of his lack of an apology.

I waited a beat before speaking again. “You’re being incredibly self-absorbed.”

“Well, I learned from the best.”

My jaw dropped. Dropped and hung open, as if stuck that way. I gaped at him, saw his cold eyes, and mentally scanned the house for a place to run to, since the guest room was taken. And what would Wylie think if she found me sleeping anywhere other than my own bedroom? She already sensed the tension in the air and blamed herself for it.

“You’re a real rat-bastard sometimes, you know that?” I said, and with that I snapped off the light, pulled the covers up to my chin, and turned my back to him. As I felt him settle in, I added for good measure, “Don’t even touch me by accident.”