Wrong About the Guy(64)

I said, “Hey, George,” with a yawn. “Didn’t know you’d be here.” He was standing near the kitchen table, where Grandma was sitting with Jacob on her lap, the two of them playing a game together on the iPad. “I thought the office was all done.”

“He’s running a couple of errands for me,” Mom said. “As soon as I make a list. Which I would do if I had a pen.”

“You could just text me the list,” George said.

“Good idea. Why don’t I ever think of that?” She glanced around. “And . . . I left my phone upstairs. Hold on.” She ran out of the kitchen.

“Efficiency is not her middle name,” I said.

He flashed a bland smile and turned to Grandma. “So when do you go back to Philadelphia?”


“Friday,” she said. “I’ll be happy to get back to my regular routine, but I’m going to miss my time with this little girl. We’ve had fun together, haven’t we, Ellie?”

“Totally,” I said, and plunked myself down in the chair next to her. I looked up at George. “We really did.”

“I’m glad,” he said, and this time his smile was more sincere.

Mom came back into the kitchen, waving a pen. “I found one on the whatchamacallit—credenza—and saved myself a flight of stairs. Okay, now first I want you to go to Barnes and Noble—” She scribbled the words Overcoming Autism on the back of an envelope. “Look for this book—it’ll be in the special needs section for parents. If you see any other books with autism or Asperger’s in the title that look good, grab those, too.”

“Why are you buying those?” I asked.

“Because I want to read them. And then, George, I need you to go to the Apple Store—my car phone charger broke. I need a new one.” She wrote that on the list and then told him to stop at a wine store and buy a good bottle of wine for them to take as a hostess gift to some party they were going to the following night. “You need anything, Ellie? Mom?”

“I need something fun to read,” I said.

“You know what you want?” George asked.

“Not yet.”

“Text me when you do and I’ll look for it if I’m still there.”

“Or you could get it on the iPad,” Mom said.

“I like real books,” I said. “And I’m in the mood to browse. I’ll go with you to the bookstore, George.”

“I’ve got to do all these other errands . . .”

“I’ll do them with you.” I wanted to spend some time with him, figure out whether he really did like Heather or not—maybe I could get him to say something about her while we were out together.

“Okay,” he said. “If you really want to.”

In the car, I kept glancing at him. He was being very quiet. Polite and not unfriendly. But quiet.

I said, “It’s getting dark so early these days.”

He agreed that it was.

Then we were silent again.

His voice, when he spoke again, was surprisingly gentle. “I don’t know how to say this, but I feel like I need to say something. . . .”

“What?” Oh, God. Was he about to tell me how much he liked Heather? I’d thought I wanted to know, but now I had a sudden overwhelming desire to plug my ears and hum so I wouldn’t have to hear it.

“It’s just . . .” He glanced over at me and then back at the road. “Jonathan filled me in on the Marquand situation. Luke told him, and he knows how close I am to your family and felt I should know, too. I hope it’s okay.”

“It’s fine.” I was relieved that he wasn’t talking about Heather, but not exactly thrilled with this topic either. Why was life such a cringe-fest? “So . . . ?”

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Okay? Why wouldn’t I be? I mean, it’s sad that they’re separating and all that but—”

“I know the whole story,” he repeated. “Even the part about Aaron and Crystal. How they were—” He cut himself off and started again. “What he was doing to his father.” Quick glance at me again. “And to you.”

“He wasn’t doing anything to me.”

“Come on,” he said. “I know you want to defend him, but sneaking around with Crystal when he was going out with you—”

I stared at him, torn between horror and amusement. “Aaron and I were never going out! Never. We were always just friends.”

“That’s a little hard to believe.”

“Because he was all over me at Halloween?”

“And other times.”

“It was all a mislead—so people wouldn’t notice that he and Crystal were obsessed with each other.”

His eyebrows drew together, in confusion, not anger. “But you were always together. He was always over here. Spending nights when your parents were gone—”

“Because his father had thrown him out! For sleeping with his stepmother!” I bounced in my seat, frustrated, desperate for the world—or at least George—to understand the situation. I was tired of explaining it and tired of being seen as some sort of lovesick punching-bag. “I felt sorry for him. I barely even saw him when he was here—he slept in Jacob’s room and didn’t come back until late each night. I swear to you I’m not the slightest bit heartbroken or anything like that. I just feel bad for all of them. And relieved I’m not involved.”