Page 25 of Caught in a Storm
Robyn slows and makes a clicking sound with her mouth. “Billy? Is that the Charm City Rocks van over there?”
He’d hoped she wouldn’t notice, which was a silly thing to hope, because it’s a big baby-blue conversion van with Charm City Rocks stenciled on the side. A helicopter would’ve stuck out less. “Grady let me borrow it,” he says. “The Champagne Supernova is having some trouble with its…whatever makes cars start.”
“He evicts you from your apartment, but you’re perfectly fine borrowing his van?”
Billy flushes. He hoped she wouldn’t notice that either: Billy’s pending homelessness.
“Caleb told me,” she says.
“Right. Well, it’s not Grady’s fault. It’s just business. I’m being gentrified.”
Robyn is the sort of person who’s perpetually in motion. She paces. When she sits, her right leg bounces, electrified by caffeine and anxiety. She dashes from one appointment to the next, cellphone in hand. She’s often in the middle of a call, and it usually seems like things on that call aren’t going great. Tonight, though, she doesn’t appear to be in any hurry to get home, so she and Billy stand for a while beside the Charm City Rocks van. She’s wearing heels, which puts her almost exactly at Billy’s height. Leaning against the driver’s side door, she pulls her hair out of its tight bun.
“Oh, hey,” he says. “Your hair’s shorter, right? I like it.”
She looks at her reflection in the van’s window. “Stop being nice. I’m mad at you.”
“Well, in that case, your blouse is hideous.”
Robyn laughs, which comes with a head shake, and it reminds him of when they were young. He half expects her to pull out a cigarette, even though she quit nineteen years ago when she was pregnant with Caleb.
“You aren’t talking shit to Cay about Stanford, are you?” she asks.
“What?”
“I don’t know, poisoning the well? Calling it fascist or whatever?”
“No. Stop it. First of all, I’m just being supportive. It’s his decision, right? Secondly, I don’t think Aaron is a fascist. He has fascist hair. We’ve discussed that. But he’s a nice guy.”
Yes, Billy and Aaron are friends, but Billy takes every opportunity to poke fun at the man’s hair, which is sandy blond and wavy and oddly perfect.
“I would’ve killed to go to Stanford,” Robyn says. “You know how many doors that would’ve opened for me?”
“Rob.” Billy lifts his palms. “Come on, you got through some doors.”
“Fought through,” she says. “I wouldn’t have had to fight if I’d gone to Stanford.”
Billy has no idea if that’s true; this is her department, not his. “Maybe he’s afraid he’ll be homesick.”
Robyn gives him an expression that reminds him of portraits of bank presidents. “Do you honestly believe that, Billy?”
“It’s thousands of miles away,” he says.
“It’s you,” she says.
“What’s me?”
“If he leaves, he’s afraid that you will be homesick for him, you moron.”
“What? That’s crazy. I’m…I’m fine.” But now it’s his turn to lean against Grady’s van. “Goddammit,” he says. “Did he tell you that? That he’s worried about me?”
Robyn shrugs. “You want me to snitch on my own kid?”
Billy and Robyn agreed years ago to keep their son’s secrets when it’s appropriate. This seems like a gray area.
“Maybe just this once,” he says.
Robyn straightens Billy’s cardigan with a quick tug. “He told me everyone leaves you. That’s what he said. ‘Everyone leaves him, Mom. I don’t know if I want to be one of those people who leaves him, too.’ ”
