All We Ever Wanted(87)

Bonnie gives me a hint of a smile, then looks at Lyla again. “Do you know what he’s trying to say?”

Lyla shrugs, then grants Bonnie the same answer I gave her. “I guess,” she says.

Bonnie clears her throat and continues, “And don’t you think he’s trying to do the best he can to help you?”

   “Yes, but this actually isn’t helping me,” Lyla says. “At all. He has no clue what it’s like to be me…and this is my school he’s barging into. My world.”

“Not for long, it isn’t,” I say under my breath.

Lyla makes a loud huffing sound, points at me, and says to Bonnie, “See? See! He wants me to leave my school over this! Tell him that’s ridiculous. And soo unfair! This isn’t Windsor’s fault.”

“Okay. But do you understand why your father feels some animosity toward Windsor? After all, someone from the school took that photograph of you. And no one has yet been punished for it. All these days later,” Bonnie says, articulating the reasons for my anger and frustration so beautifully and succinctly that I want to high-five or hug her.

“Yeah. Okay. I get that,” Lyla says. “And I appreciate that he’s a really good father and stuff….But…he’s always so angry at everyone….It’s like he thinks the whole world is against us or something. And they’re not. They’re just…not.”

The truth of her statement hits me hard, and I feel them both staring at me as I catch my breath.

“Tom?” Bonnie says softly.

“Yeah?” I ask, my head spinning.

“Does Lyla have a point here?”

I slowly nod. “Yeah. She does.”

Holding my gaze, Lyla says, “I mean, Dad, some people in Belle Meade do suck. Some people are huge snobs and look down on us. But a lot of them aren’t like that at all. Some of them are just like us, only with more money…and if money and appearances and stuff like that don’t matter, then they shouldn’t matter either way.” She looks so earnest and emboldened.

I nod again, hearing her and feeling the truth of her words on a level deeper than I thought possible.

   “I just want you to trust me sometimes,” she continues. “To make my own judgments about people…which might not be the same as yours. Whether that’s Grace…or Finch…or anyone else. And yeah, I’m going to make mistakes…but now it’s time to trust me. If I mess up, I mess up. But I want—and need—your faith in me.”

“Okay,” I say, nodding and blinking back unexpected tears. “I’ll try.”

“And, Lyla?” Bonnie says. “You’ll try, too? To cut him some slack? And understand how hard it must be to raise you on his own?”

“Yes,” Lyla says, first looking at Bonnie, then shifting her gaze to me. “I’ll try, too. I promise, Dad.”

Her answer pushes me closer to the edge of crying, though I manage to keep it together by taking a sip of tea.

“Well,” Bonnie says. “This is a really good start.”

“Yeah,” I say.

“Yeah,” Lyla echoes.

“Now,” Bonnie says briskly. “What do you say we take a little tour of the world’s finest tree house?”





After Tom’s grand exit, Walter dismisses Finch for the rest of the day, instructing him to return to school in the morning for his scheduled hearing. I don’t speak to him until we get outside, telling him to go straight home. That I’ll meet him there.

Finch nods, then turns toward the student lot while I walk straight ahead to my car. I get in, put on my seatbelt, and take a few deep breaths. Before I start the ignition, I make myself call Kirk, knowing that I can’t drive and talk at the same time. Not to him. Not about this.

“Hey!” he says with what I can tell is forced cheer. “Where’ve you been?”

“I thought Finch told you?” I say. “I went to Bristol.”

“Yeah, he told me….What gives?”

“What gives?” I say.

“I mean, why did you go home?” he asks, as I see Finch’s Mercedes appear in my rearview mirror. He drives past me, then up to the front gate, and makes a right turn toward home.

“To see my parents. And Julie,” I say.

“Okay. Well, why didn’t you call me?” he asks.

“I was just really busy….I needed to get away….Kirk, we have to talk.”

   “All right,” he says. “How about dinner tonight? Just the two of us?”

“No. Now. I actually need you to come home right now. Finch and I are on our way. Walter just asked him to leave school for the day.”

“What? Why? What’s going on?” he says.

I finally have his full attention—and not some patronizing portion of it. “I’ll see you at home, Kirk. I’m not doing this over the phone.”



* * *



—

SOMEHOW KIRK BEATS me home from his office. Dammit, I say under my breath. I pull into my usual spot in front, then run inside before they have time to get their stories straight. Clearly, they are doing exactly that when I walk into Kirk’s office. In midsentence, Finch suddenly stops talking, as they both stare up at me.