The Storied Life of A.J. Fikry(28)

“A.J.,” Amelia interrupts. “Are you listening?”

“Yes, of course. I’m . . .” Staring at your things? “I’m unused to Skyping. Can I make Skype a verb?”

“I don’t think OED has weighed in on the matter, but I think you’ll be fine,” she says. “As I was saying, that Knightley has not one, but two, short-story collections on the summer list.”

Amelia goes on to describe the collections, and A.J. returns to spying. What is that book? It’s skinnier than a bible or a dictionary. He leans in to try to see it better, but the worn gold leaf text is too faded to decipher out over a video conference call. How irritating that he can’t zoom in or change the angle. She is no longer speaking. Clearly, some response is required from A.J.

“Yes, I’m looking forward to reading them,” he says.

“Great. I’ll put them in the mail to you today or tomorrow. So that’s it until the fall list.”

“I hope you’ll be able to come in person.”

“I will. I definitely will.”

“What’s the book?” A.J. asks.

“What book?”

“The old one leaning against the lamp, on the table behind you.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” she says. “It’s my favorite. A gift from my father for my college graduation.”

“So what is it?”

“If you ever make it down to Providence, I’ll show you,” she says.

A.J. looks at her. This might have sounded flirtatious except she hadn’t even looked up from the notes she’d been writing when she said it. And yet . . .

“Brett Brewer seemed like a nice guy,” A.J. says.

“What?”

“When he called me to say you were hurt and couldn’t come,” A.J. explains.

“Right.”

“I thought he sounded like Bill from True Blood.”

Amelia laughs. “Look at you, casually dropping the True Blood references. I’ll have to tell Brett that the next time I see him.”

“When’s the wedding, by the way? Or has it already happened?”

She looks up at him. “It’s off, actually.”

“I’m sorry,” A.J. says.

“It happened a while ago. Over Christmas.”

“I thought because he called . . .”

“He was crashing at my house at the time. I try to stay friends with my exes,” Amelia says. “I’m that way.”

A.J. knows he is being intrusive, but he can’t stop himself. “What happened?”

“Brett’s a great guy, but the sad truth is we didn’t have very much in common.”

“Shared sensibility does matter,” A.J. says.

Amelia’s phone rings. “My mother. I have to take this,” she says. “I’ll see you in a couple of months, okay?”

A.J. nods. Skype clicks off, and Amelia’s status changes to Away.

He opens his browser and Googles the following phrase: “educational family attractions near Providence, Rhode Island.” The search yields no distinctive results: a children’s museum, a doll museum, a lighthouse, and other things he could more easily do in Boston. He settles on the Green Animals Topiary Garden in Portsmouth. He and Maya had read a picture book with topiary animals in it a while ago, and she’d seemed mostly interested in the subject. Plus it’s good for them to get off the island, right? He’ll take Maya to see the animals, then swing by Providence to see a sick friend.

“Maya,” he says that night at dinner, “how would you like to see a giant topiary elephant?”

She gives him a look. “Your voice is funny.”

“It’s cool, Maya. You remember that book we read with the topiaries?”

“You mean, when I was little.”

“Right. I found this place with a topiary animal garden. I have to go to Providence anyway to see a sick friend so I thought it would be cool for us to see the animal garden while we were there.” He gets out his computer and shows her the website with the topiary animals.

“Okay,” she says seriously. “I would like to see that.” She points out that the website says that the topiary garden is in Portsmouth, not Providence.

“Portsmouth and Providence are really close,” A.J. says. “Rhode Island is the country’s smallest state.”

It turns out, however, that Portsmouth and Providence are not all that close. Although there is a bus, the easiest way to get to there is by car, and A.J. doesn’t have a driver’s license. He calls Lambiase and asks him to come with them.

“Kid’s super into topiaries, huh?” Lambiase asks.

“She’s mad for them,” A.J. says.

“Seems a weird thing for a kid to be into, that’s all I’m saying.”

“She’s a weird kid.”

“But is the middle of winter the best time for touring a garden?”

“It’s almost spring. Besides, Maya’s into topiaries right now. Who knows if she’ll be as interested come summer?”

“Kids change quick. It’s true,” Lambiase says.

“Look, you don’t have to come.”

“Oh, I’ll come. Who wouldn’t want to see a giant green elephant? The thing is, though, sometimes people tell you you’re on one kind of trip, but it turns out to be another kind of trip, you know what I mean? I just want to know what kind of trip I’m on. Are we going to see topiaries, or are we going to see something else? Maybe that lady friend of yours, say?”