Page 41 of Yield to Me

Chapter 22

The door to the studio burst open loudly. All three of us turned to see who it was. Michael strode in a mad fury, making a beeline for me, cursing underneath his breath. “I knew you’d be here,” he said.

I gave him a confused look. He was saying it as if he was accusing me, as if it were a bad thing that I was there. “Where else would I be on a Saturday morning?” I asked.

“It’s winter break. Aren’t you supposed to be vacationing or something?”

“I could ask you the same question.”

He sighed, holding a hand up to his forehead, like he was having a hard time accepting my response. “You got the scholarship?” he asked.

In the week that followed, Wiles Steven himself had called me, congratulating me on my acceptance, and told me that I would be the recipient of a special scholarship, making my acceptance the only fully funded offer at the department. I would have to teach classes, like Michael and everyone else, but I would not have to take out student loans to cover the rest of the tuition. Michael, like the rest of the graduates, had received partial funding and tuition at a reduced rate.

I shrugged. “Someone has to get it.”

“But why you, Riley? Is it because I introduced you to everyone?” He paused, glaring at me. “No. It’s because you took my class.”

I forced a smile through gritted teeth. “I told you. I applied for sculpture,” I gestured at the half-formed stone in front of me. “I never used my photographs from your class in my application.”

Michael muttered something unintelligible, looking angrier by the minute, then said, “It’s because you’re fucking Lowell, isn’t it? You used him to get that money.”

I gawked at him, surprised at how low he would go. “Actually, we aren’t fucking, but thanks. I appreciate your support. You’re a great friend.”

“Go ahead and pretend like you aren’t fucking your way up the ladder.”

“I could say the same to you,” I said.

“At least I have the decency to admit it. No shit I’m going to use my looks to my advantage. And anyway, congratulations. While the rest of us fill up on the free hors-d'oeuvres at the galleries, you get pâté handed to you on a silver platter.”

“I’ll be teaching classes like everyone else.”

“Right,” Michael shook his head at my sculpture, then turned around. “I’m sure you’ll still work at Chez TonTon too.”

He slammed the door on the way out. I was flushed, embarrassed at Michael’s outburst, and wondered if the other graduate students in the room cared like he did. A painter on the other side of the room shook her head and went back to painting. I scanned over to the woman who was sketching, and when our eyes crossed, the woman quickly went back to her pad. I wondered who was awarded the scholarship last year, if they had to deal with jealous exes too.

Each of the lanterns was lit, making the wine bottles look like firefly cages. My wine glass was almost empty, and Regina’s, though it had never left her hand, was still full. She kept turning it back and forth, watching the golden liquid slosh each way.

“You know what’s sad?” Regina said. “I’m relieved.”

“Relieved?” I asked.

“Not that he died. I wish he hadn’t.” She paused, looking in front of her. “Just that I don’t have to worry about him anymore.” She leaned the wineglass on the arm of the bench. A tree from the house behind us provided shade and foliage to rake along the back fence. My mother gestured toward it. “I always stayed here, thinking at least he’d know where to find us, you know? He could always find me if he needed me.” She laughed, bringing the glass to her lips. “Turns out he was slowly dying of cancer on the other side of the country, the furthest he could get away from this house. The last thing he was thinking of was me.” She sipped the drink finally.

“But he was thinking of us,” I said.

Her mother laughed. “Look at you, defending him, He was thinking of you, honey, as he should have.” She looked around, taking in all of the backyard, the sculptures, the lanterns, the fruit trees and rose bushes. Our backyard was like walking into a storybook. “Apparently he made his will years ago, right when he received his diagnosis.”

I sighed. “I don’t know whether to think of it as kindness or one last slap in the face,” I said. “He never did trust me to survive on my own.”

Regina shrugged. “We’ll never know, will we?” She smiled sadly. And she was right; it didn’t matter what his reasons were. I was the only one who could choose what to do with the money.

“Was his wife mad?”

Regina shook her head. “Apparently, she agreed that you should get the money.” Regina gazed off into the distance. “She couldn’t have kids, I guess.” She paused, then turned towards me. “Maybe it’s time for me to move.”

“Move?”

“Somewhere in Southern California. Closer to your grandmother.”

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