The Book of Someday (17 page)

Livvi isn’t moving a muscle. She doesn’t want to lose the feathery weight, the gentle warmth, of Grace’s body against her skin. This is an intimacy she has never experienced before—this wordless closeness with a child.

“What are you drawing?” Livvi asks.

“Just something,” Grace murmurs.

Earlier, Livvi and Grace listened to, and sang along with, every children’s album in Andrew’s music collection, and Livvi is asking: “Is it something from one of your songs?”

Grace shakes her head no.

“Is it a picture of your pig?” (After the sing-along, they played hide-and-seek—Grace’s pink pig was the hidden object Livvi was assigned to find.)

Grace gives another negative shake of her head and this time Livvi asks: “Is it a picture from one of your stories?” (After hide-and-seek, Grace brought Livvi a stack of storybooks from a cabinet in the hall and settled herself in Livvi’s lap; and Livvi read each book aloud from beginning to end until there were no more books to read.)

It was following the story session that Grace took the crayons and the paper from a drawer in Andrew’s steel desk, and with her back resting against Livvi’s leg, began work on the drawing that she has now completed.

Grace is scooting forward, sliding the crayoned paper across the coffee table.

Livvi’s first shock is the sudden coolness on her skin where Grace’s warmth has been. The second shock is the bizarre parade of images that Grace has created.

On one side of the paper is a childish rendering of a house. Erupting from the house, exploding through its roof like a wild-eyed Godzilla, is the stick-figure of a woman with billowing silvery hair, emerald eyes, and a grim, harsh-looking mouth. The woman and the house are surrounded by a blizzard of jagged scribbles—a torrent of black lightning.

At the center of the drawing is the stick-figure of a man. His eyes are round and dark, and the line of his mouth is vague. A smile? A grimace? It’s hard to tell. One of his arms is reaching toward the house, the other toward a thicket of huge, rainbow-colored flowers. The arm nearest the house is being splintered by the black lightning. In each of the man’s hands is a gift box. The box in the hand directed toward the house is significantly larger than the box directed toward the flowers.

Hiding in the midst of the flowers is the stick figure of a little girl wearing a ruffled skirt the color of a ripe summer lemon. Her eyes, like the male stick figure’s, are round and dark. But where her mouth should be—nothing—a blank.

As Livvi is looking up from the drawing, her eyes are meeting Grace’s. Livvi knows that Grace has told her a secret. An awful secret. A secret that neither she, nor Grace, knows how to discuss. They are suspended in a puzzling limbo, neither of them knowing what to do.

Grace, eventually, takes the picture from Livvi and puts it into a bottom drawer in Andrew’s desk. Then she asks: “Want to see my surprise for Daddy?”

“Yes,” Livvi says.

Grace positions herself beside one of the low, silk-covered chairs near the sofa—putting her hand on top of the chair back, bringing her legs close together. She rotates her toes outward, with her heels touching. And does a perfectly executed ballerina’s plié.

Livvi sits forward, ready to applaud.

“Not yet,” Grace tells her. “That wasn’t the surprise.”

Grace lifts her hand from the chair back, ever so slightly. Leaving a tiny space between her palm and the top of the chair. She focuses her gaze in mid-distance, and with unblinking determination does a second, flawless plié. She then shifts her gaze to Livvi. After a momentary pause, she smiles and says: “I can do it without holding on. That’s my surprise for Daddy.”

Daddy. Andrew.

How
did
he
keep
his
daughter
such
a
perfect
secret? And why?
Livvi is thinking.
What
kind
of
person
could
deny
his
own
child? And what does it say about me that I fell in love with him?

“You look sad, Livvi.” Grace is whispering this into Livvi’s ear, as if she doesn’t want to startle her. After she has said it, Grace sits on the sofa, a slight distance away from Livvi. Her ankles crossed. Her hands neatly folded in her lap.

And Livvi wonders,
Is
there
only
you? Or do you have brothers and sisters? And who is your mother? Is that where you’ve been hiding? With her? In Palos Verdes? How could you have been less than fifty miles down the road, all this time, without me having any clue that you existed?

Livvi’s instinct is to somehow apologize to Grace. But Livvi knows it wouldn’t make any sense. All she can manage to say is: “You’re being really, really quiet. Is everything okay?”

“Yes,” Grace tells her. “Except…”

“Except what?”

The reply is very small. Very faint. “I’m hungry.”

***

The only things Livvi finds in Andrew’s refrigerator are a pack of batteries, two bottles of champagne, and a square of eye-wateringly pungent Bleu cheese. (The freezer contained nothing but ice cubes and a large bottle of vodka.)

Grace is watching Livvi with an air of trusting curiosity. The ribbon that has been holding Grace’s hair to one side of her head, in a ponytail, has come loose, and her hair is hanging free. She looks tired—and very, very hungry.

Livvi has no idea how she is going feed her. “Are you still sure you don’t want us to walk to one of the neighbors and use the phone? We could call your father. Then we could order a pizza.”

“I don’t want pizza. I want to stay here. With you. And wait for Daddy.”

Livvi is searching every cabinet in the immaculately empty kitchen, keenly aware of how much Grace is in need of food, and concerned she’ll have to stay that way.

As if sensing Livvi’s anxiety, Grace tells her: “Don’t worry. I know you’ll make something nice.”

In turning to look at Grace, Livvi is noticing the dish of strawberries that she’d seen earlier, when she first arrived at the house. And she’s discovering that behind the strawberries, farther back on the counter, is something she hadn’t noticed. A bakery box. Inside the box, Livvi finds a banana muffin. And at the other end of the counter, there’s an unopened bottle of water.

While Livvi is inventing this makeshift meal, arranging the strawberries and the muffin on a plate, Grace has gone to sit at the table, and Livvi is explaining: “We don’t have any milk. Only water.”

“I like water,” Grace says. “I like it the best.” It’s clear she wants to put Livvi at ease.

Grace’s generosity and her intrinsic goodness are touching Livvi’s heart, stirring, again, the emotion that she can’t quite name.

“Are you okay?” Grace asks.

Livvi nods and puts the plate with the strawberries and the muffin onto the table—along with a napkin and the bottle of water.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Grace says. “Because I think you’re nice.”

Livvi is slipping into a chair, across the table from Grace.

And just as Livvi sits down, Grace gets up.

She goes to the kitchen counter and begins bringing things to the table. A napkin. A second plate. And an empty glass. After she arranges them, with great care, on a placemat in front of Livvi, she says: “If Daddy doesn’t come, can we go before it gets dark? I don’t like it here when it’s night.”

Grace seems to be deciding whether or not to reveal something more, something very personal. Then with her head slightly bowed she tells Livvi: “When it’s night, this house is scary. You can see the trees through the walls because they’re glass. The trees make scary shadows and I have bad dreams.” She raises her head, searching out Livvi’s gaze, asking in a voice full of curiosity: “Did you ever have bad dreams?”

Livvi’s thoughts go to the haunting image of the woman in the pearl-button shoes and she tells Grace: “Sometimes I still do.”

After considering this, Grace gives a pensive nod. “I like it,” she says. “That you have bad dreams.”

Livvi is surprised. “Why?”

With a shy smile, Grace tells her: “Because it makes us the same.” And without segue or another word on the subject of bad dreams, Grace returns to her chair, bows her head, folds her hands, and whispers: “Bless us, O Lord, for these thy gifts we are about to receive. Amen.”

Then Grace, with her stomach grumbling loudly, pushes the plate containing the muffin and the strawberries into the center of the table, along with the bottle of water.

“If you’re hungry too,” she murmurs to Livvi, “we can share.”

Livvi reaches across the table and runs her fingers through the silk of Grace’s hair.

There’s nothing more to say. There are no words.

It is the beginning of a love affair.

***

In the early evening Livvi and Grace are being driven away from Andrew’s house in a gleaming, gray Audi R8. A sports car so refined that its interior contains only a driver’s seat, a passenger’s seat, and behind them, a boxlike space designed to hold nothing much larger than a medium-size suitcase.

Grace has just popped up from the interior of the boxlike space.

And Sierra, who is at the wheel of the car, is saying: “Get back down! The last thing I need is a ticket for hauling a kid around without a seat belt.”

“Or a seat,” Livvi chuckles.

“Beggars can’t be choosers, honey, and this car’s full of nothing but beggars. Your ride has a weather vane through its roof and my Jag’s still in the damn shop. We’re lucky I could get hold of this platinum-plated joy ride. It wasn’t easy. The rightful owner and I were halfway out the door heading for an X-rated sleepover in Malibu when you called.” Sierra pauses. “Wait a minute. You said your phone’s dead, how the hell were you able to call me?”

“A FedEx guy rang the doorbell—making a delivery. He let me use his phone,” Livvi says.

“And in your hour of need, your landlady was the first person you tapped to get you off the desert island? Interesting. I didn’t know you and I were that close.”

Sierra has said this jokingly. But Livvi knows Sierra is aware that Livvi must have tried to contact other people and is asking for details. Livvi’s reluctant to give them, worried about the impact they might have on Grace. Livvi wants to protect Grace—the calls to both her nanny and her father went unanswered, directly to voice mail. Livvi doesn’t want Grace to hear that Sierra, a stranger, was the first person available to come to her rescue.

So Livvi tells Sierra: “I promise I’ll fill you in later. But right now I have another favor to ask. Grace hasn’t had very much to eat today. We need to stop and pick up some dinner.”

Grace, who is still peeking over the back of Livvi’s seat, whispers: “Can we have McDonald’s?”

“I’ve met your dad—” Sierra stops and shoots a quick look in Livvi’s direction that says
“he’s a shit,”
before glancing over her shoulder at Grace and telling her: “Your old man is a pricey-organic, high-end restaurant type. You’re sure he lets you eat at McDonald’s?”

Grace slowly, solemnly, shakes her head from side to side. Then, after a brief hesitation, as she’s sliding down out of sight, there’s the hint of an irresistibly hopeful smile.

***

Whatever lightness was in Grace during the drive to Livvi’s guesthouse, and the stop at McDonald’s, has given way to a fidgeting, sleepy fretfulness.

Livvi is taking off Grace’s shoes and socks, helping Grace to get ready for a bath. They are in Livvi’s bedroom, sitting on Livvi’s high, white bed. Sierra is in the bathroom, filling the tub with water. And Grace, so tired that her eyes are half-closed, is, for the third time in as many minutes, asking: “Is my daddy coming soon?”

It’s close to seven and Livvi still has no idea where Andrew is. Ever since leaving the house in Flintridge, she has been consumed by anxiety about what the explanation could be for Andrew’s continuing absence. Now she’s trying to deflect Grace’s worry by saying: “You know what? I bet if we go see what Sierra’s doing, we’ll find out she’s making a big, giant bubble bath for you.”

Grace is restless, yawning. Looking around the room—noticing the brightly painted thrift-shop table Livvi uses as a desk, and the laptop that’s there. “While we wait for Daddy, can we play a game on your computer?”

“I’m sorry, baby. I don’t have any games on my computer.”

Grace seems bewildered. “Then why do you have one?”

“It’s, um…not for fun…I use it for my job. I’m a writer.” Livvi goes to the table, picks up a copy of her novel, and brings it back to the bed, showing it to Grace and explaining: “I write books. This is the first one I wrote. I started writing it a long time ago, but this is what it looks like now. It’s called
The
Book
of
Someday
—”

“—and so many people liked it,” Sierra says, “that those who published it want her to write another book.” Sierra is coming out of the bathroom, drying her hands on a washcloth.

Grace points to the computer. “Is your other book in there now?”

“Not yet,” Livvi says.

“Will it be there soon?”

Sierra sits on the bed beside Livvi and laughs. “I think the kid has a future as a New York editor.”

And Livvi tells Grace: “It will be there as soon as I know what the story is.”

Grace, cuddling her little pink pig, leans sleepily against Livvi’s side. “Can you make it be like
Winnie
the
Pooh
? That’s a good story because Piglet’s in it.”

“I’ll do my best.” Livvi gathers Grace up, intending to carry her into the bathroom, and Grace immediately says: “I don’t need help. I take baths by myself.”

Livvi releases her hold on Grace; Grace quickly disappears through the bathroom door; and Sierra says: “That kid is what…? Five, maybe six? It’s weird how calm she is. It’s like she’s totally used to being left on her own—with strangers. What sort of a twisted shit of a father could that guy be?”

The feeling Livvi experienced earlier, when she saw the lipstick-colored stains on the napkin in Andrew’s kitchen—that feeling of being hit in the chest with a baseball—is hitting her again. “I’ve been with him for seven months…and I honest to God didn’t have any idea he had a child.”