Robin Kaye Bundle

by Robin Kaye

“Thanks.”

  Becca slipped into her leather jacket, tossed her purse over her shoulder, and slid her sunglasses on. “It’s okay. I’ll see you this afternoon. Bye.” She disconnected the call and dropped her cell into the outside pocket of her purse before leaving and locking the door behind her.

  Chapter 5

  BECCA LET HERSELF INTO THE BACK GARDEN OF THE brownstone to check out the workers’ progress before they knew she’d arrived. The forty-yard dumpster that was delivered the other day was almost filled to the brim. Shading her eyes from the sun, she examined the structure. It had good bones, or so the architect said.

  Becca had meticulously salvaged everything worth saving, including all the trim, fireplace mantels, and light fixtures, which were already in the process of being stripped and cleaned. With any luck, most of it would be reused. If the amount of noise was anything to go by, the demo of the third and fourth floors was well underway. She stepped back as a shovelful of debris flew out of the large tube that ran from a third-floor window into the dumpster.

  She did a quick walk-through with the supervisor and talked him into helping her load the pieces of her small sculptor’s table into the car. She had dropped it off on her last visit and was amazed at how much she’d missed having it around, even though she’d spent most of her last week at home packing. She used that little table for everything. It had a tilting top perfect for sketching, but when the top was down it was strong enough to pound clay on too. It wasn’t very pretty, but it was amazingly functional, and she was all about function. The best part was when it was disassembled. It was small enough to fit into the trunk of her little BMW Z4 Roadster.

  She thanked the supervisor, closed the trunk lid, and locked the car. Now all she had to do was get through what would certainly be an uncomfortable lunch before having the rest of the afternoon to work. She had already rearranged the furniture in her room so all she’d have to do was put the table back together and slide it into the corner.

  It was almost time to meet up with her father. Becca put a hand on her stomach and willed it to calm down. These family get-togethers always made her nervous. Using her key, she went into the brownstone and took the elevator up to Annabelle and Mike’s second-floor apartment. She knocked before letting herself in.

  “Your sister’s here. Everybody decent?” Becca set her purse down on the hall table and met Mike and Annabelle as they were entering the living room. “The two of you look green.”

  Mike wrapped his arm around Annabelle. “She’s not feeling well.”

  Becca looked from one to the other. “Is morning sickness contagious?”

  Annabelle rested her head on Mike’s shoulder. “It looks that way. I’ve heard of sympathy pain, but not sympathy nausea.”

  Becca rubbed her hands together. “So, are we all finished puking?”

  Mike scowled, and from the look of it, Annabelle was having a hard time hiding her smile. She patted Mike on the back. “So it seems.”

  “That’s a good thing.” Becca tossed her jacket on the back of the sofa. “Just in time for lunch. You look fabulous, by the way. I love how the green tinge to your complexion contrasts with the fuchsia blouse. Very Lilly Pulitzer.”

  Annabelle laughed. “You should know. What are you doing here?”

  “Meeting you for lunch. Dad said he and Colleen would be here, too.” She looked from Mike to Annabelle. “Are you two still planning to eat?”

  Mike gave Annabelle a nudge toward the sofa and headed to the kitchen. “Belle only eats baked potatoes and Five Guys Hamburgers and fries.”

  “Those are the only things I can keep down, so don’t break my chops.”

  He returned, tossed Becca a bottle of water, set another bottle on the coffee table, sat beside Annabelle, and handed to her what looked like a glass of ginger ale. “Here, drink this. It’s room temperature—just how you like it.”

  Annabelle took a sip as Becca cringed. “Gag. Room-temperature soda?”

  Mike shrugged. “Whatever works.”

  Becca couldn’t help goading her brother. “If it works so well, maybe you ought to try some. You look as if you could use it.”

  He wrapped his arm around Annabelle. “Very funny.”

  This part of the whole family thing was really working for her. She and Mike fell right into a typical brother-sister relationship—even if they started it twenty-six years too late—and Annabelle was her best-friend-turned-sister, which was great. If only the whole parental front was so easy.

  Annabelle looked as if she felt a little better. She set her soda on the table, turned so her back rested against Mike, and her face radiated mischief. Becca braced herself.

  “How are the Domestic God lessons going?” When Mike grumbled, Annabelle quieted him with a look. “Rich said he did the dishes. I lived with him for years and never once saw him do anything in the kitchen but eat, drink straight from the milk and OJ containers, and make a mess. How did you manage to get him to actually clean something?”

  Becca sipped her water and shrugged. “He asked me to show him how. Far be it from me to discourage someone who wants to do all the cooking, cleaning, and laundry. I just hope his first adventure in dishwashing isn’t the start of a trend, although, he did manage to get the kitchen floor cleaner than I’ve ever seen it.”

  “The floor?”

  A knock at the door heralded the entrance of Christopher and Colleen. Mike’s parents and Becca’s father and from the looks of it, her soon to be stepmother, not that Becca had a problem with Colleen, well, except for the fact that the woman hugged her every time she saw her. Of course, that was just Colleen. She hugged everyone, and today was no different.

  Mike answered the door and took everyone’s coats. As soon as she got out of hers, Colleen went straight to Annabelle, gave her a hug and a kiss, and handed her a greasy bag of something that smelled heavenly. She gave Annabelle’s belly a pat. “Five Guys hamburger and fries for mum and the babe.”

  When Mike grumbled about nutrition, she shushed him as she hugged him, kissed his cheek, and wiped the lipstick off. “When I was pregnant with you, I couldn’t keep much down either. All I wanted was steak and kidney pie. I was surprised when you didn’t come out with your very own crust.”

  Becca was next in line so she accepted Colleen’s hug and then Christopher’s. “Hi, Dad.”

  “Becca, it’s good to see you.” He gave her an awkward pat on the shoulder.

  Man, Colleen sure had her work cut out for her if she was trying to turn him into a cuddler.

  “It’s good to see you too.”

  The five of them stood there looking at each other for an awkward moment until Annabelle took a French fry out of the bag and chomped on it. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starved. Why don’t we eat before it gets cold?”

  Mike laughed. “I only made salads and sandwiches. They’re already cold.”

  Dad looked relieved and with his hand on Colleen’s lower back, followed Annabelle to the dining room. Mike didn’t look happy. Becca wasn’t sure if it was due to Annabelle’s diet or Dad’s hand on Mike’s mother’s back. Either way, Mike was going to have to get over it.

  Becca helped Mike put the food on the table while Annabelle and Colleen got drinks, and her Dad looked uncomfortable. She took pity on him. “Dad, I was surprised to hear you were in town. Taking a few vacation days?” She sat down, took a spoonful of the potato salad, and passed the bowl to him.

  “Yes, I came to spend some time with Colleen and catch up with a few friends, but I also wanted to see how you were settling in.”

  “You did?”

  Colleen walked behind her and trailed her hand over Becca’s shoulders before sitting next to Christopher. “Of course he did. You’re his daughter, and he loves you.”

  Becca nodded like a good girl and put together her sandwich. She didn’t know what to say to that. Of course he loved her in his own way. She smiled at her father. “I’m sharing Annabelle’s old apartment with her brother Rich
.”

  “The psych professor?”

  “Yes. It’s only temporary until my place upstairs is finished, and it’s close enough so I can keep an eye on the construction.”

  Her father put some mayonnaise on his sandwich. “Where will you work?”

  “I finished the last piece I was working on in the loft, and I don’t want to start anything big until I get into the new studio. I’m doing some preliminary work, you know, getting ideas about what I want to work on next, making sketches, models, going through my slides, stuff like that.”

  “You could use this time to market the work you’re sitting on.”

  “I’m always doing that. I actually have a meeting with a gallery owner here in Park Slope later this week, but I also have my hands full with the construction.”

  “You’re going to have to show your work to more than one gallery owner, Becca, if you want to get anywhere in your career. That’s why I talked to an old friend. He’s interested in showing your work.”

  Becca shook her head. “You talked a friend into showing my work sight unseen?” She was on a slow boil. Her dad didn’t look up from fixing his sandwich so he didn’t notice.

  “He owes me a favor. I helped his son get into medical school. He said if I ever needed anything…” He looked up and finally realized there was something wrong with this picture.

  Becca wiped her mouth and tried to calm down. Saying what she was thinking probably wasn’t the best idea, but then neither was her father pawning off her work to a respected member of the art community for payback. Not that she knew who the man was, but in her experience, highly successful men ran in packs. Dad would never stoop to an association with someone who wasn’t at the top of his game or business. “No thank you.”

  Great, now her dad was pissed. “What do you mean, ‘no thank you’? I had to pull a lot of strings to get you this opportunity.”

  “I never asked for your help. Just because you’re willing to offer it doesn’t mean that I’m willing to accept it. I’ve already explained to you ad nauseam that one of the reasons I moved here was to make it in the New York art world on my own merit. I don’t need you pushing my work on someone because he owes you. It’s one thing for you to set up an introduction, which would have been helpful. What you did was insulting.”

  She stared at her father who gave her the same look he’d given her since she was a child when she did something he wasn’t pleased with.

  “What’s wrong, Dad? Do you think I’m so talentless that I can’t make it on my own?” She held up her hand. “You know, don’t bother answering. It’s obvious that you do. I guess it’s a good thing I’m wealthy, huh? That way you’ll never have to worry about your daughter being a starving, talentless artist.” Becca stood and placed her napkin beside her uneaten lunch. Both Mike and her dad stood. Such gentlemen. “I’m sorry, Annabelle. I need to go. I’ll call you later.”

  Annabelle nodded. Of course, she understood perfectly.

  Becca’s dad threw his napkin on the table and pushed his chair back. Colleen stood then too. “Christopher, let her go. You can apologize later after she’s had a chance to calm down.”

  “What?” His growl followed Becca out of the room. Unfortunately, Mike did too.

  “You know he hates it that you don’t need his money or his help, don’t you?”

  Becca couldn’t talk. She was too close to tears, and the last thing she wanted to do was start bawling. She nodded.

  Mike pulled her into a hug. “I’m proud of you. But remember, sometimes men can’t help doing stupid things for the women they love, even if that woman is a daughter. Are you going to be okay?”

  She nodded against his shoulder. “I’m fine.”

  Mike gave her a crooked smile that looked just like her father’s.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “I was just thinking that I hope I have sons.” He kissed her cheek. “I’ll call you later.”

  Becca left with a smile on her face that stayed until the elevator door closed then she went home and set up her work table. She needed to work. She needed to pound some clay.

  Rich tossed his briefcase on the desk in the classroom, took out his notes for the lecture and the tests he’d finally graded. He handed them back to his students as they shuffled into class. From the look on their faces, his students knew with amazing accuracy how they did before they even checked their grade.

  “Okay class, when everyone takes their seats I can get started.” He rested back against his desk, crossed his feet in front, and waited until he had everyone’s attention.

  “Today I’m going to talk about cognitive development. Humans’ cognitive ability lags far behind physical ability because the association areas of our brains are the last to develop. Remember, one of the main causes of brain growth after birth is making new connections between existing neurons.”

  Rich turned toward the white board and wrote “Jean Piaget.” “Jean Piaget is the main theorist on cognitive development. He suggests that people create schemas, which are mental models of how the world works. Would anyone like to tell the processes that govern schema change?” Rich saw Brad Stanhope searching his notes. His hand tentatively went up. “Brad.”

  “Assimilation and accommodation.”

  “Good.” Rich wrote “assimilation” on the board.

  A knock at the door interrupted his train of thought. Dean Stewart poked his head in. “Excuse me, Professor Ronaldi. If I can have a moment?”

  “Certainly.” The door closed. “This might be a good time to review Piaget’s four stages of cognitive development, why he suggested that the stages occur in an invariant developmental sequence, and whether or not you think most of the guys at the frat party the other night actually reached the formal operations stage.”

  Rich opened the door and stepped out.

  “Ah, teaching Jean Piaget. Your specialty. With an interesting bent, I hear.”

  “Yes, well, it’s one way to keep their butts in the seats.”

  “You could take attendance.”

  “Yeah, but what would be the fun in that? This is much more challenging. Keep it interesting, and they will learn. I wish half my professors realized that.”

  Dean Stewart raised an eyebrow. Oops, “Present company excluded, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  Dean Stewart reached into the breast pocket of his jacket. “I wasn’t sure if I’d see you later, so I thought I’d better give you these tickets to the benefit dinner before I forgot. Emily has been harping on me.”

  Rich took the envelope. “Thank you.”

  “Emily and I are looking forward to meeting your girlfriend.”

  “She’s looking forward to meeting you both as well. Thanks for dropping the tickets off, sir.”

  The Dean slapped Rich on the back. “Go on now. You’ve got a lecture to give.”

  “Right.” He folded the envelope, put it in his back pants pocket, and went back into class. “Where were we?”

  Brad Stanhope raised his hand. “You were talking about assimilation, accommodation, invariant developmental sequence.”

  Rich laughed. “I see I got your attention there. Good.” Rich picked up his marker again. “So maybe you’d like to share with us the difference between assimilation and accommodation,” he said as he wrote on the board. Rich looked over his shoulder to find Brad searching through his notes. “Would anyone care to define these?”

  The rest of the class flew by, and in the back of his mind, all Rich could think about was how screwed he was going to be if he couldn’t talk Gina into giving him another chance. The dinner was just over a week away.

  By the time he finished his lecture, the class was already packing up. “Your assignment, due a week from today, is a one thousand-word essay on Piaget’s four stages of human cognitive development.” He opened his file and took out the stack of assignment sheets he passed around to the accompaniment of his students’ groans as they left. “If you have questions
, see me. My office hours are posted on the department’s website. Have a good day.”

  Rich followed the class out and saw Brad waiting for him outside. The kid was having trouble keeping up, which was amazing considering the guy’s overall intelligence. “Do you want to come to my office and talk about the paper?”

  Brad nodded but kept looking at his feet.

  “Come on then.” Rich led the way to his office, unlocked the door, and held it open for Brad. “Have a seat, and let’s look over your notes. We’ll figure out why you’re confused. It’ll be fine.” After helping Brad outline the paper for the better part of an hour, Rich made lecture notes for the next week’s classes, put together an exam for his three thousand level class, ordered review materials for next semester’s courses, and ran to teach his last class. In between all that, he wracked his brain trying to come up with something to make for dinner. When he met Becca later at the market, he didn’t want to look as if he had no ideas. He didn’t know what Becca would like to eat. All he knew was Italian. Rich poked his head out his office door. “Hey Jeff, what are you going to have for dinner?”

  “I was thinking of going to the pub for a burger. Do you want to join me?”

  Damn, that’s not what Rich was after. “Thanks, but no. I’m supposed to cook dinner, and I was trying to think up something to fix that was pretty much idiot proof.”

  Jeff walked in. “You have a date?”

  Rich nodded toward the chair across from his desk and sat in his. “You might say that. I’m supposed to cook, and I never cook.”

  “A steak is easy if you know how to broil.”

  “Broil?”

  “Yeah, there’s a funny flat pan with cuts in it. You just put a steak on it, sprinkle salt, pepper, and garlic powder on top, put it as close to the top of the oven as you can, and turn the broiler on. Then all you have to do is turn it over once halfway through.”

  “How long do you cook it?”

  Jeff shrugged, “It depends on how thick the steak is and how well done you like your meat.”

  “Sounds like too many variables.”