Slow Dancing on Price's Pier (28 page)

A knot formed in Thea's stomach. Lori Caisse was Irina's homeroom teacher. Not good.

In the lunchroom and the library, speculation was only natural: Thea had expected her friends to ask:
Are you sleeping with Garret?
And though it wasn't their business, she'd never been one to withhold facts. She'd told them: No.

But every few days, they asked again. And again.
How long
, they said,
can you hold out?
She became so used to answering their endless questions that she very nearly became comfortable doing it. Until one day in the morning before school as they lounged outside near the flagpole, she affirmed for the hundredth time that she was not sleeping with Garret, but she didn't get the usual response.

“Really? That's not what he says.”

The blow had landed like a punch in the gut. She could picture the scene perfectly—Garret talking to his buddies. Making her the same as all the other girls he dated. Kissing and telling. The thought made her sick.

“Well, we're not,” Thea had said.

All day she carried the shame of revelation with her. All those hundreds of invisible eyes that were turned on her in friendly speculation now seemed to be turned on her in malice, and as she walked down the hall, her books clutched to her chest, she saw herself as they saw her: She was telling them that she was not sleeping with Garret and he was telling them she was. She didn't know how she would make it to the end of the day.

And yet, she did make it. At first she didn't say anything to Garret about what she'd heard. He came to her in her bedroom at midnight, kissed her, panted against her neck, until all their bittersweet and tenacious want had finally burned itself out without having been satiated. He lay with her, his breath light as clouds, his body hot beneath her hand, his eyes closed in exhaustion.

She asked him, “Did you tell the soccer team that we're sleeping together?”

He was quiet a moment before he answered. “Yes.”

“Why did you?”

He propped himself up on one hand. “To get them off my back.”

“But you bragged to them. You brought everyone in. This was supposed to be ours . . .”

“You don't understand what it's like,” he said.

He kissed her forehead. She turned away slightly, the floor hard beneath her head, and in the darkness she could just make out the shape of boxes and blankets beneath her bed. She didn't know what to make of this—of everything surrounding sex. Girls much younger than her had been doing it for years, with hardly a thought, it seemed. For them, there was no gravity, no deep-seated fear, no desperation. They liked sex the way they liked a good meal or a trip to the amusement park—things to anticipate joyfully and easily, and afterward, things that could be let go.

But with Garret, Thea did not have that uncomplicated, breezy feeling. She worried about what Jonathan had said—that Garret was only after one thing. And that once he got it, he would go.

“I wish you hadn't told them one way or the other,” she said. “But I guess there's worse things.”

She felt his hand along her spine, his fingers tracing the ridges where her hair trailed down. She tried to hold herself away from his touch—so much want collecting within her like rainwater, near to overflowing.

She leaned down, kissed the contours of his mouth that she was getting to know so well. “Next month we graduate,” she said. She kissed his cheekbones, the ridge of his eyebrows, the bump of his chin. “Can you wait that long?”

When he looked at her his eyes were steely and clear. “No,” he said. “But I will.”

 

 

Thea stood at the kitchen counter, folding slices of Swiss onto turkey sandwiches for her and Sue. Irina's swollen ankle had apparently translated into a great excuse for Sue to shower her granddaughter with presents: a remote-controlled car, a bag full of new books and DVDs, and the promise of a trip to the Providence Children's Museum once Irina was “back on her foot.”

Sue came into the kitchen and sat down at the table. The day was unusually hot for September, and she was fanning herself with a women's magazine.

“Do you like avocado for your side salad?” Thea asked.

“I can stand it if it's in something,” she said, a slight lilt to her voice. “But otherwise, no thanks.”

Thea finished preparing their plates, then took one into the living room, where Irina was lounging in her pajamas. She set the plate down on her daughter's lap.

“No, Maaaaa,” Irina whined. “I don't like avocado.”

“Try it anyway.”

“I have tried it; I don't like it.”

“Try it again,” she said, laughing to herself. She hadn't liked avocados as a girl either, but she loved them now.

When she got back to the kitchen Sue was already nibbling at her salad, and Thea joined her, glad for adult company. Irina was driving her crazy these days; her appointment with her daughter's teacher could not come soon enough.

“She seems to be doing well,” Sue said.

“Pretty well.”

“And how's Mom?”

“I'm okay,” Thea said.

Sue sprinkled a bit of Italian dressing on the dark leaves of her salad. “Garret told me he went to the hospital with you.”

“He was great with Irina the other day. I'm glad he was there to help.”

“Help you or Irina?”

“Both,” Thea said.

Sue worked a bit of salad onto her fork. “That son of mine gives me more gray hairs than I know what to do with. I've been trying to set him up with Kate Cooper for three weeks now. They'd be perfect together. Did you know she's a rock climber? Yes, along with being the VP at the hedge fund, she also climbs rocks—with no ropes. She's perfect for him. But of course, you know Garret. He won't even meet her.”

Thea wiped her hands on her napkin. She could picture Garret turning on the charm for a woman as a favor to his mother, but she couldn't imagine him dating unless he really wanted to. He didn't like be told what to do.

“Maybe he likes being single,” Thea suggested.

“He doesn't,” Sue said. “He's never liked being single. He just likes to pretend. You must know that, Thea. Even as a kid, he was so serious about his relationship with you. And kids who are that serious when they're that young don't usually grow up to be dedicated bachelors.”

Thea took a bite of her sandwich. She didn't know why, but Sue's voice seemed different. Tense. Thea couldn't remember the last time Sue had mentioned her and Garret in the same sentence. To Sue, it was as if Thea's brief relationship with Garret had never happened. Once Thea and Garret had split, Sue had never looked back. Until—Thea watched her friend pull a piece of turkey out of her sandwich and pop it in her mouth—now.

“Maybe there's something I can do to help,” Thea said. “Something that might speed the process along . . .”

“That's sweet. But once Garret digs his heels in, there's nothing anyone can do. And anyway, whether he wants to meet her or not, he'll have to meet her at the Gilded Age Society Ball next week. You are coming, right?”

Thea glanced down at her fork. “I wasn't sure if you'd wanted me to go this year . . .”

“Of course I do! You're family. And family must be there!”

Thea smiled. Every year the Gilded Age Society held a major fete in one of the enormous mansions the society supported. The old homes were as glamorous and jaw-dropping as any European palaces—the fact that they were called “cottages” only added to their outrageousness. They were white elephants: treasured for their rareness and beauty but astoundingly expensive to keep up. The annual ball was meant to help offset costs. Sue and Ken always paid. “I'm glad you want me to go. I love going.”

“Will you . . . will you be bringing a date?”

Thea took a bite of her sandwich to stall. A date? She'd never needed a date before—to anything. Either Jonathan or Garret had always been on hand. “You guys are going to be there, right?”

“Yes. And the boys.”

“Then I don't need a date,” Thea said. “Unless you think I do.”

Sue touched her arm. “Thea. I know you and Jonathan are newly divorced. But if you want to date, you have my blessing. You and Jonathan both deserve to fall in love—for keeps this time.”

“Thank you,” Thea said, lacking a better answer. “But I don't imagine I'll be doing the dinner and roses thing any time soon.”

From the other room they heard Irina ringing the little porcelain bell that Thea had given her a few days ago—a bell that Thea was beginning to hear clanging in her dreams. She pressed her hand against her forehead and stood. “Why I ever thought that was a good idea . . .”

“Stop.” Sue rose and pushed aside her chair. “I'll go.”

“But . . .”

“A grandmother doesn't turn down the opportunity to spoil her only granddaughter.”

Thea stopped her before she could leave the room. “Sue . . . thank you. For everything, I mean.”

“What are friends for?” she said.

 

 

Jonathan walked down the hallway of the elementary school, holding Irina's small hand. The corridor was dark, the school mostly empty. As their footfalls echoed down the long, straight hall, copies of paintings of presidents stared solemnly from the shadows. Even as an adult, Jonathan felt intimidated enough by the menacing portraits to be on his best behavior. He could only imagine how well they worked on the kids.

Irina stopped him when they reached her teacher's room. “This is it.”

“All right. You wait here,” Jonathan said, seating Irina in a wooden chair outside the door.

She snarled at him like a tiger.

“I mean it. Don't get out of this chair until I get back. I shouldn't be very long.” He waited until she nodded, then he walked into the classroom. It was empty except for Irina's teacher, who was sitting behind a big desk at the front of the room. Behind her the white-board was marred with the blue smudges of half-erased lessons.

“Hi, I'm Jonathan Sorensen,” he said, not certain she would remember him.

She looked up, then put her hand to her heart and laughed. “Oh, you startled me. Sorry!” Her smile was pretty, just a little too wide for her face. Her hair was pulled back into a neat brown ponytail. Jonathan had met Lori Caisse before, at back-to-school night last month. Then, as now, she left him with the impression that she'd just wandered out of a storybook. “Nice to see you again. Have a seat.”

Jonathan looked around for a grown-up-sized chair. “You mean here?”

She came around the front of the desk, a textbook in her hands, then slid effortlessly into one of the tiny chairs. “I spend so much time around kids, I forget everything isn't adult size.”

“My daughter's waiting in the hall.”

“This shouldn't take long. You can close the door.”

He did as she asked, then eased his lanky frame behind one of the small desks alongside her. Strangely enough, he felt nervous—as if he was the one in trouble, and not his kid.

“First off, Irina's a wonderful student,” Lori said. “She's bright, funny, and really a team player. But I have to show you what she did.” She opened the textbook; the cover showed a picture of a globe surrounded by a rainbow. When she picked the book up, pages went cascading out and onto the desk.

“Oh no.” Jonathan leaned down to pick up one of the pages that had fallen to the floor. “She tore them out. All of them?”

“No. She missed the last one,” Lori said, and then she looked away, busying herself with the pages, as if she wanted to give him a moment of privacy to collect his thoughts.

“We'll take care of this,” Jonathan said. “How much do you think it will cost her to replace the book? We'll take it out of her allowance.”

“I'm not really sure, to tell you the truth. I think you could decide what's fair . . .” Lori lowered her eyes. “May I ask if Irina is having any trouble at home?”

Jonathan adjusted his tie, which had suddenly become too tight. “Thea and I are newly divorced. She couldn't be here tonight because she got held up at the coffee shop that she owns. But we're still very committed to parenting as a team.”

Lori nodded. “Irina will benefit from that. She's lucky.”

“I feel like she's acting out little by little, more and more, doing these slightly destructive things.” Jonathan shifted against the hard wood of the seat. He felt as if he was failing his daughter—as if he'd already failed her. “So what can we do? What specific step would you recommend we take to stop the cycle?”

“Just keep communicating with her,” Lori said. “Stay involved in her schoolwork too. You can go online and see what her homework is. Check up and be sure she's studied. Kids don't like it, but it makes them know you care.”

“I guess it's a little harder to pinpoint who has what job now that Thea and I don't live together. I'll talk to her. We'll work something out.”

“The other thing you can do is enroll her in counseling here at school. Mrs. Leightner is trained to work with students from broken homes. Her group meets after school on Wednesdays for an hour. I can make the arrangements, if you like.”

“Thank you,” Jonathan said. “I'll let Thea know. I'm sure she'll be glad.”

“There are always a few families that split in the course of a year. But I've met you and Thea both, and it seems like Irina really does have a fighting chance.” She smiled, the brightness returning to her face again. Something about it pulled Jonathan in. He thought she must break a dozen fourth-grade hearts a year.