Everything You Are(37)
“That’s not a consolation!”
“Better than being kidnapped by some serial killer.”
“Am I allowed to strangle a boy who has sex with my daughter? I’m new to this father-of-a-teenager thing.”
“I think the law frowns on it.”
“You know I can’t get into the house as long as she’s gone.”
“She’ll come back.”
“Where are you taking me? Should I be worried?”
“I already told you. Chinese.”
To Phee’s relief, he settles back into the seat, releasing a long, shaky sigh. She can feel the tension dissipating as he retreats from the dark chasm. Her whole being, it seems, is tuned to the key of Braden Healey. She wants to touch him, his hand, his knee, his shoulder. She wants to soothe his hands, trace the line of the scar on his cheek, help his lips remember the shape of a smile. The last thing in the world she wants to do is cause him further pain.
Bits of teaching from the AA big book flash into her head. Codependency, they’d call this. They are probably right. Her heart is definitely getting in the way of a very clear MacPhee directive.
Chapter Fifteen
PHEE
“Here we are.” Phee wedges her car between an oversize SUV and a smart car.
“This may not be a parking space,” Braden says, and Phee can’t help laughing at the expression on his face.
“Bonus of a tiny car. If it fits, it sits.”
She loves the flicker of mischief in his eyes, is sad when it goes out.
“Wait here. I’ll be right back.”
“You promised me, Ophelia.”
Her grandfather’s voice is so clear, she catches herself scanning the restaurant for a glimpse of him, as if he’s going to be sitting in a booth eating moo goo gai pan with a pair of chopsticks.
“Hold on to your old bones, I’m just feeding him first.”
She pays for the food and hurries back to the car, relieved to see that Braden hasn’t fled during her absence.
“That smells amazing,” he says when she opens the door and hands him the bags.
“Best food in town.”
“Are we eating in the car, then?”
“We have choices. The Angels are meeting . . . now. We’d already be late.”
“Or?”
“I could surprise you.”
“I’m not so good with surprises.”
He shoves at Celestine’s head as he strains to get at the bags of food. “Is dog slobber of any value? Because if it is, you’re sitting on a fortune here.”
“Tourists would probably buy it. What would the marketing slogan be?”
“Hmm. Man’s Best Friend in a Bottle?” He laughs as he says it but then goes serious. A silence grows, awkward and unwieldy.
Phee shifts into gear and eases out into the street. “How about Discovery Park?”
“Lovely day for a picnic.”
Phee stares out at the heavy sky, the rain, remembers that Braden doesn’t have a jacket.
“Sunny days are hugely overrated,” he says. “Far too cheerful. All of that bright light in your eyes, not to mention the heat.”
“I do have an extra coat.”
“It’s a date.” The word hangs between them. Just an expression, Phee admonishes her accelerating heart. He doesn’t mean it like a date date.
“You know everything about me,” he says after a silence, “and all I know about you is that you repair instruments and are possibly crazy.”
“Is there a problem with any of that?”
“There’s an imbalance, I feel. Are you from Seattle? Married? Kids? Did you always plan to be a luthier?”
“Ask me something easy. Like how gravity works or the theory behind jet propulsion.”
“Seriously. Not every girl dreams of repairing instruments when she grows up.”
“Any conversation that begins there ends with me showing up at your door and demanding that you play the cello before your hands have even healed. Ask something else.”
Coward.
Blurt it all out, get it over with. It’s not like he doesn’t know.
“About that,” Braden says, and Phee feels the car grow smaller around her under the weight of promises that won’t allow themselves to be broken. “Is that why you’ve really interrupted me from my drinking? To give me a pep talk on getting back to playing the cello?”
“I thought we’d eat dinner first. Take a walk. See a movie.”
“But all roads lead there in the end? You’re like Coleridge’s ancient mariner, you know that? Minus the beard and the albatross, but equally obsessed.”
“Oh, the albatross is there, all right, you just can’t see it.”
The fragrance wafting out of the take-out boxes, once mouthwatering, now makes her feel ill. The conversation on the horizon is about as appetizing as a bowl full of maggots.
Braden is the one who finally breaks an increasingly uncomfortable silence. “You showed up at my door like a visitation from fate or the furies. There was even this wild red sunset behind you, storm clouds piled up over the houses across the street.”
“I remember.”
“You stood there in the doorway with the sky burning behind you, cold wind flowing in, and asked, ‘Are you playing? You need to be playing.’”