Page 30 of The Austen Escape
“He wrote it. I know Malcolm Dwyer.” Her head rested on my shoulder. “I hate him, Mary.”
“You just think you do.” I drew my arm around her.
“I hate me.” She took a deep, shuddering breath and then, without another word, headed into the bathroom.
I crawled back onto my own bed and reached for my phone. Now I missedmydad. My screen saver was a picture of his latest gizmo, the Skittle dispenser.
Your little projects.I loved those projects—loved the time my dad and I spent planning and creating them, and the fact that, inour ways, we both still built them. What was Golightly, after all, other than a gizmo I dreamt up and wanted more than anything to create?
I tapped his face to text him.
Arrived safe and sound. The house is beyond belief. Thanks for bullying me into coming. I miss you.
I received an immediate reply.
Bully? Who me? Father knows best, right? You couldn’t turn down a trip like that. Please take lots of pictures. Is Isabel dancing on her toes like she did when we gave her that movie?
I’d forgotten “that movie.” Dad and Mom gave Isabel the four-DVD commemorative set of the BBC 1997Pride and Prejudicefor Christmas when we were fifteen. She had just given that huge report in English class and they were so proud of her. She took it home and watched one each night in succession for weeks on end. She called them her bedtime stories.
I glanced to the bathroom, realizing that, even then, they understood what I had failed to see. I tapped my phone and lied to my dad...
She’s having the time of her life. Couldn’t be better. I forgot to tell you I paid the invoice for sponsorship at the ball park. Ballard Sign Shop will print and hang the signs.
When a reply didn’t come, I checked my phone. Four bars of Wi-Fi...
Sorry you’re still worrying about the business. I got three new clients and should hear back on the concert hall proposal you submitted soon. Go have fun. Sorry to bother you.
I closed my eyes. I’d always liked helping Dad. The boys were much older and had been gone so long—it often felt like the two of us. Only occasionally did I see it from his side.
Sorry I mentioned it, Dad. And hey, I texted you. Have a great day. I love you.
Isabel and I passed in silence, she coming out of the bathroom as I went into it. She kept her eyes trained on the carpet. When I climbed into bed a few minutes later, she reached up and switched off the light.
“Thank you for saying yes. I thought he was being so generous, offering to pay for a friend. He just wanted to appease his guilt, if he ever has any.”
I twisted in the dark to face her. “I’m sorry, Isabel.”
We were quiet for a few minutes.
“Doesn’t this remind you of when we used to camp in your backyard with that lantern your dad made us?”
It didn’t surprise me that her thoughts shifted to my dad. It was my dad who cooked us burgers on Thursday nights as far back as I could remember and popped popcorn during Sunday evening movies. He had made Isabel almost as many gizmos as he’d made me.
“How is he?” Her voice was barely above a whisper.
“You know him... Behind in his billing and allowing customersto pay what they want. After Mrs. Harris paid him a chicken for rewiring her chandelier last month, I standardized some of his pricing for him. Not that he’s going to tell clients about it.”
“Mrs. Harris is rich. She should pay double.”
“But apparently she roasts an extraordinary chicken.”
“She probably wants to show off her culinary skills. Didn’t her husband die a few years ago?”
“If that’s her goal, poor Mrs. Harris.” I snuggled deeper into the pillow. “Despite enjoying the chicken, he’ll never notice her, not like that.”
“He’ll always love your mom, but he’s a relational guy. He needs people. I can see him marrying again.”
I twisted onto my back. I could just make out the ceiling’s plaster detailing in the dark. “I don’t think he’d risk it. How could he? Watching her struggle for so long... It was too hard.”
