Page 51 of Caught in a Storm
“I’m sure she does,” says Poppy. “So, what’s up, Dad? I have a meeting in six minutes. I’m presenting something.”
Often, when they talk, Poppy begins by setting parameters.
“Righto. Just wanted to ask, you keeping track of this business with your mum?”
The space between them goes silent. “What do you mean?”
“This American chap. In Balti-wherever, which I’ve recently learnt is somewhere near Washington, D.C. Just seeing if everything’s on the up-and-up. The Internet and all. You can never tell what’s what, exactly.”
“She’s fine,” says Poppy. “More than fine. She’s…Dad, she’s good.”
“So, it’s real, then, this thing?”
Another silence. Lawson wishes he’d called on FaceTime so he could see her expression. “Dad, I’m gonna ask a favor, okay?”
“Anything, darling.”
“Just…just leave her alone.”
Fifty feet away, three cameramen have started disassembling the machinery attached to the fake Porsche. “Bit harsh, love,” he says. “I’m just trying to make sure—”
“Come on, Dad,” she says. “Don’t screw this up for her. Okay?”
Chapter 31
Margot thinks about that research assistant from Netflix again—that kid who apparently lives rent free in her head.
“What, um, exactly have you been up to since Burnt Flowers broke up?”
When he asked her that, Margot wanted to know his address so she could go there and slap him across his stupid face. The question had pissed her off for two reasons. First, although it was a reasonable question, there were about a dozen different ways he could’ve asked it that would’ve sounded less accusatory. Second, and more importantly, it pissed her off because she had no idea how to answer it without sounding like…well, the Unabomber.
Margot forgives him now, though, whatever his name is, because she keeps imagining him asking her a slightly different version of the same question. What, um, exactly have you been up to since you got to Baltimore? Her answer, this time, would sound like a fantasy camp for wayward adults. Her answer, this time, would sound like bliss.
When Billy’s not giving lessons, they go places together. They’ve been to a few small concerts at a place called the 8x10. At each show, Billy and Margot stood together at the back of the cramped club and were the oldest people in attendance by a long shot. They’ve been to two more Orioles games. Once it was just the two of them; the other time Caleb came, too. Clancy the beer vendor complimented her Orioles cap both times and officially gave her permission to call him Fancy Clancy. They’ve been to Charm City Rocks a few times, too, mostly to see Patty and Grady and to hang out with Gustavo across the street and eat pretzels. Gustavo is considering naming a special pretzel after her, and Grady recently upgraded the lightbulbs above the Wall of Fame to a higher wattage so people can see her signature better.
“It’s more noticeable this way,” Grady proudly told her. “Plus, it gives the wall some legitimacy, you know. Some real star power.”
Billy took her out for crabs the other night. Margot had no idea what she was getting into. She had to use a special little mallet and wear a bib like a toddler. The whole thing had been funny and messy and gross, because crabs are really just giant sea bugs, but it was an experience.
She walks to Eddie’s, the little market she saw that first day in Roland Park, nearly every day and hangs out at the coffee shop next door for hours on end. When dogs approach her, she pets them, and when people approach her, she signs things for them. A barista she sees often brought one of her dad’s old concert T-shirts for her to sign. Two high school kids asked her to autograph a CD for their music teacher. The dilapidated jewel case practically crumbled in Margot’s hands, like a shell washed up on the beach.
On their way out of a movie on Saturday evening, they stopped to watch Daquan, the drummer kid down the street from Charm City Rocks. Daquan smiled and invited her to take over. A small crowd gathered as he gave her a brief tutorial on which buckets made what sounds. She played for a few minutes, which, of course, ended up all over YouTube and Instagram. Margot didn’t play anything specific—just a couple of drum loops she made up on the spot—but she enjoyed it very much. Drums, buckets, whatever, it feels incredible to play music again.
This morning, Margot and Billy took a ride up north in the Champagne Supernova. A few minutes outside the city, the land opens into acreages, and things turn hillier than she would’ve imagined. They parked and then hiked for about a half an hour until they came to a white picket fence outside an enormous horse farm.
“We’re here,” Billy said.
“Where?” she asked. “This isn’t where you murder me, is it?”
“No, not yet,” he said. “I’m saving that for later. I wanna show you something.”
“What?”
“A cow,” Billy said.
“You brought me here to show me a cow?” she asked.
“Not just any cow.”
