A Rare Find

by Kelleher, Tracy

  He tipped his chin down and pressed a kiss atop Penelope’s soft hair and nuzzled up against that absurd bow. Immediately he had the wicked idea of taking it between his teeth… . He smiled. Then glanced up, catching the camera’s lens right in his face. That would definitely have to be edited out, Nick mused.

  “Hey, Amara.” Press jogged up next to Nick’s daughter. “I tried to text you, but you didn’t respond.” He glanced over and noticed Nick. “Actually maybe now isn’t the best time.”

  Amara kept cool. “That’s all right. My dad knows about everything.”

  “You mean everything?” Press opened his eyes wide.

  Nick felt Penelope squeeze his hand a little too tightly. He got the message. He looked at Press. “I know you did the right thing, kid. So, as a father, what can I say but thank you?”

  Amara looked at him sternly. “His name’s not ‘kid.’ He’s called Press.”

  Penelope leaned around Nick. “Hi, Press. I’m glad you could make it to The Parade before the talk this afternoon. I’m so looking forward to it.”

  “Yeah, I hope it goes all right. I’ve never given a lecture before. I’m a little nervous.”

  “You’ll be wonderful.” Penelope glanced at Amara. “Won’t he?”

  “If you say so.” Amara was hardly enthusiastic.

  Penelope narrowed her eyes. “What did we agree to about forgiveness?”

  Amara sighed. “Sorry.”

  Press kept up with the flow by skipping backward, occasionally looking over his shoulder to make sure where he was going. He didn’t look as though he was in any hurry to leave.

  His doggedness seemed to do the trick. “Listen,” Amara finally said. “How about we just forget about everything that happened. You know, with you and me.”

  “Sure, no problem. It’s forgotten.” Press jumped over a loose brick. “But at the same time, I don’t think we should just forget about each other—pretend like we never met. I mean, I don’t intend to forget you. You’re terrific.”

  Nick, who was acting as if he wasn’t listening to the whole conversation, couldn’t help empathizing with the guy. Press didn’t stand a chance in the face of his daughter. That was for sure.

  “And I know we just agreed to forget about…well…the stuff that happened last night. But I still want to apologize for the way I brushed you off. I mean, it wasn’t right…you know?” He gave Nick a furtive look.

  Amara touched Press’s arm. “I know.”

  “Which is why I’m glad you met my friend Matt. You see, he’s really a decent guy.” Press landed awkwardly coming off a curb, but he didn’t let that stop him.

  “Then you know that we just had dinner and talked?” Amara asked.

  “Yeah, he texted me this morning. Not that I wasn’t worried when I saw the two of you leave together.” Press bit down on his lower lip.

  Amara suppressed a smile.

  The kid really didn’t stand a chance, Nick thought with amusement.

  Press scrambled along some more. “Listen, I wanted to let you know that Matt’s someone you can trust, someone for the long haul, someone with his heart in the right place.”

  “And you’re not?” she questioned.

  “Listen, I better get going,” Press said, ignoring Amara’s question. “I’m supposed to be back with my classmates. So…” He pointed to the rear of the procession.

  Amara grabbed him. “Wait, Press. Matt is nice, but strictly just as a friend. Anyway, right now, I need time just for me. And you, Press Lodge—” she pointed a finger at the center of his jacket “—you need to take some time to figure out who you are, too. Stop pretending that you’re some noble lone wolf who feels he needs to protect other people from getting close to him. I mean, talk about an attitude.”

  Press looked down at her finger. Marchers around them were moving forward. Nick lingered. Penelope held back.

  Press opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Finally he shook his head. “So maybe I’ll see you this afternoon at the talk, then?”

  Amara checked dutifully with her father. “Is it okay if I go to Press’s talk this afternoon? Penelope will be there.”

  “And you may consider me the perfect chaperone. Think of me as a maiden aunt, a Miss Havisham without the wrinkles,” Penelope contributed, referring to the character in Dickens’s Great Expectations.

  “Penelope, you made a joke!” Press was stunned.

  “She makes them all the time,” Nick chimed in. “And, yes, you may go to the talk, Amara. But now, Press—” he emphasized the young man’s name to prove that he remembered it “—it’s time you headed back to your class. I am understanding up to a point. I prefer you in small doses. Nothing personal, you understand.”

  “I got it. See you this afternoon, then,” he said with a jump before surging to the back of the line.

  “He’s sweet,” Penelope announced.

  “I guess.” Amara turned away. “Oh, is that the new residential college that we’re passing?” she asked ever so casually.

  Nick turned to Penelope. “I think she’s trying to tell you it’s none of your business.”

  “I may be socially inept, but I’m not stupid,” Penelope said with a harrumph.

  Amara went on tiptoe and whispered in Penelope’s ear, “You’re right. He is.”

  Nick pretended not to notice. Instead he just let himself enjoy the sunny June day, the company, the music—the total experience that had a way of making life seem utterly simple.

  “I have a big confession to make,” he admitted.

  “You do?” Penelope asked.

  “You have?” Amara inquired.

  “Right now, I am a very happy man.” He angled his head to catch sight of the crew, and signaled he wanted someone to zoom in.

  “So, Amara.” He put his arm around his daughter.

  The tubas started blaring again, this time with a rendition of the “William Tell Overture.” Larry danced around with his camera on his shoulder, filming Nick in the middle with Amara and Penelope on each side.

  Nick made a show of brushing off an invisible piece of dust from the braiding on his short little toreador’s jacket. “It isn’t every day a man gets to look a total fool and still enjoy being in public with his daughter.”

  The tubas blasted away.

  Amara laughed and leaned into his arm. “I’m glad that I could be here, too, even if the reason behind showing up was pretty depressing at the time.” She skipped by his side, oblivious to the camera and sound boom wavering overhead.

  “Tell me, daughter,” he began. “Other than the fact that you are clearly more mature than I was at your age, how come you’re feeling generous enough to forgive my failings as a parent? Are you caught up in this festive spirit, or are you simply taking pity on me because of this ridiculous outfit?” He held his arms out and mugged for the camera.

  “You do look pretty bad, but, c’mon, Dad, you know.” Amara teased him.

  Nick shook his head. “Actually I don’t.” He glanced over at Penelope. “Do you?”

  She smiled. “I was very pleased with the news.”

  Now Nick was really confused. “News?”

  They continued to walk along at the leisurely pace.

  Um-PAH-PAH.

  “About my school? About being able to graduate after all?”

  Nick opened his mouth. Oh, my God.

  “Isn’t it wonderful,” Penelope agreed. “Amara will be able to go to the ceremony next week after all, along with all her friends.”

  “I can’t thank you enough for calling. It clearly made all the difference,” Amara gushed.

  Nick stopped dead in his tracks. His sudden lack of movement forced Amara and Penelope to halt, as well. O
n both sides, the marchers swarmed past them.

  Pah-pah-pah, PAH-PAH-PAH. The tubas ended with a flourish.

  “But I didn’t call. I forgot.” Nick caught the startled look on Amara’s face. “I’m so sorry. What with everything going on with the filming yesterday at the restaurant, and then later with…with…”

  “Me,” Penelope said, her voice flat.

  Nick saw the color drain from Penelope’s face. Then he turned back to Amara. “But, believe me, I’m so happy for you, that everything worked out at school after all. Clearly they must have decided to cut you some slack, which means any input on my part would have been a waste of time, right?”

  He reached for her hand again.

  Amara pulled it back, nearly tripping against a toreador-clad classmate of Nick’s. “You don’t understand. They just couldn’t have changed their mind. The headmistress knew all about my friend and everything. If you didn’t call, who did?”

  Nick shrugged. “I don’t know.” He glanced at Penelope. She shrugged, too.

  “But…but…you promised you’d call. I trusted you.”

  Nick could see the tears forming in his daughter’s eyes. She looked so small and vulnerable with the boisterous revelers pushing all around her. And that the whole world seemed to be crashing in was all his fault. “Amara, I know I’ve disappointed you. I should have called. I was wrong to forget. But promise I’ll make it up to you.” He reached out again.

  She shook her head. Now the tears were streaming down her cheeks. She didn’t bother brushing them away as she turned and ran.

  “Amara, Amara, come back,” Nick shouted to her retreating figure. He pushed his way against the oncoming tide.

  Penelope yanked his arm. “No, you stay here. She’s hurt and will only run farther if you try to follow. I’ll go after her.”

  “But I should go,” Nick protested. “It’s all my fault.”

  “Yes, it is.” As usual, Penelope didn’t mince words. “But she needs some distance right now. Besides—” she looked around “—don’t you have an episode to shoot?”

  And that’s when Nick realized the sound boom was still hovering overhead.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  “AMARA, AMARA, WAIT UP.”

  Amara could hear Penelope shouting, but she kept running, veering onto some campus road that led past the tennis courts. She didn’t have the faintest idea where she was. All she knew was she had to get away. From The Parade. From the people. From her father.

  “Amara,” Penelope called again from behind. “Running away doesn’t solve anything.”

  Amara twisted her neck and looked over her shoulder. Penelope was still holding her own, not looking winded at all. If anything, she was gaining on her. It must be all that bike riding, thought Amara dejectedly. She tried turning it up a notch to shake her. She wasn’t angry with Penelope. It wasn’t her fault her father was an ass. Still, that didn’t mean Amara wanted to face her.

  She pumped her legs faster until her calf muscles burned and her throat became sore from breathing heavily. With each stride, she felt her broken heart rip a little further.

  “Amara, stop,” Penelope shouted.

  Amara looked over her shoulder. And realized she couldn’t lose Penelope. Finally she did stop. She didn’t bother to stem the flow of tears.

  Penelope drew up next to her. She stood up straight and tightened the knot around her waist. “Good,” she announced when it was secure. “I had visions of doing a Lady Godiva about fifty yards back, there.”

  Despite everything that had happened, Amara almost laughed. “Try running in a sari, if you want excitement. If it hadn’t started slipping, I’m sure I could have outrun you,” she replied. She wasn’t so sure at all.

  Penelope, to her credit, didn’t contradict her outright. Instead she spoke in gentle tones. “Speaking of running, I remember when I was a little girl I had this favorite book. I’m sure you’re too old to remember it. It was called Runaway Bunny.”

  “No, I remember it. I loved it, especially the pictures—like the blue cover with the white rabbit.”

  “Yes, the illustrations are lovely, aren’t they? There’s something very charming about them even now. And the story has the same timeless appeal. Do you recall? No matter how far the bunny ran, his mother rabbit found him.” She stared directly at Amara. “I’m like that mother rabbit. No matter how fast or how far you run—and regardless of potential wardrobe malfunctions—I will run after you and I will find you.”

  “Except you’re not my mother.”

  Penelope pursed her mouth. “Very true. I’m not that lucky. Nevertheless, that doesn’t mean that I can’t have a mother’s instincts.” She paused. “Come home. Come home with me.”

  Amara breathed in slowly. She mulled her options—basically none. “All right,” she surrendered. “But this time a grilled cheese sandwich is not going to solve the problem.”

  “I know.”

  “You said I could trust him. You lied.”

  “I didn’t lie. I truly believed it myself.”

  “And now?” Amara shot back.

  “Now?” It was Penelope’s turn to breathe in slowly. “Now I don’t know.” She seemed thoughtful for a minute, then straightened her shoulders. “One thing I do know, however, is that our good friend Press is giving a talk this afternoon. I intend to be there—as should you. So let’s go home, get refreshed—calm down, at least outwardly. He needs our support, and we will concentrate on that for now.”

  “But what about my dad? How can you forget about what just happened? Especially after you lectured me earlier today.”

  “I’m not sure lecture is the correct word,” Penelope qualified.

  Amara tossed her head. “Whatever. I’m pretty sure you talked—” she emphasized the word sarcastically “—about the importance of trust—how you have to forgive people—that they can change, do the right thing. And I’m pretty sure my father just demonstrated that he’s beyond change. Don’t you agree? Or are you going to ignore his pathetic behavior and pretend it doesn’t have any impact on your relationship with him?”

  “Hardly. But I am capable of compartmentalizing my life, not having emotions overwhelm me. That way I can deal with what’s most immediately important.”

  “I don’t get it. Doesn’t that amount to another form of running away?”

  “Not exactly. I will make my decision as to your father with quiet, timely deliberation. I’m not what you might call a spontaneous person. I prefer to evaluate the events fully. But once I do that, I’m not afraid of making decisions. So, no, I would not call that running away.”

  Penelope adjusted the knot of the shawl behind her neck to make sure that didn’t slip any further. Then she pointed in the direction of her house. “Beyond that—say what you will. I definitely need a grilled cheese sandwich. But I might team it with a large glass of wine.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  PENELOPE APPROACHED PRESS once all the questions after his half-hour presentation were done. “Press, that was a terrific talk. I was particularly impressed with the way you handled the queries about preservation.”

  After the emotional roller coaster at The Parade, she felt reassured that at least this part of her life was under control.

  Even though the exhibit talk was in the same time slot as a symposium on world economic markets by two Nobel Prize-winning economists, Press had managed to draw a crowd of forty to fifty people. It was particularly encouraging to see that it attracted people of all ages. Perhaps the written word would not die out despite the onslaught of technology.

  Perhaps even more gratifying was the sight of her father walking in halfway through. They may have had their differences over dinner the other night, but it just went to show, family will ou
t, she thought.

  She’d tried to make eye contact during the talk, but as he stood at the back of the group, his hands crossed behind his back and his black-and-orange bow tie perfectly centered at his neck, he focused intently on Press. When the subject of the Grantham Galen came up, she was glad to see it pleased him.

  With Press’s fine performance now over, she shook his hand, one colleague to another. Both of them had switched out of their Parade regalia, Press in a blue blazer and striped tie, she in black trousers and a moss-green linen jacket. She kept the orange foulard in her hair in deference to the school colors and to cheer herself up.

  Things had not gone the way she had hoped this morning. She felt for Amara. She really did. The relationship between a father and daughter was a special one, and she was afraid that Nick might have jeopardized it seriously for the near future.

  At least Amara looked better. Before the talk had started, she had taken a seat next to a thin young man, and the two had chatted amicably. He must be the Matt Penelope had heard mention of. The two had waved to Press before he’d started, and he’d acknowledged them with a nervous nod.

  Now they were quietly making their way to the front, and she was sure he would want to join them. “I don’t want to keep you any longer than necessary,” Penelope spoke to him, “but I just want to let you know what a difference it made having you by my side, helping out all year. I don’t know what I’ll do next year without you.”

  “That was a great talk, Press. I was impressed,” the young man said.

  “Like it’s hard to impress a Yale man,” Press joked. He held his hand out to Penelope and introduced Matt. Then he turned to Amara. “I’m glad you could make it, too.” Some of the bravado had gone out of his voice.

  “Your presentation was inspiring,” Amara told him. “It makes me even more excited about coming to Grantham in the fall.”

  Penelope sent her a pleased smile. No matter how much she must be hurting inside, Amara was doing the right thing.