“So, you’re Cavin’s son,” she says. “You and Kayla must be around the same age.”
“Close,” I agree. “Except Kayla turns eighteen next month. Eli’s birthday is in the fall.”
Eli winks at Kayla. “It’s all good. I have a thing for older women.”
Kayla and Melody laugh, but his so-called joke lands with a thud at my feet. He’s watching for my reaction, but I won’t reward him. “You should probably go, don’t you think? Your mom will worry.”
“Okay,” he says, “I can take a hint. Will I see you ladies at the wedding?”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” exhales Kayla, and when Eli bends to tie his laces, she mouths, Especially now.
Where does that leave poor ol’ Cliff?
When Eli stands, he takes notice of the oversize luggage. “Can I help you ladies with your suitcases?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, but instead goes straight to work playing bellman, which is so not his style. Who’s he trying to impress?
The gesture is not lost on Melody. “What a polite young man. Excellent manners.”
He impressed her, anyway.
“Gosh, he’s so strong!”
And Kayla, too.
He tromps back downstairs. “I put yours in the lavender guest room . . .” He nods toward Melody, then addresses Kayla. “And yours in the blue. I slept in there last night, but don’t worry . . .”
Oh my God. He’s not going to say anything about sweat and semen, is he?
“I changed the sheets,” he finishes. “I’d better hit the road, I guess. Thanks so much for your hospitality, Tara. I’ll see you in June, if not before.”
Eli is barely out the door when Kayla gushes, “Wow. He’s so cute! If he looks anything like his dad, no wonder you’re getting married.”
“A handsome face is not the primary benchmark for a husband, Kayla.”
“Really? What is?”
I think for a moment, and consign Cliff to his proper place in the not-husband-material ranks. “The ability to care for you properly, and the desire to put your needs above his own. Followed by the handsome face.”
“Um . . . is there a guy like that?”
“I hope so.” Then I amend, “I believe so.”
“So how come Eli was here? Does he visit you often?”
I spend a few minutes explaining Eli’s circumstances, omitting the part about his mother living in Sacramento, a coincidence that’s a little too close to Kayla’s front yard. “But you’re not shopping for a new boyfriend, are you?”
Kayla shrugs. “Maybe.”
“What about Cliff?”
“You were right. He’s a loser. He dropped out of school and moved back in with his mom. Not to mention, he cheated on me.”
So much for love. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be. Obviously, there are better guys out there.”
The Eli reference is clear. I wish I knew for sure he was actually superior. I invite Mel to join me in the kitchen for a cup of coffee, hoping Kayla will decide the looming adult conversation will be much too boring.
The tactic works. “If it’s okay, I’ll go upstairs and relax for a while.”
Relax, meaning text her friends, no doubt, and I’m pretty sure what about. “Sure. My plan is dinner out before the play. Curtain is at eight, so I’ll make reservations for six. We’ll need to leave here around five thirty.”
Melody watches Kayla go, making certain she’s out of earshot before following me into the other room. Despite her earlier cheerfulness, when I offer her a mug, she has lost any semblance of a smile.
“What’s wrong?”
Mel dampens her voice. “The usual.”
“Graham?”
She nods. “He’s being totally unreasonable about this, Tara. It’s not just a ‘no way’ now, it’s a ‘if you support this, you’re not supporting me.’ He even mentioned divorce.”
“That’s a bit radical, don’t you think?”
“It’s completely irrational, and that’s what I told him.”
I give it two beats. “Can I ask you a personal question?”
“Of course.”
“Was your marriage in trouble before this? Because it almost seems to me like he’s looking for an excuse to talk divorce.” If so, she’s never said a word.
She sits quietly for several long seconds. “We’ve been together twenty years. All marriages suffer after so much time. People grow apart. People’s opinions change. The passion cools. Arguments last longer, become harder to forgive and forget. I don’t know if that fits your definition of trouble, but I’d say that’s where we are.”
“What are you going to do about it?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“I don’t want to tear my family apart, Tara. Divorce was easier for you, not having children.”
“So, it’s better for you and the kids to live unhappily?”
“The kids would be more unhappy if we split up. As for me, it doesn’t matter. Happiness is overrated because it’s fleeting. Happy one day, miserable the next. That wouldn’t change because I got divorced.”
It was a very big confession. My sister is rarely so forthright. “But Kayla’s starting college in the fall. The other two will be out of the house in just a few years. You’re young enough to start over, Mel.”
“I’ve spent close to two decades building the life I’ve got. Why would I want another one?”
“What about love?”
“That’s a word I don’t often hear coming out of your mouth. You talk about sex. You talk about stability. But love? No.”
“I guess it’s because I’ve never been in love before. But now that I am, it feels important—critical, even. Marriage without love is little more than a business relationship, with or without fringe benefits, you know?”
I’ve stunned my sister into silence. She sits staring at me, openmouthed.
“What?”
Mel shakes her head slowly side to side. “And to think this all started with a fall at Heavenly. Weirdly ironic.”
“It is, isn’t it? But before we stray away from the topic at hand, what about Kayla and the Institute? I’ve been informed that her acceptance is definite.”
“Well then, she will attend the college of her dreams. I can’t thank you enough for your help with that, Tara. Whatever I can do for y—”
“I thought you weren’t willing to risk divorce.”
“That isn’t what I said. I said I don’t want to tear my family apart. If Graham is ready to go that far, I guess that’s what will happen. But the truth is, he’s all talk, not much action. In more ways than one.”
“And that’s enough for you.” It’s a statement, not a question.
Since it’s a statement, she doesn’t bother to reply.
Next door, the neighbor’s dog begins a volley of barks and yips. I sigh loudly. “Not again.”
“Is that a regular routine or something?”
“Lately, yes. And it’s weird because I never noticed that animal existed until a few weeks ago. It has always been quiet. Polite.”
“Maybe it’s had some disruption in its life. It sounds like nervous barking.”
Or like it’s on alert.
Forty-Seven
The weekend hurries by, and it’s rather exceptional. Kayla’s choice of shows—Kinky Boots—is brilliant, and right at home here in San Francisco. Cyndi Lauper’s music is wonderful, and the dancing spectacular, especially considering the height of the heels in some of the numbers.
Kayla is likewise impressed. “Wow. How do they dance like that in those ridiculous heels? I can barely walk in shoes half that tall.”
“Lots of practice?” is Melody’s guess.
“Lots and lots,” I agree.
The experience is positive enough to make Kayla want to shop for shoes, so we spend some time combing stores pre–museum visit. I choose the Haight, which isn’t far from Golden Gate Park and the de Young. Parking can be tough on weekends, so we go ea
rly, arriving just as the fog begins to burn off.
“Wow, this is a cool neighborhood,” observes Kayla.
“It’s definitely changed since the hippie days,” agrees Melody, “not that I was here to experience it then. But I’ve seen pictures.”
“It’s totally upscale now,” I say. “Great boutiques. Vintage clothing. Bookstores and music. Awesome restaurants. And, yes, a high-end shoe store. You’ll probably want to shop the sale racks there, unless your mom has a lot of room on her credit card.”
We park on the far edge of the Whole Foods parking lot, which is supposed to be for customers only, but who’s going to notice which direction we go? I’m not the only one with this idea, obviously, as we have to circle to find a spot. As we set off down Haight Street, we pass a couple of homeless guys (at least, they’re making every effort to look like homeless guys), panhandling. One of them whistles at Kayla.
“Just keep walking,” I urge, before addressing the scraggly dude. “Now, you wouldn’t want me to tell that bicycle cop over there that you’re making threatening moves toward my niece, would you?”
He smiles, revealing a jaw missing a few teeth. “Your niece? I thought you were her sister.”
“Nice. But I’m fresh out of change.”
Mel and Kayla are waiting up ahead. I encourage them to go at their own pace as I manage a slow cruise along the sidewalk. My leg feels strong, but after an hour, the knee is pretty sore. Hopefully there will still be a wheelchair available when we get to the museum. If not, I’ll spend the afternoon on my butt, admiring the sculpture garden or something.
It’s a gorgeous spring day, richly scented with early blooms—magnolia and gardenia. I walk as fast as I can manage beneath a sprinkle of sunlight, noting which stores attract Kayla. Mel, I know, couldn’t care less about shoes and handbags, preferring antiques and reimagined clothing. Eventually, they reach the shoe store I mentioned. I find a planter to rest on, wait for them to reappear.
When they finally do, Kayla carries a large shopping bag and is all smiles. She hustles over. “Check ’em out.” She produces a pair of floral-patterned ankle boots with a distinctive heel—not as tall as the ones in the play, but shaped curiously. “Aren’t they darling?”
“Thank God they were on sale,” says Mel, joining us. “You were right. That store is crazy pricey.”
“Most everything in San Francisco is. But some things are worth the expense. I mean, how many people own boots like that?”
“How many people would want to?” jokes Mel. “I tried to talk her out of them, and into something a little less kitschy, but I’m not nearly as persuasive as my daughter is.”
Over the course of the afternoon, Kayla convinces Melody to buy her more than a pair of overpriced shoes. She returns to the car with a new handbag, two summery skirts, a feather-trimmed lace blouse, three pairs of panties, and a felt fedora. As if that weren’t enough, a visit to the museum store nets her two fabulous scarves, a couple of books, and a Monet water lilies folding umbrella. The girl is a skillful negotiator.
Though I’d never think to create an outfit like the one she comes up with on Monday morning, I have to admit she looks great in it. The peach-colored skirt is calf-length and gauzy, and goes perfectly with her boots. I’m glad she didn’t go for a mini like the one she wore on Saturday—not at all the dress-to-impress mien she has accomplished here.
Larry Alexander greets us personally and shows us around the campus. The architecture is an interesting juxtaposition of Old California plus modern steel and glass, with views of the bay and Coit Tower across an expanse of city hills. The Institute’s massive walls and bell tower are impossible to miss, of course, even at a distance. But it’s the treasures tucked away inside that make the place special.
After our tour, Larry introduces Kayla and Mel to an undergrad admissions counselor, who escorts them inside her office to talk about goals and curriculum. Larry and I sit outside in the courtyard, discussing mutual acquaintances, including my ex-husband and his younger wife.
“I hear Hannah had her babies.”
“Babies?”
“Twins. A boy and a girl.”
I’m surprised, but not so much about the multiple births as the fact that he knew about them.
“You and Finn must be very good friends.”
“Not really. But our daughters are more than friends. They’re partners. Their paths first crossed here, but then Laurie moved to Boston to get her PhD. She and Claire ran into each other on Cape Cod a couple of years ago. They hit it off, and there we are.”
“Huh. I didn’t even know Claire was a lesbian. I never actually met her. I don’t think she approved of me. She never once came around.”
“I don’t think Claire approves of any of Finn’s relationships, especially the current one. According to Laurie, she’s livid about the twins.”
Worried about her inheritance, no doubt. I carved out a chunk of that already. In fact, I’m living in it, mortgage paid. But she should blame her father, not me. “Funny, Finn never mentioned Claire’s sexuality.”
“Laurie was Claire’s first serious girlfriend. I doubt Finn had any idea himself until they moved in together. By then he’d decided to take his company public, and a number of his major investors are Bible Belt Tea Party Republicans, who either assume themselves to be good homophobic Christians, or pretend to be. Finn would prefer not to talk about Laurie and Claire, though he is generous to the girls financially.”
This new information is surprising, and I keep trying to figure out the chronology, though it really doesn’t matter. The end result is the same. Perhaps a change of subject is in order before I say something I shouldn’t. “I so appreciate Finn breaking the ice for Kayla. This is a huge dream, and she’s worked hard to get here. Thank you, too, Larry.”
He smiles in a hungry sort of way. I haven’t had to fend off a man in a while, so I’m a little out of practice. One thing I do know, however, is how to categorize flirtation, and on a scale of one to ten, ten teetering awfully close to lechery, this is no more than a three. Probably because Larry is somewhere over sixty and, if the ring on his finger is truly representative, married.
“It’s the least I could do for a talented young woman and her quite beautiful aunt,” he says.
“You didn’t know I was beautiful when you offered to help. But thank you for that as well.”
“I anticipate seeing you at some of our functions,” he says hopefully.
Perfect lead-in. “Not sure how I can avoid that at this point, although I’ll be living at Tahoe a good part of the year.”
“Really?” Now he sounds disappointed.
“Well, yes. I’m getting married again myself. I don’t plan on babies, though. Especially not two at once!”
“I understand completely.”
“But just FYI, I do a lot of fund-raising, so if you ever need my help, please don’t hesitate to ask.”
Connections.
“I’ll definitely keep that in mind.”
Familiar voices on the approach interrupt our conversation. Kayla appears, animated and chattering. Mel just tries to keep up with her. A flurry of happy comments descends.
Awesome school.
The counselor rocked.
Have to send a portfolio.
Can’t wait for fall.
And then a few less expected remarks.
By the time we take our leave and make our way back to the car, I have learned a couple of expensive things. Tuition for two semesters is closer to $40K, and incoming undergrads are required to live on campus for the first year, adding another $11,000 to the price tag.
It’s the Christmas gift that just keeps on giving. And speaking of giving, a thought occurs to me. I pull Larry aside. “Is there a way I can donate her tuition, get a tax write-off, and earmark the money toward a scholarship for Kayla?”
“I think that can be arranged.”
Connections.
Forty-Eight
Friday mor
ning, my brain kicks into gear predawn. I lie in bed, thinking about all I must accomplish before tonight, when thirty elite San Franciscans will make an appearance at my fund-raiser house party, each eager to make an impression by trying to write a bigger check than the other guy. Encouraging them will be a short video, highlighting the accomplishments of Lost Souls Found.
The director wanted to bring a lost soul or two along with her, but I nixed that idea. Not only would my neighbors not approve, but the fact is my guests don’t want to see homeless people in the flesh. Not even if they are showered, shaved, and fed. Seeing them on a big-screen TV is close enough contact.
As it’s too early to make any calls yet (caterer; florist; Charlie; Cavin, who’s supposed to drive over for the event), I decide to go ahead and put in some time on the treadmill. I keep the speed at a steady 4.5 miles per hour—fast enough to raise my heart rate but slow enough so I’m still walking. Jogging would not be a good plan. On my mind this morning, repeated in the rhythm of my steps, are two words: withholding information.
When I talked with Eli about the relative merits of deceit by omission, I was rather glib about it, considering the conversation was mostly for his benefit. But the recent conversations have made me reanalyze the points I made. Yes, there may be times when omitting facts can spare feelings, or keep someone from making a decision he might come to regret. But I don’t appreciate it when I discover someone has kept secrets from me, whether or not it’s for my own good.
Mel was happy enough when I informed her that Kayla’s tuition could, indeed, look like a scholarship from anonymous donors. Many SFAI students benefit in such a fashion. But then I asked, “Do you think Graham will be fooled?”
“Doubtful. He knows you arranged the interview, and he knows you’d offered to pay her way in. Simple logic dictates a scholarship now would have everything to do with you.”
“So what will you say if he confronts you?”
“I will deny, deny, deny. He’ll have no way to confirm his suspicions, and I think he’ll let it drop after a while. He does want what’s best for Kayla, despite the way he sometimes acts.”
Love Lies Beneath Page 23
