All We Ever Wanted(25)

“Good. I’m glad to hear that. He deserves it.”

“What? No, Dad. If he’s suspended, he might not be able to go to Princeton.”

“Princeton?” I said, disgusted. “That asshole got into Princeton?”

“Oh my God, Dad!” she shouted. “You’re missing the point—”

“No. You are,” I said, thinking she looked exactly like her mother right now. Her eyes always reminded me of Beatriz, but when she got this angry, the rest of her face did, too. I blurted out the observation, instantly regretting it. There was already enough going on without throwing that into the mix.

   “Funny you should mention Mom,” she said, crossing her arms, her expression becoming defiant.

“And why’s that?” I said.

“Because I’ve been talking to her about this…”

“Oh?” I said. “And how is your ol’ momma doing these days? Recording any albums? Landing any plum acting roles? Getting married for the third time?”

“Yes. Two of those three, actually,” she said. “She’s doing great. Really great.”

“Terrific,” I said. “Just super.”

“Yes. And she said I could come visit her.”

“And where is she now?” I asked, though I knew she was back in Rio, according to the return address scrawled on the Easter card still displayed in Lyla’s room.

“Brazil,” Lyla confirmed.

“Well. You don’t have a passport. And I’m not funding your trip to Brazil.”

“I’m working on the passport. And Mom said she’d buy my ticket.”

I let out a bitter laugh. “Oh yeah? How nice of her. Tell her while she’s at it, she’s only about a decade behind in any kind of financial support.” I stood and carried my dishes to the sink.

Lyla said nothing, and I got more upset.

“Hey, I’ve got a great idea!” I said, returning to the table. “Why don’t you go live with your mother this summer? Since your life is so ruined here and you’ll never stop hating me?”

I didn’t mean it—not even a little—and regretted the words as soon as they were out of my mouth, even before I saw the hurt in Lyla’s eyes.

   “Great suggestion, Dad,” she said, nodding. “Thanks so much for your permission. I’ll tell Mom that’s what I want to do.”

“Fantastic,” I said, storming out of the kitchen. “Just do the dishes first. I’m sick and tired of doing everything around here.”





“How’d you think that went?” Kirk asked under his breath as we walked toward the parking lot following our meeting with Walter.

“Awful,” I said, though that word wasn’t nearly strong enough to describe my profound disappointment verging on devastation.

“Yeah. He’s pompous as hell. Condescending and superior…typical liberal,” Kirk muttered, walking more briskly.

“What?” I said, though after that performance, nothing should have surprised me anymore.

“Walt,” he said. “He’s brutal.”

I quickened my pace to keep up with Kirk’s long, angry stride. “It’s Walter. Not Walt.”

“Whatever.”

“And Walter’s not on trial here. Finch is.”

“Not yet he’s not,” Kirk said as we reached our cars.

“But he will be on trial….I think that’s pretty clear,” I said, opening my door. I tossed my purse into the passenger seat before squaring my shoulders and looking into my husband’s eyes.

“Yeah,” Kirk said. “And it’s bullshit. Quarterman’s already made his mind up about everything. As the headmaster, he should stay neutral. Finch is one of his students, too. And he’s a lifer.”

   Lifer was the term given to kids who had been at Windsor since kindergarten—as opposed to those who joined in middle school or high school. I’d always been happy Finch had been among that group, if only for the sake of continuity, but I cringed at hearing it in this context. The implication was clear—Finch belonged at Windsor more than Lyla, and therefore was entitled to preferential treatment.

“Yes. But he has no defense. Zero,” I said. “I think that was abundantly clear in there.”

“Fine, Nina,” Kirk said. “He has no defense. But he’s confessed and he’s apologized. And this just isn’t suspension worthy. Not after years of perfect behavior. It was one stupid mistake.”

“I think others will beg to differ,” I said, wondering what he thought qualified as “suspension worthy.” In my mind, this was worse than cheating on a test, or drinking on school property, or getting in a fistfight, all of which resulted in suspension. “And it’s not up to us. It’s up to Windsor.”

“Well, I’m not going to let Finch’s fate end up in the hands of a few leftist wing-nut academics.”

I bit my lip, then lowered myself into the car. I could feel my husband’s stare—and it felt like a dare to reply.

“I don’t think you have a choice here,” I finally said, glancing up at him.

It was a foreign concept to Kirk—that something would actually be out of his control—and although in the past I’d found this quality attractive, it now filled me with disdain bordering on disgust. I tried to pull my door shut, but Kirk held it open with his hand.