Chapter 15
Matthew had wanted to take the day off so he and Nicole could spend some time together to see how things really stood between them, but Nicole insisted she had a million things to do after she finished Career Day.
He'd felt very uneasy as he left her that morning. After Nicole's crying jag the night beforeâsomething she chalked up to post-travel nervesâhe knew there was more going on than she was admitting. He'd even asked her if there was someone else.
Her eyes had widened in offense. “Noâwhat? God! You don't know what it's like living in hotels, and being around work people all the time, and missing home and Olivia. Working out there was a twenty-four/seven mental drain. And now to come back and have you make accusations like that? That's
not
what I need.”
Part of him understood jagged nerves. If he had to live for weeks on end in a hotel with just his boss and coworkers for company, he would have been ready for a padded cell. He couldn't blame her for wanting a little downtime, so early that morning he'd gone back to his place to work. He agreed to meet Nicole and Olivia for a very early dinner after gymnastics class, at Olivia's favorite restaurant.
An air of abandonment clung to his town house, although there wasn't a speck of dust anywhere. The cleaning service people had spent more time there recently than he had. After struggling to feel at home at Nicole's house, he now felt out of sorts in his own. The kitchen cupboards were bare . . . but they'd always been bare. His living room was all television and no living. He had to re-acclimate to things like the refrigerator's ice machine letting out rumbling belches every four hours, and the postman arriving later. The little clock in his office was so loud it seemed to be striking a warning about each passing second. He found it hard to concentrate. By dinnertime, the most productive thing he'd done was stuff the clock in a closet.
He'd hoped Nicole would be more relaxed after her day off, and she did seem to be trying. She wore jeans and a bright sweater set, and her hair was pulled back loosely with one of those doohickeys she had in four colors. But while her clothes said day-off casual, the tension in her body language was 5
P.M.
workday all the way.
Olivia spotted him first and waved him over. “I ordered us a pizza, like usual,” she informed him. “It should be here soon.”
He squeezed her arm in greeting. “Am I that late?”
“No,” Olivia said. “I'm that hungry.”
He sank down onto the booth seat next to Nicole and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. Her face appeared drawn. “How was your day?” he asked. “The home-cooked-meals plan of relaxation didn't pan out?”
“I realized that was a contradiction in terms. All the stuff in the fridge looked weird to me.” She'd obviously been re-acclimating, too. “I would have had to go to the grocery store, and I just couldn't face it. I took a nap instead.”
“Jet lag,” he said.
“Probably.” She got out her phone, checked it for messages, and then put it back.
They all lapsed into momentary silence.
“How was Career Day?” he asked.
“Fun!” Olivia replied.
“If that was fun,” Nicole said, “your normal school day must be gruesome.”
“Well, we got to miss math, and social studies.
That
was fun.” She looked at Matthew. “And Becca was there. She said she never got Mom's e-mail.”
“You should have seen her,” Nicole said. “She breezed in lateâ”
“Right in the middle of Mom's talk,” Olivia interjected.
“âand then she gave the lamest presentation. You could tell she hadn't prepared anything.”
“Everybody loved her speech,” Olivia said. “And the cupcakes.”
Nicole took a sip of water. “Oh sure. Show up in front of a bunch of eleven-year-olds with sugary food and field questions about being a tween star? Anybody could pull that off.”
The waitress came by and delivered the pizza and a large salad. When she was gone, Olivia grabbed a cheese and mushroom slice and leaned forward on both elbows. “Becca said Walt's in the hospital.”
He frowned. “I'm sorry to hear that.”
“Didn't you know?” Nicole asked.
“I haven't talked to Becca since the party. I haven't had any reason to.” Although he'd been tempted to call her several times.
“Is this Walt person her boyfriend?”
Olivia nearly choked on her pizza. “Walt's, like,
really
old.”
“That doesn't always mean anything,” Nicole said. “Especially to these Hollywood types. They have May-December things going on all the time.”
“I bet Walt's still in his fifties,” Matthew said. “But he's hardly what you would call anyone's romantic dream.”
Nicole shook her head impatiently. “I've never met him, so I can't say. I can't even figure out what he has to do with anybody, or why his name keeps coming up.”
“He's really nice,” Olivia said, growing agitated at her mother's tone. “I want to go see him in the hospital.”
Before Nicole could raise her objections, Matthew said, “I'll call Becca and see what's going on. If he's still there, I'll visit and tell him you said hi.”
Olivia didn't appear very excited by this arrangement, but she leaned back, sighing in resignation.
“You don't mind if I run over there this evening, do you?” he asked Nicole.
“God, no. I wasn't expecting you to come over to the house.” She got out her phone again and this time left it on the table.
He tried to lure her gaze away from the inert screen. “Are you expecting a call?”
“Work,” she said.
“Think they can't get along without you?” he asked.
He'd only meant it as a banal conversation filler, but her lip trembled. “I know they can. I guess I just didn't quite want to believe it.”
Conversation limped along after that. By the end, the strain was even showing on Olivia, who passed up a cheesecake opportunity, claiming she might as well get back and tackle her homework. Matthew expected piglets were sprouting wings somewhere.
After leaving the restaurant, he had every intention of going home, doing a little more work, and then heading to the hospital around seven. Instead, as he drove, he couldn't help thinking about Becca. Walt's being sick had probably upset her, and in the middle of it all, she'd managed to end up giving a presentation at the elementary school when she didn't even need to. He kicked himself for not calling the night before.
Maybe he could make it up to her now. If Walt was in the hospital, she probably wanted to get away from the shop. He couldn't bake, but he'd begun his working life at the age of sixteen manning a fast-food counter, so he could pinch-hit at the shop if she needed help.
He cruised past the Strawberry Cake Shop, which appeared shut. It was still early evening. He parked, got out, and found a note pinned to the door.
The shop is closed for today. Please visit us again soon!
Uneasiness gripped him. Was this because of Walt?
He sidestepped over to Becca's apartment's entrance and pressed the buzzer. A minute went by. He was on the verge of pulling out his phone when he heard footsteps clomping down a flight of stairs.
The door opened and Matthew was confronted with red, puffy eyes in a pale face. Becca's drawn expression caused his heart to plummet. Something bad had happened.
“Is it Walt?” he asked.
She shifted. “What do you know about Walt?”
“Just what Olivia told me. She said that Walt was in the hospital. Is he . . . ?”
Becca responded with an odd, exasperated
cluck
. “Walt's fine at the moment, but I'm losing my mind.” She stepped aside. “Come on up, if you think you can take it.”
He wasn't sure what that meant, but he went up the stairs. “I was worried when I saw the shop closed,” he said. “Where's your friend . . . Pam, isn't it?”
“She's given me notice. In fact, I think all my friends have given me notice.”
Matthew got to the top of the staircase and stared around the cavernous, half-finished loft. This was not what he'd expected. He'd thought Becca's apartment would be stuffed with homey furniture, tchotchkes, and maybe some more upscale decorative touches. This place seemed as half-done as his own.
He started forward to get out of Becca's way but then jumped back again when a gray cat darted inches from his feet.
Becca sidestepped around him. “Don't mind Willie. He's skittish. And blind. Probably mistook you for a fox.”
He followed her to the kitchen, which felt like the only place to go. “Are you okay?”
“Not really, to be honest.” She opened the fridge. “Would you like something to drink? I'm having an orange juice. But I also have tea? Beer?”
“I don't need anything, thanks,” he said. “Why is Walt in the hospital?”
“He has some kind of kidney problem, which of course he never told me about. And the idiot skipped his dialysis. Last night I came up and found him passed out on my bed.”
She gave him a rundown of the night before, going all the way up to the doctor telling her about Walt's grave condition. For relating such horrible news about a person she obviously cared about, her voice sounded flat, almost annoyed. And yet she had been crying.
“I'm so sorry,” Matthew said. “I never guessed he was that sick.”
“Oh, there are a lot of things about Walt that I never guessed.” Becca flicked the freezer door shut and plopped ice into her glass. “But if there's anything that I've learned in the past day, it's that I'm more clueless than I ever dreamed. Apparently I've been trampling over everyone's happiness like a big emotional Godzilla and I didn't even know it. And now Walt . . .”
Her eyes squeezed shut, as if that would block out the pain of the words she'd left unspoken.
He stepped forward. “Whatever happens to Walt, you can't blame yourself. You've been great to him. You gave him a job. He seemed happy here.”
She took a slug of juice. “Did you know that he was living downstairs in the shop?”
“Since when?”
“About a week and a half.” She elaborated on Walt's eviction and their agreement that he could stay in the storage room short-term.
“See?” he said. “You've done everything you could for the guy. Whatever happens, you have nothing to feel guilty about.”
“Guilty?” Her sharp laugh surprised him. “My problem now is that I want to strangle the old faker. He told the hospital that he's my father.”
Matthew gaped at her, not sure at first he'd heard right. “Wouldn't you know if he was or if he wasn't?”
“No, I never knew my dad. I didn't know who he was, or if he was alive. Then, when I went this morning to give the hospital money to cover some of what Walt owes, they informed me that I was down as his next of kin. He told them that I was his daughter.” She shook her head. “Told
them.
Not me.”
“Do you believe it?”
“I don't know. That's what I've been doing all dayâpacing between these four walls and trying to figure it out. His full name is John Walter Johnson. My mom said my dad's name was Johnny. That's practically all she ever told me about him.”
“That's not very conclusive,” he said. “Given how common a name John is, it's not even much of a coincidence.”
“I know.” She folded her arms and shifted her weight onto one hip. “Other things seem right, though. For one thing, Mom always said he was a loser, and Walt certainly fits the bill.”
“So do a lot of other people.”
“But there's also the way he looks at me. And the fact that he came here at all. Which I know isn't sound logic, because a few other crazies have made the pilgrimage to this town to see Tina from
Me Minus You
. But Walt wasn't pushy. He just sort of . . .”
“Insinuated himself into your life,” he finished for her. This was so strange. He liked Walt, but none of them really knew much about him. Obviously. There was always the chance that this was some kind of hoax.
Becca tilted her head. “It does seem as if he wormed his way into my life. But on the other hand,
I'm
the one who took all the initiative. Walt appeared on the bench in front of my store a few times, and I just grabbed the ball and ran with it. Suddenly I'm letting a strange man live in my building and paying his hospital bills.”
“An ex-convict,” he said, although he immediately felt sorry for reminding her.
She pressed her hands to her temples and let out a long breath. “I can't believe it. I'm usually cautious about every person who approaches me. And even though I knew Walt was shady, I just acted like the perfect patsy to his scheme. If it was a scheme.” She bit her lip. “But if he is a faker, why would he do such a crappy job? Why not make some kind of attempt to be Repentant Prodigal Dad, rather than Anonymous Loser Dad?”
“What did he say?”
“I haven't talked to him yet,” she said.
This took him aback. “Why not?”
“Because he's a really sick man in a hospital and I want nothing more than to storm into his room and yell at him. It's insane. One minute I'm debating calling the police and having the old jerk hauled in for fraud, and the next I'm wondering if he could give me information about my grandparents.” She let out a strangled cry. “I don't know how to approach him. Is he Real Dad or Fake Dad? I'm not even sure it matters. He's either an incredibly terrible parent or a con artist.”