Lessons in Chemistry(69)

“So am I,” she muffled into his shoulder. “So am I.”

He flinched. Such loneliness. He patted her back as he did with Amanda, communicating, as best he could, that he wasn’t just sorry for her loss but understood it. Had he ever been in love like that? No. But now he had a very good idea what it looked like.

“I apologize,” she said, pulling away, surprised at how much she’d needed that hug.

“It’s okay,” he said gently. “You’ve been through a lot.”

“Regardless,” she said, straightening up, “I should know better than to speak of it. I’ve already been fired for it once.”

For the third time that morning, Walter flinched. When she said “it,” he wasn’t sure what she meant. Had she been fired for killing her lover? Or for being an unwed mother? Both explanations were plausible, but he far preferred the second one.

“I killed him,” she admitted softly, eliminating his preference. “I insisted he use a leash and he died. Six-Thirty has never been the same.”

“That’s terrible,” Walter said in an even lower voice, because even though he didn’t understand what she’d said about the leash or the six thirty time zone, he understood what she’d meant. She’d made a choice and it had ended badly. He’d done the very same thing. And both of their bad choices resulted in small people who now bore the brunt of their parents’ poor choices. “I’m so very sorry.”

“I’m sorry for you, too,” she said, trying to regain her composure. “Your divorce.”

“Oh, don’t be,” he said, waving his hand, embarrassed that his lurch at love could be compared in any way to hers. “It wasn’t like your situation. Mine didn’t have anything to do with love. Amanda isn’t even technically mine in the DNA sense of things,” he blurted without meaning to. In fact, he’d only just found out three weeks ago.

His ex-wife had long insinuated that he wasn’t Amanda’s biological father, but he’d figured she’d only said it to hurt him. Sure, he and Amanda didn’t look alike, but plenty of children don’t look like their parents. Every time he held Amanda in his arms, he knew she was his; he could sense the deep, permanent biological connection. But his ex-wife’s cruel insistence ate at him, and when paternity testing finally became available, he produced a blood sample. Five days later, he knew the truth. He and Amanda were total strangers.

He’d stared at the test results, expecting to feel cheated or devastated or any of the other ways he’d guessed he was supposed to feel, but instead he’d felt completely nonplussed. The results didn’t matter at all. Amanda was his daughter and he was her father. He loved her with all his heart. Biology was overrated.

“I’d never planned to be a parent,” he told Elizabeth. “But here I am, a devoted father. Life’s a mystery, isn’t it? People who try and plan it inevitably end up disappointed.”

She nodded. She was a planner. She was disappointed.

“Anyway,” he continued. “I believe we can make something with Supper at Six. But there are some things about TV that you’re just going to, well, have to put up with. In terms of the wardrobe, I’ll tell the tailor to ease the seams. But in quid pro quo, I’d like you to practice smiling.”

She frowned.

“Jack LaLanne smiles when he’s doing push-ups,” Walter said. “That’s the way he makes hard things look fun. Study Jack’s style—he’s a master.”

At the mention of Jack’s name, Elizabeth tensed. She hadn’t watched Jack LaLanne since Calvin died, and that was partly because she blamed him—yes, she knew it wasn’t fair—for Calvin’s death. The memory of Calvin coming into the kitchen after Jack’s show filled her with a sudden warmth.

“There you go,” Walter said.

Elizabeth glanced up at him.

“You were almost smiling.”

“Oh,” she said. “Well, it was unintentional.”

“That’s fine. Intentional, nonintentional. Anything will do. Most of mine are forced. Including those at Woody Elementary School, where I’m headed next. I’ve been summoned by Mrs. Mudford.”

“I have too,” Elizabeth said, surprised. “I have a conference tomorrow. Does yours concern Amanda’s reading list?”

“Reading?” he said, surprised. “They’re kindergartners, Elizabeth; they can’t read. Anyway, the issue isn’t Amanda. It’s me. She’s suspicious of me because I’m a father raising a daughter alone.”

“Why?”

He looked surprised. “Why do you think?”

“Oh,” she said, with sudden understanding. “She believes you’re sexually deviant.”

“I wouldn’t have put it so, so…blatantly,” Walter said, “but yes. It’s like wearing a badge that says ‘Hello! I’m a pedophile—and I babysit!’?”

“I guess we’re both suspect, then,” Elizabeth said. “Calvin and I had sex nearly every day—completely normal for our youth and activity level—but because we weren’t married…”

“Ah,” Walter said, paling. “Well—”

“As if marriage has anything to do with sexuality—”