Wrong About the Guy (19 page)

A
aron let me know by text that he wanted to stay over again at our house that night, but he came back pretty late. I ran out into the hallway when I heard him on the stairs—I'd given him a key and the gate code that morning—and he said, “Hey. Hope I didn't keep you up.”

“It's fine.” I raised my eyebrows. “I smell Crystal's perfume.”

“Nose like a dog. The police should adopt you.”

“Where did you see her?”

“My house. I had to pick up some clothes.” He raised the duffel bag in his hand. “I tried to get in and out quickly but she was home and wanted to talk.”

“What about your dad?”

“He was out. Trust me, I checked.”

“What did she say?”

“A bunch of things.” He dropped the bag of clothing
on the floor. “Mostly about what a mess their marriage is. Dad refuses to go to couple's therapy and she said she's starting to wonder if they even have anything worth saving.”

“What about you and her?”

He stared at the floor for a moment, a muscle flickering in his cheek. Then he looked up and said, “Your father's your father, you know?”

I did know. Not because of my biological father, but because of Luke. “Do you think he'll forgive you?”

“I'm going to go see him this weekend so we can talk. We've texted a little, though, and I think it'll be okay. . . .” His shoulders sagged. “She kept crying tonight. She feels like she's losing everything.”

“She had his baby. He'll take care of them.”

“Yeah, financially. But it still seems unfair.”

“It
is
unfair,” I said. “The fallout's going to be much worse for her than for you.”

“That's not true,” he protested. “I've never felt this miserable before.”

I didn't say anything. I believed he was unhappy now. He probably felt guilty and unsettled and anxious. But pretty soon he'd move back in with either Michael or his mom, and soon after that he'd go off to college, and soon after that all of this would feel far away, just some crazy thing that happened during his high school years.
Nothing would really have changed for him.

But Crystal and Mia's life would take a completely different path now.

I patted Aaron on the shoulder and told him to try to get some sleep—and felt grateful I had never actually fallen in love with him. He was a gorgeous mess.

When I got home on Friday, I was surprised to see George's car parked in the gravel circle in front of our house.

I found him in the kitchen, leaning against a counter and chatting with Grandma. He jumped to his feet when he saw me, almost like he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't. “You're home early, aren't you? I thought I'd be gone before you got back.”

“My teacher got sick and canceled class. Are you trying to avoid me?”

He flushed. “Of course not,” he said. “I just don't want to be the guy who's always underfoot around here.”

It's funny: Now that Heather had told me she had a crush on him, I found myself looking at him differently. More closely. Scrutinizing his face to see what she found so attractive about it.

Like everyone else in the universe (except maybe their immediate family), I had always lumped him in
with Jonathan as just a Nussbaum-looking kind of guy, but now that I was trying to look at him with Heather's eyes, I could see a lot of differences. George was taller and thinner than his older brother, and his shoulders were broader; he stood up straighter; his hair was thicker; his nose was smaller.

In fact, Heather was right: he
was
kind of cute. Not drop-dead handsome—more the kind of cute that grew on you over time. And it was the unstrained kind of cute—he never seemed to care too much about how he looked, which I liked. There was no gel in his hair; his wardrobe was way more functional than stylish; he had a Timex watch that had probably come from a drugstore; his mother probably still bought his pajamas and boxers—because he was probably uncool enough to wear old-fashioned plaid boxers—

Not that
that
was any of my business.

“I told him he's always welcome to hang out here,” Grandma said to me. She was at the table, eating something that looked like a heap of chewed-up and regurgitated raw grains—and knowing her, probably
was
. “He's doing such a good job on your mother's office! Everything is labeled and in its proper place.” She swiveled in her chair to look at him. “I'm sad you're almost done—the house feels too big with just me and Lorena rattling around in it during the day. And Ellie
and Aaron are really only here at night.”

“Aaron's here at night?” George said with an unsettled glance in my direction.

“Oh, yes.” Grandma raked her fork contentedly through the piles on her plate. “He's been our sleepover houseguest the last couple of nights.” Then she said, “Oops, was I not supposed to tell anyone, Ellie?”

“It's not like it's a secret,” I said, uncomfortable with the fact she was making it sound like it was.

“Your parents are okay with that?” George said to me. Then he shook his head. “Sorry. None of my business.” He stepped toward the doorway. “I should take off. I'll be back on Monday to finish up the office.”

“On Monday?” I said, following him out into the hall and then the foyer. “Why not tomorrow?”

“Your grandmother likes having people around when you're at school,” he said. “Might as well wait and come then.”

“Okay.” He was reaching for the door and I was still a couple of steps behind him so I raised my voice a little to make sure he could hear me. “Heather said if she doesn't get into Elton College, you'll help her figure out where else to apply.”

He nodded, his fingers moving on the door handle like they were eager to turn it and be gone. “Right.”

“Will you do that for me, too?”

“Sure,” he said. “If you want me to. And if I don't have a full-time job by then. But I'm not worried about you.”

“That's the difference?” I said. “You
worry
about Heather and not about me? That's why you said you'd do that for her?”

“That's one of the reasons,” he said, and slipped out the door.

A
aron stayed with us until Sunday, when he and his father got together to figure things out. From what Aaron told me later, there were tears and accusations and explanations and apologies and hugs and more tears and more hugs . . . and the end result was pretty much what Aaron had prophesied: blood proved thicker than the wedding band Crystal had worn for a year and a half, and Michael found forgiveness in his heart for his son but not his wife.

He and Aaron moved into a suite at a hotel and left Crystal, Megan, and the baby in the beautiful, big house.

They're working out the details
, Aaron texted me, when I hadn't seen him for a few days and wanted to know how it was going.
She'll prob get the house. We'll find somewhere else to live. The Peninsula's nice for now tho.

You and your dad good?

Good an overstatement but we're ok.

Ever see Crystal?

No. Wouldn't do that to Dad

Too bad he hadn't felt that way about it from the start.

I had kept my word about not telling anyone (other than Heather), but Grandma read a lot of celebrity gossip blogs, and she grabbed me when I walked in the door after school one day and stuck her phone screen in my face.

“Look at this!” she said. “Look at this!”

The headline on the article was:

Music and TV Producer Michael Marquand and Wife Separating

“Is this why Aaron was staying with us?” she said, then—to my relief—continued without waiting for a response. “I don't blame him for wanting to escape. There's nothing worse than being in a house with a fighting couple. Poor kid.”

I was happy to have that be the explanation.

Luke and Mom heard about the separation around the same time. Mom mentioned that Michael had called them in London to let them know that he and Crystal were splitting up and that he would tell them more in
person. I didn't offer to supply any additional details.

They came home the Saturday before Thanksgiving, and after we'd had dinner and they told me some stories about their trip, Luke left to go see Michael.

“What about Crystal?” I asked Mom after he'd gone. We were tucked up together under the covers in her bed. She was exhausted from the trip and time difference, but wanted to talk. Grandma was putting Jacob to bed. “You going to go see her?”

“Not right away,” she said, rubbing her cheek sleepily against her pillow. “I want to enjoy being home for a little while. And also . . .” She sighed. “We really weren't that close. There's always been this wall with her that I couldn't get past. And I don't like the way she stares at Jacob when he's crying—she gives him this cold fish eye and then glares at me like I'm a bad mother.”

“You may be projecting,” I said.

“Maybe. God knows I can be hypersensitive.”

“Besides, you're a much better mother. You know that, right? You actually take care of us. She always seems annoyed when someone hands Mia to her, like she shouldn't be her responsibility.”

“At least they've got Megan. It's okay to be a bad mother if you have a good nanny.”

“Can I quote you on that?” I asked. “The tabloids would have a field day with it.”

“Let that be the worst quote they ever get out of me.”
She shifted her legs under the covers. “So what do you think happened with Michael and Crystal? Did Aaron tell you anything about why they're splitting?”

I didn't want to lie to my mother. And I really wanted to talk to her about it. But I had promised to keep Aaron's secret. Of course, if she
guessed
, it wouldn't be my fault.

“I think she maybe had an affair,” I said carefully.

Mom seemed suddenly more awake. She wiggled up to a sitting position. “Who with?”

“I think he was a younger guy.”

“Younger than her or younger than Michael?”

“Both?” I said it like I wasn't sure; the word was honest, even if my tone wasn't. “But I didn't really want to ask Aaron a lot of questions about it.” True enough, right?

“Right. We probably shouldn't pry.” A pause. “I met her trainer at the Halloween party—I got a weird vibe from him, like he was a little too comfortable there.”

“Interesting,” I said. “Now tell me more about London. Did you go to Harrods?”

Luke stayed out late with Michael, and when he got back, he knocked on my door and asked if we could talk.

Michael had told him everything. “I'm confused,” Luke said, pacing the floor of my bedroom, his hands
thrust in his jeans pockets, deep shadows under his eyes that could have been cast by the dim light or printed there by his exhaustion and the time change. “We all thought the two of you were going out—I mean, at Halloween he couldn't keep his hands off you. That kiss—”

“I know,” I said, cutting him off. “Halloween was weird—I guess he was trying to make everyone
think
he and I were going out, to cover up what was really going on—but there's never been anything between us other than friendship. That kiss was basically a joke.”

“So I don't have to hate him?”

“Not for my sake. But maybe for Michael's?”

He shook his head. “Michael blames Crystal, not Aaron. Which I get—she was the married adult in the situation.” An enormous yawn carved a hole in his face. “God, I'm tired. If you're fine, then I'm going to bed. To
my
bed. I'm so happy to be home.”

“Hold on.” I smiled my most beguiling smile. “Now that you're back, I have a favor to ask you.”

“And fear enters his heart. . . .”

“This one's easy.”

“I'll be the judge of that.”

“I just need you to call Elton College on Monday and tell them they should accept both me and Heather. I mean, not in those words. You have to be diplomatic about it—just tell them that you're . . . you know . . . who you are . . . and that your stepdaughter and her
friend are both applying and then say something like you just wanted to make sure they got our applications and they're complete—or whatever. It probably doesn't really matter
what
you say—just so long as they know that Luke Weston is on the phone. And maybe mention that you'd be willing to perform if I got in there. . . .”

“Ellie . . .” he said, and I could tell from his tone he didn't immediately love the idea. Which meant I'd have to talk him into it.

“It'll take you five minutes,” I said. “Maybe less. They just need to hear your voice.”

“Would you even want to go to a college that only let you in because someone famous called?”

“It's what happened with high school, right? Coral Tree let me in after they saw you—”

“You were a good candidate,” he said. “Straight As at your middle school and you rocked those ISEEs.
That's
why they let you in. I didn't ask them for any special consideration.”

“Yeah, but you went on the tour and they got excited.”

“I went on the tour because I wanted to see the school. Not to impress them.”

I clasped my hands together and shifted to my knees. I couldn't believe he was saying no. “Please, Luke. You have to. It could make the difference between getting in and not.”

“Your scores are incredible and so's your GPA,” he said. “You'll get in on your own—if not there, then somewhere else—and that's a lot better than getting in because you have a famous relative.”

I let my hands drop. “It's not me I'm worried about,” I said. “It's Heather.”

“Why?”

“She's just . . .” I stopped. Then I said reluctantly, “Her scores and her grades aren't great.”

“Then maybe she
shouldn't
get in,” Luke said. “If there are stronger students, is it really fair for her to get in over them because she knows me? Wouldn't that be a lousy way for college admissions to work?”

“Oh, don't get all idealistic on me,” I said, irritable because I did kind of agree with him. But not enough to back down. “People pull strings all the time. So why not us?”

“Because it's wrong,” he said. “And because I have faith my brilliant girl will get in without my help. And her friend will, too—if she deserves to. Good night, Ellie.” He left.

I dropped back onto my bed, now truly worried about Heather's chances of getting in early. I had banked so much on this one phone call, sure that Luke would make it for me. He always did what I wanted. I was in shock that he'd refused. And kind of embarrassed that I'd asked.

I was beginning to regret pushing Heather so hard to apply there with me. Now that I didn't have any way to actually help her, I was scared I might have steered her right into the path of a painful rejection.

The next morning Mom wouldn't stop talking about Aaron and Crystal (Luke had filled her in on the situation) until I finally lost patience and said, “You seem a little too obsessed with this whole younger-man thing. Luke getting too long in the tooth for you?”

“Stop it,” she said. “I'm not obsessed with it. I'm horrified by it.”

Grandma was in the kitchen with us, mixing some hot grain cereal at the stove and looking not unlike a witch stirring a cauldron in her long purple bathrobe. She said, “Every married woman fantasizes about sleeping with a single young man.”

“No, they don't!” Mom said.

“They're just not honest about it.” Grandma rapped her spoon on the side of the pot to clear it. “People aren't truthful about their emotions. That's what gets everyone in trouble. If we can recognize that even our worst thoughts are natural, we don't have to act on them. Repression causes bad behavior. Everyone knows that.”

“I'm repressing something right now,” Mom muttered.