Chương 8
Her knees shook.
Seven seconds.
Eight.
Nine.
She sat.
Eli said, “That was longer.”
Sophie glared at him.
“I know.”
“Okay.”
“Don’t count out loud.”
“I didn’t.”
“You counted in your face.”
“How?”
“I could see it.”
“Your dad does that too.”
Sophie groaned.
Marcy turned away to hide a smile.
On the next attempt, Sophie made it four seconds.
Then two.
Then none.
Frustration arrived quickly.
She shoved one bar.
“It worked at the gala.”
Marcy sat beside her.
“Your body is not obligated to reproduce its best moment on command.”
“I hate that sentence.”
“Most of my useful sentences are unpopular.”
Sophie looked toward Eli.
“Say something.”
He shrugged.
“What?”
“Something brave.”
“I don’t have anything.”
She frowned.
“That’s why you’re here.”
Eli looked uncomfortable.
“No, it isn’t.”
Sophie blinked.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
“You asked me here. I came.”
“So?”
“So I’m not going to make you stand.”
The room became quiet.
Sophie looked away.
Marcy said nothing.
Eli continued, “At the party you wanted to. I could tell.”
“How?”
“You looked mad when your dad pushed the chair.”
“I always look mad at him.”
“Fair.”
From the waiting room: “Still listening.”
Sophie almost smiled.
Eli said, “If you don’t want to do it today, don’t.”
“What if I never do it again?”
He thought about that.
Then shrugged.
“You’d still be Sophie.”
She looked at him.
It was not what she expected.
For weeks afterward, that answer bothered her in a useful way.
She had begun to think of standing as proof.
Proof that the gala had been real.
Proof that people online were wrong.
Proof that her father had underestimated her.
Proof that her body still belonged to her.
Eli, who had accidentally started the argument, refused to let her use him to win it.
If she stood, he was impressed.
If she did not, he asked whether the vending machine still had the terrible peanut butter crackers he liked.
He missed two therapy visits because Danielle had work.
Sophie hated that.
Not because she needed him.
She told herself.
Because she had grown used to him.
Richard sometimes drove him home afterward.
The first time, neither spoke for almost ten minutes.
Eli stared at the leather dashboard.
Richard said, “You can touch things.”
“I know.”
“You’re sitting like the seat might arrest you.”
“It has buttons.”
“For the seat.”
“There are too many.”
Richard demonstrated one.
The lower seat cushion moved.
Eli stared.
“That’s stupid.”
“It is.”
“Why do you have it?”
“I didn’t know I had it.”
Eli looked at him.
Richard laughed.
At a stoplight, Eli said, “My mom says rich people buy problems nobody else has.”
“Your mother says a lot about rich people.”
“She likes you.”
Richard looked over.
“Does she?”
“No.”
Eli grinned.
Richard shook his head.
“You’re becoming less charming.”
“I wasn’t charming.”
“No. You were horrifying.”
They drove another block.
Eli watched pedestrians cross.
“Did you really stop Sophie’s therapy?”
Richard’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“She fell.”
“I know.”
“She was scared.”
“So were you.”
Richard glanced at him.
“You enjoy saying things adults don’t want to hear.”
“Not really.”
“Could have fooled me.”
Eli looked at his hands.
“My mom gets scared too.”
Richard waited.
“She doesn’t stop stuff.”
“Your mother has different things to be scared of.”
“Still scared.”
Richard said nothing.
At the motel, Danielle stood beneath the exterior walkway light waiting.
Richard had learned not to pull directly in front of their door.
Reporters were gone now, but caution had become habit.
Eli opened the car door.
Richard said, “Eli.”
He turned.
“I was wrong to stop her therapy.”
Eli nodded.
“You don’t have to look pleased.”
“I’m not.”
“You look pleased.”
“I’m pleased you said it.”
Richard stared at him.
“Good night.”
“Night.”
Richard watched him cross the parking lot.
Danielle put one hand on Eli’s head as he reached her.
It occurred to Richard that he had spent weeks imagining the Carter family as a problem created by the gala.
He had never asked what their life had been before it.
The next day, he did something Danielle specifically hated.
He investigated.
Not personally.
He asked his family office to identify the staffing agency that had stopped giving her shifts.
Then he stopped himself before making the call.
He sat with the information for an hour.
Finally he called Danielle.
“I have a question.”
“That’s ominous.”
“I know which agency fired you.”
“Congratulations.”
“I would like to contact them.”
“No.”
“May I ask why?”
“Because then I’m the woman whose billionaire friend got her job back.”
Richard leaned back.
“We’re friends?”
“No.”
“I thought so.”
She laughed.
Then sighed.
“I have an interview Monday.”
“For what?”
“Medical office reception.”
“Do you want a reference?”
“From you?”
“Yes.”
“You have never employed me.”
“I can truthfully say you are punctual, direct, resistant to bribery, and terrifying.”
“Tempting.”
“Danielle.”
“I’m okay.”
The words came automatically.
Richard recognized them.
He had used the same words at Anna’s funeral.
He let the silence sit.
Danielle finally said, “I’m not okay. But I can do this one myself.”
“All right.”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For asking first.”
Richard looked toward the room where Sophie was doing homework with a tutor.
“Apparently that’s something I’m working on.”
Danielle got the medical office job.
It paid less per hour than catering but had predictable shifts and health insurance after sixty days.
She accepted.
Two weeks later, she and Eli moved out of the motel.
Not because Richard paid for it.
He did not.
Danielle qualified for a small apartment after showing a stable employment letter and paying a security deposit with money she had saved plus a loan from her sister.
Richard offered nothing.
This required more restraint than several business acquisitions.
He did, however, send Eli a housewarming gift.
A toolbox.
Danielle called him immediately.
“He’s nine.”
“It’s a small toolbox.”
“There is a hammer.”
“Yes.”
May you like
“Why?”
“He told me your kitchen drawer sticks.”
