Page 66 of One-Star Romance

“Robert!” Professor Kapinsky said, as soon as he spotted his son. “This is an outrage!”

“Why don’t we go inside, Dad?” Rob said as he located his old house key on his key ring. “I bet we can find your wallet in there.”

“No, I know where it is. It’s with Bow Tie Bill!” He gestured across the street to where a round-faced man was peeking out his front door, a red plaid bow tie tight around his neck. The neighbor gave Rob a relieved wave, then disappeared back into his home.

“He doesn’t have it, Dad,” Rob said, unlocking the door and attempting to shepherd his father indoors.

“He told you that? He’s probably lying,” Rob’s father went on, still not having registered Natalie’s presence. Hesitant, she followed the two of them inside. The house was nice, historic-feeling, with dark wood walls and more bookshelves than Natalie had ever seen in one place outside of a library.

“Well,” Rob said, “why don’t we have a cup of tea to warm up, and then we can figure it out.” Rob turned the kettle on and his father continued to pace, shivering, his hands shaking and drained of color. Thank God they’d gotten there when they did, before he stayed outside longer and the temperature grew colder. Thank God he hadn’t wandered farther afield. “And here, let’s find you a blanket.”

“I don’t need a blanket. I need my damn wallet!”

As Rob grabbed a throw blanket from a nearby couch, Natalie hung back, an interloper. The expression on Rob’s face as he stared at his father was so vulnerable, so private, that Natalie looked away and around the kitchen instead. Cheery tiled walls, a six-burner stovetop. Everything was neat in the way that suggested it was cleaned fairly often—no layers of grime or built-up clutter. Yet at the same time, little splatters of sauce on the counter and a smell of rotting bananas suggested neglect over the past day or two.

Rob breathed in and then in a calm voice said, “Take a seat, Dad. You should relax.”

Professor Kapinsky curled his hands into fists. “I can’t, when Bill is probably gloating—”

Still unnoticed, Natalie scanned the room for the overripe banana. There it was in the fruit bowl. Right next to a brown leather wallet.

She stood frozen for a moment, considering, then quietly grabbed the wallet. She walked back outside, then reentered the house, closing the door with a clatter. “Found it!” she called.

In the kitchen, the two men froze in a strange tableau, Rob holding out a blanket, his father pushing it away as they both turned their heads toward her entrance. Rob’s father peered at her, startled, then looked back and forth between her and Rob. He was trying to figure out if he was supposed to know her, she realized. If he needed to pretend. “I’m Rob’s friend Natalie,” she said, and handed the wallet to him. “So nice to see you. And here’s your wallet back.”

“Thank you,” Professor Kapinsky said, and then, “How did you find it? It was with Bill, wasn’t it?” He worried at the leather of the wallet with his fingers, turning it over in his hands, his shoulders hunched defensively.

Natalie glanced at Rob and then said, “Yes.” Rob furrowed his eyebrows at her, and she soldiered on, hoping she was doing the right thing. “I just talked to him and it was a misunderstanding.”

At that, Rob’s father came alive, straightening up to his full height, a vindicated smile spreading over his face. “I knew it.”

“He’s so sorry. He didn’t mean to take it, he just thought it was his.”

Professor Kapinsky shook his head and finally sat down in the chair Rob had pulled out for him, taking the proffered blanket and throwing it across his shoulders, almost rakishly. “Of course. Not the brightest bulb, that Bill.”

Natalie sat across from him. “So, what is the story with this bow tie?” she asked, leaning in confidentially. “He’s just hanging out at home!”

Rob’s father chuckled. He was still shivering a bit, but the blanket and the warmth of the kitchen seemed to be helping. “Let me tell you something about Bill. That old idiom about dressing for the job you want? He’s been trying that for years, yet he still hasn’t gotten tenure.”

“Time for a new tactic, it seems,” Natalie said. She glanced over at Rob, who was standing at the stovetop watching her, seemingly at a loss for words. Like he wasn’t sure how she had gotten here or, just maybe, how to keep her from going away.

“He’s never liked me,” Professor Kapinsky said, and Natalie managed to pull her gaze away from Rob’s. “Jealousy. I bet that’s why he keeps bothering…” He trailed off. “Well, my boy is on track, isn’t he? Rob won’t have any problems getting tenure, I can tell you that.”

Rob gave him a weak smile. “Thanks, Dad. Would you like tea too, Natalie?”

“Sure,” she said. “Thank you.”

As he put her mug down on the table, his arm brushed against hers. He swallowed hard, then straightened back up. “Dad, do you want some dinner?”

Professor Kapinsky gave a cursory nod, then sat back, continuing to talk to Natalie. “Of course, much of it comes down to the examples you have set for you. Rob grew up in academia, so he’s lucky in that way. I don’t mean to be uncharitable to Bill. I remember how disorienting it was to enter the Ivory Tower when I was first starting out.” He was in his element now, all traces of his earlier agitation gone, speaking with enough authority to hypnotize a lecture hall. “You know, my father was an immigrant who had never even graduated high school, and I had to make my own way.”

Rob began to boil water for pasta on the stovetop, raising an eyebrow at Natalie as he indicated the pot. She nodded, then continued to let his father regale her while Rob made them all spaghetti.

And regale her he did, unceasingly, with the confidence of a man who felt he was giving her a gift. After all, people paid good money to listen to his opinions, and here she was, getting them for free. How strange, how impossible, it must have been to grow up under this all-consuming presence. Natalie made the appropriate expressions of awe and interest (and it was interesting, hearing him speak). Over at the stove, Rob poked at the pasta, then served it to his father with a tenderness she wouldn’t have expected from him.

They all sat around the table and dug in, and as his father paused his talking to chew, Rob said, “You know, Dad, Natalie is a writer.”

“Ah. What MFA program did you attend?”

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