by Tish Cohen
“I don’t think anyone around here thinks that.”
“Thank heavens.”
“Have you ever taught before?”
“I taught at a private art school for a few months after I finally completed my degree. Just as a substitute. Never what I wanted to teach, which was Nature in Oil. Kathleen Digby seemed to have cornered the market on that class, what with her ridiculous field trips to the Butterfly Conservatory. Poor students had to haul all their supplies to Cambridge on a Greyhound bus in the middle of February and get special permission to set up after hours. Do you know how long it takes for oil paints to dry? If I see another smudged monarch butterfly rendering in the lobby of that building, I’ll pull out my own fingernails.”
“I love painting in oil. Even the smell.”
“You have to ventilate, you know. That smell isn’t healthy.”
Lila felt a little gush of warmth in her chest. This was what her life had been missing. The grim warnings about obscure things that could kill you from someone invested in keeping you very much alive. Her father’s lack of concern for air flow in the laundry room where she painted was absolute. While he may have been cognizant of many other perils, as far as she knew he’d never given her inhalation of art-related toxins the slightest thought. It was a miracle she’d made it this far.
“Anyway, ask your teacher. I could make time.”
“I’ll ask but I doubt he does that kind of thing.”
“What about the scholarship?”
“No word yet.”
Elisabeth watched Kieran by the water for a moment. “Is this man even any good? You don’t want to waste your time in a class if you aren’t even learning.”
“No, he’s good. He’s a Lichtenstein, you know.”
Elisabeth raised her eyebrows.
“A second or third cousin. He’s teaching us…them…to draw as adults, not as children. Actually quoted some great researcher—I forget who—”
“Whom.”
Lila glanced sideways at Elisabeth. “Whom. Anyway, it was a great quote. When a child was asked how he drew, what went through his head, the boy said, ‘First I think. Then I draw my think.’” Lila laughed, tucking flyaway hairs behind her ears. “I really like that. To me, it says so much about not letting our preconceptions get in the way of our work, of what is actually in front of us. It’s best just to stop thinking. It’ll only get you into trouble, you know?”
Elisabeth pulled a bottle of mineral water from her purse and drank, observing her daughter, tightening her lips and nodding. If Lila had ever believed herself to look more like her mother with her dyed locks, it ended this moment. Seeing Elisabeth’s spiral curls, winking and sparking with ribbons of gold, silver, cinnamon, and wheat, she knew she was wrong. Her own hair was flat, lifeless in comparison. Elisabeth set one hand on top of Lila’s and said, “You should try not to pepper your language with so many questions, sweetheart. You don’t need to seek the other person’s approval when you speak. If you project confidence, you’ll feel confident.”
A gush of cool wind blew in Lila’s face. She busied herself with collecting her hair into a ponytail using a rubber band she’d had around her wrist, then reached up to tug on her lower lip. She couldn’t argue with this. It was a terrible habit, a needy habit. There was something wrong with her. When she spoke, her voice was thinner. “I think it’s time we talk about Dad.”
“Still no explanation?”
“I don’t know that it’s ever coming. Because if he ever changes his mind, it might be too late. He probably won’t remember. His behavior is getting more erratic by the week. He refused a job interview. He came home with a dog and had no idea where he got it. Plus he left when you came over.”
“Taking off was definitely not a case of forgetting. You do know that, don’t you?”
“Maybe. It’s just so weird. And he won’t go to a doctor.”
Elisabeth pulled her close and rested her chin on Lila’s head. “It’s not easy for you. You love him and now you find out he’s someone else.” She smoothed the hair away from Lila’s face. “I wish I could go back and change it all. Forget me. Just for you.”
Tears trickled down Lila’s cheeks.
Elisabeth felt them and pulled Lila upright. “Oh, sweetie, I know it hurts to discuss this.”
“No, it’s not that. It’s just that everything’s so messed up, and I know the whole business with the police is just hovering there, about to happen, and I can’t do anything about it.” She looked at Elisabeth. “And I’m not trying to make you feel guilty. I get why you need to do it. God knows I’d do the same if I were you. But…”
“I should tell you I’ve spoken to the police.”
Lila felt her stomach drop. “You said you’d wait.”
“Don’t panic. I didn’t release your father’s name. I just wanted to find out what would happen once I gave them the go ahead. So I can be prepared as far as you’re concerned. Now that I know the procedure, I don’t want you to witness it.”
“Tell me.”
“Sweetheart, you really don’t want the details…”
“I do. He’s my father. I need to know.”
Elisabeth rolled her tongue around in her mouth as if prolonging the taste of her cigarette. “Okay, but only because I think too much has been kept from you already. After I file the report, a warrant is issued. Then the officers will head up to the house and arrest your father—you might have to help us by telling us when he might be home.”
“They wouldn’t handcuff him, would they?”
“Not unless he resists.”
Pick the wrong moment and Victor was capable of anything: cussing, insulting, fleeing. “Go on.”
“Then they bring him into the station and fingerprint him. Take his mug shot. That sort of thing. Does your father have a lawyer?”
“You can’t do this yet, Mum. You promised you’d wait until I’m ready.”
“I’m waiting, baby, but the fact is you may never be ready.”
“I will. I swear. But with waiting to hear about the scholarship and him bringing me dogs and not having answers, I just can’t take it yet.”
“Okay. But soon.”
“Soon. I promise.”
Her mother kissed her forehead. “Now let’s not talk about it any more today, okay? We’re meant to be enjoying a nice, lazy afternoon.”
Kieran came running up and perched herself on her knees at their feet. Elisabeth reached behind her and ground out her cigarette in the earth like a child fearful of being caught by a parent, but Kieran was too agitated to notice. She pointed across the park to where a few people sat on benches by the play equipment. “That lady looks weird.”
Tall, big-boned, it seemed unlikely this was a lady, in spite of the girlish attire of minidresss, flip-flops, and cardigan. He had a smile the shape of a peanut frozen on his clean-shaven face as he watched over the sandbox area with daisy wicker purse perched on huge hairless knees.
It seemed Ransom had failed here as well. All the effort put into those stern metal signs, the deliberate placement so they could be seen from any place in the park, so easily ignored by potential pedophiles. Lila tried not to stare. “It’s a man.”
Elisabeth looked again. “You think?”
“Look at those feet. They’re size eleven, maybe twelve. And there’s stubble on his face. Maybe we should call the police.”
“What for?” said Elisabeth. “So far the man’s only crime is his fashion sense. He’s just an old queen, probably hanging out with his grandchild.”
Lila got up on her knees and shielded her eyes from the sun. “Does he even have a child here? If he doesn’t we should definitely call the police.”
Kieran narrowed her eyes. “He wants to kidnap someone, I bet.”
“Don’t you worry about it, Kieran,” said Lila. “We’ll keep an eye on him. Just play on this side of the pond and he won’t be anywhere near you.”
“Isn’t it time to leave yet?” the child whi
ned. “I want to go.”
“Soon,” said Elisabeth.
“I want to go now.”
“Ten minutes. Then we go. I promise,” said Elisabeth. Once Kieran shuffled off, clearly miserable, Elisabeth grinned. “Not often you hear that. A child begging to leave the playground.”
Kieran wandered down toward the stucco shack that housed the changing rooms. She seemed to be studying the walls. Perhaps spying on a caterpillar attempting to climb up the rough plaster. Then again, this was Kieran. She could very well have been inspecting for structural soundness.
It was heartbreaking, Kieran’s inability to be a kid. Lila didn’t know what was worse, having your childhood hi-jacked without your knowledge or having never had one at all.
Elisabeth sighed. “Sometimes I wonder if I was born under a dying star.”
“That’s crazy. You have so much going for you.”
“I’m forty-three. I could have really done something with my life, you know? And now it’s so late.” She pushed errant curls off her face and pointed. “See those lines between my brows? My forehead will never be smooth again. I worry I look old.”
Lila didn’t answer right away, busy as she was trying to flick away an ant making its way up her boot.
“I do, don’t I?”
“What? No. I just have this bug on me.”
“It’s all right. You can say it. I’m past my prime.”
“Not at all. You’re beautiful.”
“Soon I’ll be at that stage in life when men no longer look at me. Not that I even want a man right now, but still. It will be a shock when it’s gone. The only real mercy is my vision is going too. So I won’t see them not seeing me.”
Lila laughed.
“I’m modeling for Finn. Did you see that sculpture in his dining room?”
“I wondered if it was you.”
Elisabeth nodded. “Though I just did it the one time. Then he got into his slump.”
“Is that what he meant when he said you already pay him enough for the babysitting?”
“What a house to manage at his age, don’t you think? He’ll inherit the place one day. Sometimes I imagine what the place would be like if it were converted back to a single-family dwelling. I’ve always wanted to have an old mansion like that…”
“Mum, he’s really young.”
“Don’t worry, sweetie. I do realize he doesn’t see me that way. It’s a waste of time to dream, and yet I always do.” She laughed miserably and looked at Lila. “Do you want to hear something ridiculous? Since I was fourteen, I’ve wanted a thick gold necklace. Nothing fancy, just a chunky piece of jewelry I could wear with everything—T-shirts, dresses. Something I would never take off. A trademark piece. My best friend had one and, I don’t know, that wish just stayed with me.”
The bracelet. Lila had to force herself not to smile.
Kieran was now inspecting the doorway to the girls’ change room, and Lila and Elisabeth went silent as they watched the man get up, dust off his skirted lap, and wander over to the door. He stood under the roof overhang for a moment before self-consciously rooting through his purse.
Lila said, “This can’t be good.”
“He might just be waiting for his child to come out of the restroom,” said Elisabeth.
When Kieran didn’t move away, Lila stood up. “Call 911.”
“Seriously?”
Lila ran toward the change room, watching as the man closed his purse, looked around, then wandered over to Kieran. Just as he bent down to speak to her, Lila pushed her way between them and picked up her sister, twisting her body to position the young girl behind her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Elisabeth on the phone, looking toward the street sign, giving directions.
The man smiled and tried to veer around Lila and head into the change room, but Lila stepped to the side and blocked his entrance. “You need to have a child to go in there.”
He smiled nervously and tried to squeeze past her. When he spoke his voice was high-pitched. “Excuse me. I need to use the facilities.”
“Show me your child or I scream bloody freaking murder.”
He seemed to lose his nerve, his eyes darted around, and he stepped backward. One hand touched his brow in distress, and he turned and sashayed toward an old Schwinn bike leaning on the fence. A lady’s bike. Lila watched as he dropped his pretty handbag into a wire basket strapped to the handlebars, swung a leg over like he was mounting a stallion, and pedaled off down the side street.
It wasn’t until he’d disappeared that it struck her. His bike had had a child seat on the back. He’d come with no child.
Had he been planning to leave with one?
She set Kieran down and gripped her shoulders. “He could have taken you, Kieran. Do you realize that? Do you know how devastated Mum would be? And me?”
Kieran said nothing. Just stared into her big sister’s eyes as if seeing straight back to the day Lila went missing.
Elisabeth jogged up, breathless and barefoot. “Police are on their way.” She blew hair out of her face, looking around and panting. “They thanked me for calling.”
Thirty
The dog had proven to be good for Victor. Dogs need a certain predictability in their lives, and Lila was fairly sure her father was providing it. Up at seven for a short walk followed by breakfast on the back deck, a short game of fetch in the yard, and an hour in the playpen. Light snack at lunchtime, then a short pee and a long nap in Victor’s room.
While it might not compare to the career Victor had once had, the canine demands had meant he was having a good week. Only one forgetful episode involving his keys. No wandering too far. No repeating himself.
Of course there had been no mention of the past. Victor wasn’t offering and Lila wasn’t willing to upset the present state of balance by bringing it up.
It was November. The morning of Adam’s art meeting and the first time she’d seen him since taking off her clothes in his studio. While nothing had happened, everything had happened. The feel of his eyes on her skin had left her barely able to breathe, and the thought of seeing him again had had her tossing in her bed every night since.
The question was—had he felt it too?
She had nothing to show this designer, as Lichty had neither returned her artwork nor breathed a word about her scholarship chances. It was okay. She’d give up selling all her work to the designer for a shot at an education.
Adam asked her to come anyway, for emotional support, he’d said on the phone.
With a napkin-wrapped fried egg sandwich in one hand, Lila set her coffee mug on the passenger seat of the Datsun and leaned over to lower her purse onto the floor, accidentally tipping the travel mug and soaking the seat.
Damn. She set her breakfast on the floor of the hatch area behind her and, leaving the door open, ran back to the house for a towel.
When she returned, she heard her phone ringing from her bag on the floor. She dropped into the driver’s seat, threw the towel on the spilled coffee, and reached for the phone in her purse, stopping when she realized the atmosphere in the car had changed. It felt warm, close, as if it were about to rain. Stranger still, was the scent of dirt, dander. Animal.
A low grumble came from behind her seat and she spun around to see a coyote’s face staring back at her.
Slash was in the car.
She froze, stunned by the very fact of him. She’d never been so close to a coyote and in broad daylight. His good ear pricked forward like a great velvet dish while the ragged ear listed sideways. The bottom of his tawny snout was pure white, impossibly clean, unstained by garbage, compost, or bloodied neighborhood vermin. Most stunning of all, the eyes. Irises as pale gold as the pupils were black. With an expression of utter curiosity, but mixed with something else. A look Lila couldn’t quite grasp right away. Fear, maybe. Or resignation.
She fought her instinct to reach out and stroke his muzzle.
The sandwich lay between them; Slash was well aware of it.
His yellow eyes darted from her to his prize and back again. Then he dropped down and took the edge of the bread in his front teeth, inching it back between his front legs.
It was the best time to bolt, while he was worrying about his meal. She scrambled out of the car and ran to the front end, slapped her palms against the hood to scare him off. The car wiggled beneath her hands and the coyote streaked out her door, egg sandwich between his teeth, and across to the neighbors’ yard. She stared at the spot in the bushes where he disappeared, watching the branches shiver in his wake. Shocking, his willingness to climb into a car and remain so calm when she dropped into her seat. Other than his concern about breakfast, he’d been completely unruffled by her presence, even with her body essentially cornering him in the back. She thought about Corinne Angel raising orphaned wolf pups in her Arizona kitchen and wondered—what becomes of an animal released into the wild after months and months of living on a bed of ragged towels in a warm kitchen?
ADAM WAS WAITING for her outside the building, leaning against a concrete planter and rubbing his jaw. He stood when he saw her.
She scanned his face for clues, but he seemed to be all business. His voice. Maybe his voice would reveal more. Throwing his arms in the air, he squeaked, “Where have you been? We were supposed to be up there six minutes ago.”
So much for sexual tension and pent-up desires. He might as well have been talking to his sister. “Sharing my breakfast. Where’s your work?”
“I had it delivered. Wouldn’t fit in the car.” He squinted up at the sun and started to pace. “Why’s it so freaking sunny today? It was supposed to rain. Jesus, I hate L.A. I can’t wait to leave.”
“What’s with you? You have to calm down.”
“You brought nothing? No word about the scholarship?”
“No.”
“That’s terrible. Lichty’s blowing a huge opportunity for you here.”