I can’t have this conversation.
“You don’t believe me?” I yell, standing up. “Well, fine. I’ll show you.” I head right to the phone, pick it up, and dial Elizabeth’s number.
“Hi,” she says. “I thought you were busy this evening.”
“Look—I have a little surprise for you. My dad is in town. A totally unexpected visit. I’m not sure how long he’s here, but he wants to meet you. Would you mind stopping over?”
“Meet your dad? Wow. I’m kind of in my drawing clothes right now, so if I came right over, I’m worried he’d think I was a deranged, ink-stained wretch. So give me ten minutes.”
“See you in ten minutes.”
From the look on my father’s face, I’m guessing he wishes he were drinking something stronger than ginger ale. I don’t think either of us knows what to do now—it’s like both of our lives are on pause until Elizabeth arrives. We don’t even attempt small talk. We just sit there. Waiting.
Finally, there’s a knock at the door.
“I’ll get it,” I say.
My father stands up and hovers behind me as I open the door. Elizabeth’s there, practically giddy. She looks right at me, says hello, and I quickly focus because she gives me a kiss on the cheek and I want it to have somewhere to land.
Then she walks past me and says hi to my father. Who is speechless.
“Elizabeth, Dad. Dad, Elizabeth.”
“It’s so great to meet you,” Elizabeth says.
Dad’s words kick in. “Lovely to meet you as well.”
“Mrs. Swinton is still in London?” Elizabeth asks.
Dad looks pained, and I feel shaky. I haven’t told him about that part—that Elizabeth thinks Mom is still alive.
“I wish she could be here to meet you” is how he replies.
For the first time, I look at my father and I see how haunted he is by all of this. He doesn’t want to be having this conversation. He doesn’t know what to do.
“Mr. Swinton?” Elizabeth asks. “Are you all right?”
He shakes his head. “I’m sorry. It was a long flight, and I fear I’m a little worse for wear.”
Elizabeth gets the cue. “That’s okay. I’m glad I got a chance to say hello. Hopefully I’ll see you again before you leave.” She comes back over to me and gives me another kiss on the cheek. “I’ll leave you two to catch up.”
I thank her and show her out. My father and I are silent, listening to her footsteps go down the hall, then the opening and closing of her door.
“How is this possible?” my father asks, collapsing back down on the couch.
“I don’t know, Dad,” I say. “You tell me.”
“You don’t understand. It simply can’t be possible.”
“The only reason I don’t understand is because you’ve never told me why this all happened.”
He shakes his head. That’s not the topic he wants to be covering now.
“Is she the only one?” he asks me.
“Yes.”
“You’re sure.”
“Yes.”
“It’s impossible.”
“You’ve said that. But guess what. She sees me.”
He sighs. “I wish your mother were here.”
Now it comes back—the anger.
“You’re not allowed to say that,” I tell him.
“What?”
“That’s not a wish you’re allowed to have. If you really wish my mother were here, you should’ve been here when she was. You should’ve been here. Period.”
“Stephen, I can’t have this argument with you. Not right now. I have to figure out what’s happening.”
“We both have to figure out what’s happening. Help me, Dad.”
He stands up. “I will. I promise. I will try. But right now—I can’t think right now. I’m going to go. I have a hotel room and—well, I’m going to go. But I’ll be back tomorrow. We can have dinner. I’ll come by at six. And in the meantime, I’ll . . . try to figure things out.”
His briefcase is in his hand. I know there’s no stopping him, and he knows I’m not going to try.
He opens the door, but before he leaves, he tells me one more thing:
“Before, when I said I wished your mother were here—I meant that if anyone in the world had a right to see you, it was her. And the fact that someone else can see you . . . it would have meant the world to her. No matter what it may portend. That’s all. It’s unfair that this girl, and not your mother, gets to see you. But I know she’d be glad.”
He’s finally found the one thing I can’t argue with.
Chapter 8
I SHOULD BE HAPPY. Most of the time I am. Most of the time happy isn’t enough of a word to describe how I feel. I lose myself in Stephen without being lost. I find myself in Stephen when I didn’t know I was there waiting to be found.
When he’s talking to me, when he’s touching me, I’m so oogly-eyed giddy that I worry I’ll blurt out all the rose-petal, candy-heart mush that’s built up in my body. I don’t want to do that. It’s not my style and I’m still nervous enough that I’ll mess this up somehow. I haven’t ever felt I needed someone other than my family. Stephen is changing that.
Oogly-eyed, goofy-grin romance aside, I’m uneasy. And this restlessness isn’t the kind that’s a natural partner to fear of rejection. The sense of something amiss creeps up when we’re apart. I try to ignore it, pretending that I don’t notice the flickering of doubt in my peripheral vision. But it’s there and it’s getting harder to shrug off.
I blame my family. Not in an angry kind of way, but in that searching-for-responsible-parties way. Mom, having gotten her routine at the hospital a bit more under control, is still working long hours, but she’s showing up for dinner and family movie nights more often. Laurie has pronounced that his new mission is to expand our DVD collection because, even though it’s a fantastic film, he cannot watch Ghostbusters more than twice a week. Ghostbusters is our fallback pick and the only movie we can all regularly agree on. My votes are for Watchmen or Donnie Darko—both of which get eye rolls from Mom and Laurie. Mom goes for foreign films, which I don’t like because their idea of action seems to be hard-core brooding and Laurie says he can’t follow due to his constant texting during the films. Laurie pushes Cary Grant on us, which is fine, but Mom and I get tired of black and white. So we all agreed it was a good idea when he volunteered to help our cause. I suspect it’s an excuse for him to accomplish said mission with Sean as a sidekick. The mumbling couch turtle hasn’t been to our apartment again . . . at least I haven’t seen him . . . but I’ve caught Laurie murmuring into his phone a few times. When I’ve tried to get his attention, he gives me the get out of here now or we’re not speaking look and I haven’t pushed the issue.