After the Moment (3 page)

Clayton, unlike Lillian, was a good driving teacher, never losing his temper or displaying any alarm at poorly executed stops or awkward turns. Leigh's father was not an expressive man, and Lillian often said that Clayton was emotionally autistic.

"He can only show love by solving a problem for you," she told Leigh once. "He won't sit with you while you cry, but he will try to fix whatever's making you cry."

Janet, however, felt that Clayton's mother had been the one responsible for making him so shut down.

"Your grandmother was very WASP and New England," Janet said. "She could never tell your father she loved him."

Leigh didn't much think about which of them was right. Mostly, he suspected that Clayton's complete lack of affect served him well at work. It made knowing his own father close to impossible, but he would learn to drive because of it. As Leigh pulled, very carefully, into the garage next to Janet's car, Clayton said, "Well done, nice work. I don't think you'll have any trouble with the road test."

"Thanks," Leigh said. "Just have to log those hours."

He turned the engine off, remembering to take the key out so that the car wouldn't produce a series of beeps when he opened the door.

"It was good of you," Clayton said. "Coming here was good of you. It means a lot to Janet that you'd do that."

Leigh barely noticed how his father kept himself out of the whole equation, simply saying, "Of course I came. I love Millie."

Clayton got out of the car, quickly, and spent the remainder of the day working in the sun porch, which pretty much defeated, Leigh thought, the point of staying home.

~~~

Upstairs, he checked that Millie was still sleeping in his room, then went into her bedroom to call his girlfriend. Leigh knew he should have called before now and told her about Seth. Astra Grein was always puzzled and, in her way, annoyed at how little he had to say about his father or his periodic visits to Maryland. Leigh could never fully convince her that there was nothing to say. But maybe it was a weird girl thing to be obsessed with other people, because normally Millie wanted to know everything about Astra.

How had Leigh decided to ask her out, was she pretty, did she laugh a lot, how long was her hair, and what were her hands like? To which Leigh had said,
She kind of asked me, Very pretty, No, not so much, Long enough,
and
Her hands? Millie, they're hands.

Millie never asked the questions that would allow Leigh to explain how he felt about Astra. She was more than pretty: she was drop-dead beautiful, popular and smart. Leigh knew that every guy in school would trade places with him in an instant. Being with Astra was like having won a prize, which was, perhaps, not the right way to think about one's girlfriend. As a result, he always felt a little guilty around her, but she was sweet on the phone when he told her about Seth.

"I'm glad you're there," she said. "How's she holding up?"

"I'm not sure yet," Leigh said.

"Well, you will be," Astra said. "You're good at figuring things out."

This might have been a compliment, but maybe she couldn't think of what else to say. The fact that Leigh couldn't tell probably meant his girlfriend was wrong about what he was good at.

Millie finally agreed to go out at around four-thirty, after eating some toast with butter and cinnamon on it. Leigh got her coat, the leash, the house key, dog biscuits, and the dog. Millie sat on the piano bench, pulling on her socks. She kept patting Bubbles's head, making the dog overly excited about the walk, and as Leigh was trying to keep Millie's shoes away from the dog, someone thumped on the front door.

"It's open!" he called.

The door thumping sounded again.

"Open, come on in."

This was the kind of thing you could say in Calvert Park, Maryland, but not at home in New York, unless you were very sure who was standing in the hallway outside your apartment. Leigh heard Janet coming out from the kitchen.

"Jesus, it's open," Leigh said, starting to haul Bubbles to the door, but Millie darted past him, shoeless, into the small, cold front hallway.

"It's Maia," she declared before flinging the door open.

"She doesn't touch doorknobs," Janet said softly, standing behind him.

They both watched as the girl, who Leigh guessed was the famous Maia Morland, put her hands on either side of Millie's face. If Maia said something, Leigh didn't hear it, but Millie nodded and then, without warning, burst into the sobbing the whole house been waiting for since the news of Seth Davis's death had first leaked into it.

Maia put her arms around Millie, taller by just enough to provide what looked like comfort and support.

Janet touched Leigh lightly on the shoulder and motioned toward the kitchen. He took off his coat, let Bubbles out the back door, and was, as he watched the dog run to the bushes where she'd been trained to confine her business, ashamed of his gratitude that Millie had broken down on someone else.

Let Maia Morland be stuck with saying all the ridiculous things no one could believe.
It'll be okay, I'm so sorry, You'll be fine. I really, really liked him.
Janet was right—if your heart wasn't broken at the news, what good could you be to the person whose heart was?

Bubbles bounded back in and Leigh followed her into the kitchen, where Janet was making what looked like dinner, although it wasn't yet five. Because Lillian worked mostly at home, she and Leigh ate dinner whenever they felt like it. This could be at five in the afternoon or, on occasion, at ten in the evening. He usually wound up eating while he and his mother watched the half-hour BBC World News. Leigh liked how the British accents could make the most horrible news (famine, flood, or the death of an entire crew on a damaged submarine) sound like shiny items available for purchase.

Dinner at his father's house, however, followed a schedule. Even if Clayton worked late, the table was set at seven and food was served at seven-thirty.

"We eating early because Dad's home?" Leigh asked.

"No, I'm making a meal for Maia," Janet said. "She grew this fall so she's had to up her calories. Poor thing, she'd finally hit her goal weight and then had to go back on the feeding plan."

Leigh, who by the eighth grade was sick of listening to girls talk about food, weight, and diets, thought this was a bit unusual.

"Listen, I want the girls to have time alone," Janet said. "Being able to help Maia gain weight is one of Millie's greatest joys. She considers it a huge privilege."

"Is Maia sick?"

"Anorexic," Janet said, "although to hear her tell it, she just stopped eating by accident. That girl's a train wreck, but your sister loves her."

No kidding,
Leigh thought, recalling all the times Millie had said, as if reporting from the Divine,
Maia thinks
and then whatever it was Maia had thought.

When the girls came into the kitchen, Maia introduced herself by saying, "Hi, you must be Leigh."

"Nice to meet you," he said, holding his hand out in greeting, and was surprised when his sister swatted it away.

"She doesn't shake hands," Millie hissed.

He could tell he was staring at Maia in a way that didn't even feel polite, but he was remembering an interview that he'd read with Donald Trump. In addition to putting his name on buildings and almost running for president, Trump had a huge germ phobia.

"Not a problem," Leigh said, calling up a detail from the Trump article. "In Japan, people bow, and no one shakes hands."

Maia—who was one of those girls with skin so pale, you could see the blue of her veins—turned a red that was almost purple before the blush vanished as she held her hand out toward Leigh and said to Millie, "Don't be silly. That's only true with strangers, and I almost know your brother, you talk about him so much."

Leigh took her hand, only aware when he let go of it that he'd had no reaction. There was something off about her. She was pretty, but not ... not attractive. She had black hair held back with these sparkly barrettes all the girls at school used. Her eyes were light brown, and her nose was long and didn't quite fit the way her face was arranged. Still, he couldn't recall the last time he'd met a girl without assessing her in terms of how much she made him want to touch her.

If Astra Grein took away his ability to think of anything but touching her, Maia Morland made him think of everything but touch. It wasn't that she was so skinny, although she was, which you could tell even though her body was covered up in a baggy dress and huge sweater. Instead of tights or leggings, Maia had on a pair of bright blue and red socks. There was a gap of bare skin between her ankles and her dress, making Leigh look away, as if he had seen something he shouldn't.

"I have this suitcase full of sheets and blankets for Millie," Maia said. "It's on the porch, and while I did okay walking it over, I'm not sure I can get it up the stairs."

"Sheets?" Millie asked. "You brought me sheets?"

"I talked to Josh before I came over," Maia said. "And he said grief is like being in pain, and so you should have as much physical comfort as possible."

"Sheets?" Leigh asked, not having meant to say anything but trying to figure out what, exactly, physical comfort
was
other than
not
having bruised ribs. Maybe being warm on a cold day?

"I know it's silly, only it was all I could think of," Maia said. "I probably should have brought over a bunch of cashmere sweaters, but instead I cleaned out the linen closet. Mom's always going on about the thread count in her sheets, plus her blankets are really nice."

"You talked to Josh?" Millie asked. "About me?"

"Of course. I called over there as soon as I got home."

"Josh knows who I am?"

Leigh was surprised by how much he wanted to know who Josh was. If Maia had a boyfriend, surely Millie would have mentioned it. What did the boyfriend see that Leigh couldn't as he stared at this odd girl, who gleamed in a way that reminded him of a desk lamp. Weird. He wondered about comfort, linen closets, and why Millie should be so pleased that Josh knew of her existence.

"Maia, have you eaten today?" Janet asked. "Let me fix you something."

"No, I'm fine, Ms. Davis," Maia said. "I had both my snacks. And Mom made sure I brought lunch with me today, so I'm queen of the calories."

Now Leigh had a tangible reason to think her odd, and he mumbled something about the suitcase, glad to be away from the kitchen, all that food, and a girl who was thin on purpose. At school, two years ago, Elise Welsh had come back from summer vacation about half her previous size. And she'd been skinny before she started to vanish. After a while, none of her friends would sit with her, and although Leigh usually hated when people made other people feel bad, in this case he couldn't blame them. For lunch, Elise would have a yogurt and an apple, which was fine—it was actually what most of the girls he knew had for lunch. But Elise would cut up that apple into small, tiny pieces, and never eat more than a third of them.

It was gross and disturbing, and right after she stopped eating the yogurt, Elise left school. The hospital, everyone assumed, although some of the girls whispered
rehab,
which struck Leigh as ridiculous. Rehab was for drugs and alcohol, not food. Maybe Maia should think about the hospital instead of standing around talking about her calories.

He put the suitcase on Millie's floor, amazed that it had been so heavy. What were these sheets made of, bricks? Well, he hoped that they would give Millie physical comfort. Whatever that was.

~~~

Without even thinking about it, Leigh offered to walk Maia home. It was dark out, and cold, and Millie's grief, while still partly hidden, hung thickly over the house, making Leigh think of childhood monsters. The kind that you know are not real but still have the power to menace.

"It's late. Maybe you shouldn't walk alone," he said, leaving out the part about monsters.

"Okay, sure," Maia said after looking at him blankly, as if he had spoken to her in a foreign language. "That would be nice."

He had on his running things, sure that what he really wanted was not to take this odd girl home but to go for a run, something he normally hated.

They walked in silence for a bit, and it was funny to be so close to a girl who was Astra's opposite in almost every way. Astra did not walk—she strode, allowing her height, her strength, and her thoughts to take up as much room as possible. Maia, it seemed to him, let her thoughts swarm thickly around her, creating a shield of protection. Only, from what?

"Millie talks about you a lot," Maia said after pointing to her house, half a block away.

"You too," Leigh said. "You cannot imagine how many times I've heard your name."

"Yeah, well," Maia said, coming to a stop at the end of her driveway. "Same for how often I hear yours."

"So we have that in common," Leigh said, his voice full of confidence that Millie's devotion to him was all he would ever share with Maia Morland. "That she thinks about us."

"Not really," Maia said. "Her father and you are the only people she thinks about in a way that matters."

Then she thanked him for walking her home, and for taking the suitcase up the stairs.

"Good night," he said.

"It was nice to meet you," she told him, and he nodded, watching her turn in to the driveway and shut the door of the huge house that had been empty for so long.

Was there something else he had wanted to say? Or meant to say? He stood there, motionless, until deciding probably not.

From Maia's, Leigh ran back to his father's house and then started his six-mile route from there. Calvert Park had an almost perfect combination of hills and flat surfaces. Plus, the sidewalks were wide and the lampposts never broken. If it weren't for soccer, Leigh would never have started running, because he hated it, but his coach had said that while Leigh could spot an opening faster than anyone else, his stamina could use some work.