All We Ever Wanted(84)

“Yeah. I think so. Good people make mistakes,” I say, hoping this statement applies to Finch. “But…I’m afraid that Kirk isn’t a good person anymore.”

Mom nods, not even making a cursory attempt to come to the defense of her son-in-law.

“Did you ever like him?” I ask, thinking of Julie’s putt-putt memories.

“Of course I did,” she says a little too automatically.

   “Really?” I say. “You can tell me the truth…please.”

Mom sighs, then says, “Well, in the beginning? I was unsure. I liked him, but I thought he was a little snobby, and that you two didn’t really…fit together….But I could tell you felt he was what you needed….”

“I did,” I say, nodding, amazed that my mother saw this so clearly—even before I did. Yet I also feel wistful for how things could have turned out. How we could have evolved together in a different direction.

“And I did love how he took care of you. He was a gentleman. But somewhere along the line that changed,” she says. “He changed. He seems a bit…selfish now.”

“I know,” I say, thinking that was an understatement. “When do you think that happened? When he sold his company?”

“I think so, yes,” she says. “He just got a little big for his britches. And I also think he started to take you for granted….There’s a certain…lack of respect that disturbs your father and me.”

I nod, knowing she’s right, cringing at the example Kirk has been setting for Finch—and the fact that I’ve allowed it to go on for so long. I say as much to my mom, and then add a hopeful, “Better late than never?”

“Definitely,” Mom says, scooping a generous tablespoon of coffee crystals into a University of Tennessee travel mug that I can trace back to the eighties. “I think Teddy would agree with that statement, too.” She looks up at me hopefully.

“Mom,” I say, shaking my head.

“What?” she says with wide-eyed innocence. “I’m just saying.”



* * *



—

ABOUT TEN MILES outside of Nashville, I get a call from Walter Quarterman. “There’s been a development,” he says. “Can you please come in?”

   “What sort of development?” I say, my heart sinking, wondering if it has anything to do with Melanie’s voicemail.

“I’d rather not discuss it over the phone,” Walter says.

“Okay,” I say, then ask if he’s talked to Kirk.

“No. I called you first,” he says.

“Thank you,” I say, then tell him that I’ll be there just as soon as I can.



* * *



—

TWENTY MINUTES AND several traffic violations later, I park in front of Windsor and run into the school.

“I have a meeting with Mr. Quarterman,” I tell Sharon at the front desk. “He’s expecting me.”

She nods and tries to hand me that damn sign-in clipboard, but I blow her off, muttering that I’m already late and dashing down the hallway.

When I arrive at Walter’s office, I knock, then walk in to a small crowd of people. Walter is behind his desk, and in front of him, in a semicircle of chairs, sit Finch, Tom, Polly, and Polly’s parents.

My stomach drops as Walter stands to greet me, then points to the only remaining free chair, which happens to be right next to my son. As I sit, I acknowledge Tom, Polly, and her parents with a nod, glancing at Finch last. Everyone looks relatively composed except Polly.

“Will Kirk be joining us?” Walter asks.

“No, he won’t be,” I say. “Can you tell me what’s going on?”

Walter nods. “Yes. As I told you on the phone, Nina, there’s been a development…and unfortunately, we have two very different versions of the story.”

Polly lets out a sob, covering her face with her hands, as her father puts his arm around her and softly shushes her.

   “Can someone please…cut to the chase?” I say.

“Sure thing,” Tom snaps, his voice cold and livid. “Someone wrote slut on our porch.”

“Oh my God,” I say. “I’m so sorry.”

Tom ignores this and simply says, “Finch says Polly did it.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Finch nodding, while Polly wails in protest. “It wasn’t me! I swear!”

Her father tries to soothe her again, as Tom continues, “Whether or not the artwork is, in fact, Polly’s, she did call Lyla a slut yesterday. At your house. Polly admits this much is true. Which is really lovely.”

“She’s very sorry for using that word,” Polly’s dad says. “But she had nothing to do with your porch being vandalized. She was home all night with us.”

Walter attempts to cut in, but Tom talks right over him. “Now Finch is also saying that he didn’t actually take the infamous photo of Lyla. That actually, Polly took it, and he’s been covering for her all this time.”

“That’s not true!” Polly yells, her face covered with tears and snot. “It’s a total lie!”

“You’re the one lying,” Finch says, perfectly calmly.