by Jen Carter
***
A slow, continuous knock on the door pulled April away from her spot on the couch where she was reading a magazine. “I’m coming,” she called. And when the knocking didn’t stop, she repeated, this time louder, “I’m coming, stop knocking.”
But the knocking continued.
April checked the peephole and swung the front door open.
“Miles, what the hell is wrong with you? I said I was coming. No need to break the door down.”
“Is Amy here?” he asked, looking past April’s shoulder and into the house.
April stepped further into the open space of the doorframe, blocking the view as possible, and put her hand on her hip. “Nope. And I don’t expect her any time soon.”
“Can I come in please? I need to talk to her.”
“She’s not here. There’s no need for you to come in.”
“But she will be back at some point. She won’t answer my calls or texts. I just want to come in and wait for her.”
“Nope. Not a chance. I don’t like the smell of coward.” She started closing the door, but it met the resistance of Miles’ hand.
“How am I a coward?”
“Oh my gosh, are you kidding? Do you really think it’s your place to call our mother to tattle on Amy? You know, you’re not part of this family, and what Amy’s doing has nothing to do with you—”
“I’m her boyfriend. I want to make sure she doesn’t do anything stupid.”
“You are not her keeper. She doesn’t need one. And if she did, it would be me.” April tried to close the door again, but again Miles resisted.
“April, please just let me in.”
“No way. If you want to wait for her, you can sit outside.” She pushed hard against the door, and Miles relented. It closed, she locked it, and Miles sat down on the porch.
THIRTY-SIX
A
my stared at the heavy, dark door standing between her and Billy’s study. She took a deep breath and knocked three times. When no one answered, she turned the handle and pushed the door open a sliver.
Billy looked up from his desk. When he saw her eyes peering around the door, he scowled.
“It’s you,” he said.
Amy opened the door further and stepped into the room. “Yes, it’s me.” She concentrated on keeping her eyes toward Billy rather than running up and down the walls of books, and, hands clasped behind her back, she walked slowly toward his desk and sat in the chair opposite him.
“I suppose it’s no surprise you came back,” he said. “You are a Hathaway girl, after all.”
“Yes sir, I am. But I’m as much Winthrow as I’m Hathaway.”
Billy studied her. “What do you want?”
“I want to know what happened,” she said. “I want to know why Lizzie left her children—why she left my mother and why she didn’t come back after her husband was killed in the fire. I know everything else. I’ve seen the letters that you two wrote back and forth, and I know about the time that you spent together in Paris. But I need to know why you let Lizzie abandon her children because—”
“Are you blaming me for the difficulties of your mother’s life?”
Amy hesitated. “Do I have reason to?”
Billy glared at her from the other side of the desk, his eyes still narrow, searching and evaluating. “You have your grandmother’s eyes. Not the color—not even the shape, really. But the determination in them is the same. And you carry yourself the same way. Lightly. Did you know that?” He didn’t wait for a response before continuing. “Of course you didn’t. You couldn’t. No one but Eva would know it, and she would never speak of it to you.”
Amy nodded.
“Tell me,” Billy said as he leaned back in his chair and pressed his fingertips together. “What did Lizzie leave you in her will?”
Amy straightened up. “She gave me and my sister money to continue our education. And she left us a room full of books.”
Billy nodded. “And you already know that she left me a specific list of books. Seems odd, doesn’t it, given that I own every great book written?”
Amy thought she detected a fleeting smile on Billy’s lips as he waved his hand toward the rows of bookcases around the room. She nodded again.
“Lizzie was foolish,” he said. “She was brilliant with her talents, but she was foolish. Are you the same way? You have the same determined eyes. Do you have the same foolishness? Or the same brilliance?” Again Billy continued without giving Amy a chance to respond. “Your friend was here yesterday. He picked up a book of yours. I saw the notes that you wrote in the margins. You were a poet. Is that correct?” As he finished his question, he opened a drawer to his desk and pulled out a short, wide booklet.
Amy’s heart quickened. She wasn’t sure if he really expected an answer.
Billy picked up a pen from his desk and began writing in his booklet. “Young lady, I asked you a question. You are a poet, correct?”
She shook her head. “No.”
Billy tore out the piece of paper.
“Miss Winthrow, I do believe that you’re lying. Perhaps you’re lying to me. Perhaps you’re lying to yourself. I do not know. But I don’t tolerate liars, and neither should you. I have seen your grandmother in your eyes, and I have seen your words in that book. Lizzie lied to herself, and we both know the effects of those lies. Do not lie.”
Amy nodded.
“The boxes of books she sent to me were boxes of regrets. She read all those stories in school because she had to and not because she wanted to. To me, those stories were gold—particularly when I was young, poor, and stupid. Do you know why she would send me boxes of regrets and send you back to school?”
Amy shook her head.
Billy looked at the piece of paper he had torn away from the booklet before turning his eyes to Amy. “Then you better go back to school and find out. Lizzie must believe the answer is there.” Billy held the piece of paper up and waved the short end at her. “I have been thinking a great deal since you first came to see me yesterday. It seems that you should know the rest of the story—if for no other reason than to keep you from telling these disastrous lies you like to tell. I, however, can’t be the one to tell you.” He laid the paper on the desk, face up, and pushed it toward her. “You will need this to get the rest of the story.”
Amy picked it up. Her head felt light and she looked back and forth from it to Billy. “This is a check. It’s made out to me.”
“I want you to go to Paris. I want you to get on the next flight. I don’t know how much a last minute round trip ticket costs, but that check should cover it. On the memo line is an address. I want you to go there upon arrival.” He leaned back in his chair and pressed the tips of his fingers together again. “Miss Winthrow, there is nothing for me to tell you. However, you will find all your answers at that address.”
“Mr. Strath, I can’t take this—”
“You do know that I am made of money, correct? I have no time for protests. Take it and leave me to my work.”
Amy stood, automatically, ready to obey his wishes, but feeling confused.
“Thank you, sir.” Awkwardly, she continued, “Do you want me to tell you what I find when I come back?”
“No,” Billy snapped. “I already know what you’ll find. I lived the story, did I not? Just go—leave me be. Right now.”
Amy turned and walked toward the door, fighting the urge to thank him again. When she reached the door, his voice stopped her.
“Miss Winthrow,” he said, scribbling across another paper on his desk and keeping his eyes down. Amy turned toward him. “Remember, you’re just as much Hathaway as you’re Winthrow.”
“Yes sir. Thank you.” She stepped through the door and closed it behind her.
Halfway down the stairs, Amy felt her cell phone vibrate against her purse. She pulled it out and looked at the text message that had come through.
FYI—Your boyfriend is still here. I wouldn’t let him in,
so he’s been sitting on the porch for nearly two hours.
Amy thought about how to answer April’s message as she walked through the house toward the front door. What she wanted to say was too complicated for a text.
She pulled up April’s cell phone number and called her.
“Hey,” Amy said as her sister answered. She pushed Billy’s front door open and squinted in the sunlight. “Earlier you said you wanted to talk to me, and with Miles camped out on our porch, I figured it would be easier to talk now rather than when I get home.”
“Can I just break up with him for you?,” April said. “I’m happy to do it.”
Amy unlocked her car door and slid into the driver’s seat. “No, that’s not your responsibility.”
“Well, can I at least tell him that you’ve moved to Florida so that he’ll go away?”
“You’re being silly.”
“Where are you?”
Amy started her car and steered it toward the winding road that led to the freeway. “I’m in Monterey. I’m on my way home now, but,” she took a deep breath, “I’m only going to be there for a little bit—just long enough to pack. I’m going to Paris. Lizzie’s old boyfriend told me that I could get the rest of her story there, and he gave me money for the trip.” She cringed, bracing herself for April to freak out.
“You’re driving me nuts, little sister.” April said, exasperated. “Is this whole thing almost over? Will this trip to Paris be the end? I can’t take much more of this.”
“Yes, this will be the end of it. I think.”
“Okay. Good. Listen, before you leave, there are two things you need to do.”
Amy waited for April to continue.
“First, you need to go talk to Mom.”
“I know. Nana told me what you did last night at coffee.”
“I’m not promising anything. I’m not saying that Mom will volunteer to take you to the airport when she hears you’re going to Paris, but it’s still time for you to talk to her.”
“I know, you’re right. Thank you.”
“Second,” April’s voice dropped, “you need to talk to Miles. This is getting ridiculous.”
“You’re right.”
“Do you remember where you woke up this morning? And do you remember why you were there?”
“Yes, I know. You’re right, of course, as usual.”
“Good. I’m glad that’s settled. I’ll start packing for you.”
***
Amy pulled into her driveway. Her head felt light. Her limbs felt tense and weak. She put the car in park, climbed out, and walked toward the porch where Miles sat waiting.
He stood as she neared him. “Amy, where have you been? I’ve been waiting here forever. You haven’t answered any of my—”
She motioned for him to sit back down. He stopped talking but didn’t seem to understand what she meant until she sat down herself. He stood for a moment, staring at her, and then sat next to her.
Wrapping her arms around her knees, she said, “We need to talk.”
THIRTY-SEVEN
T
hey sat in Will’s truck outside Debbie and Spenser’s house. Amy stared out the windshield. Will stared at Amy.
“Hey, I know this isn’t easy,” he said after a moment. “But there’s no way around it.”
Amy nodded, still staring out the windshield.
“And I’d come with you, but then your dad would recognize me as the guy who picked up Lizzie’s books, and your mom would recognize me as the guy at your house last night. That would probably be pretty confusing.”
Amy nodded again. Then she turned toward Will. “Do you really think I need to tell them I’m going to Paris?”
Will pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head. He gave her look befitting of April.
“I know, I know.” She opened the truck’s door and hopped out. “I’ll be back soon.”
Will looked at the dashboard clock. “You’ve got fifteen minutes before we need to leave for the airport.”
Amy nodded. “Okay.” Taking a deep breath, she turned toward the house and began walking up the driveway.
“Hello?” she called while opening the front door. “Mom? Dad?”
She walked through the house and caught sight of her parents in the backyard. They sat at the patio table, each reading and munching on grapes sitting in a bowl between them.
“Hey there,” Amy said as she stepped through the French doors toward them.
Debbie and Spenser greeted their daughter with big smiles.
“Hey, look who’s here,” Spenser said. He closed his book. “Come have some grapes and remind your mother that great scholars of Classics shouldn’t have to do yard work.”
“Spenser,” Debbie said, closing her own book. “I didn’t mean you have to mow the lawn right now. Just after you finish reading that chapter.”
Amy sat down at the patio table and felt her stomach flip. It would be easier to watch her parents discuss lawn care than to bring up an impromptu trip to Paris. For a moment she considered taking that route.
Debbie popped a grape into her mouth and then turned to her daughter. “What are you up to this afternoon?”
“Well,” Amy started slowly, looking at the table. “I’m going to Paris this evening. Unexpectedly.” She smiled awkwardly knowing that the statement sounded ridiculous. “Of course it’s unexpectedly. You would have known sooner if it were expected.”
Both parents stared at her.
“You’re going to Paris?” Debbie asked.
“For work?” her dad asked.
For a fleeting moment, Amy considered answering yes to her dad’s question. It would have been so much easier.
“No, not for work. Billy Strath is sending me there. To find out what three of Nana’s private investigators couldn’t uncover decades ago about Lizzie.” She squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath. Then she opened her eyes, one at a time, hoping she wouldn’t see red across her parents’ faces.
Spenser looked at his surprised wife and nervous daughter. He stood up. “I’m going to mow the lawn. Professors of Classics need their exercise.” He headed toward the house, patting Amy on the shoulder as he passed by.
“Honey,” Debbie said, shaking her head. “What are you doing?”
“Mom, I know you aren’t thrilled about me looking into Lizzie’s past, but Nana said she thought April had sort of convinced you that it’s okay—”
“Yes, but you’re going to Paris? Billy Strath is sending you to Paris?”
“I know it sounds strange—”
“Do you really think this is a good idea? Can you really trust that man?”
“I don’t think it’s a bad idea. And I’m not going to Paris with him. He’s just sending me there. I don’t think the issue of trust even comes into play. He gave me a check and an address. That’s it.”
“And he doesn’t want anything in return?”
Amy wasn’t excited to see such deep lines of concern on her mother’s face, but she much preferred them over the blush of anger. “I think he’d be happy if he never saw me again. He probably gave me the money just to get rid of me.”
Debbie didn’t answer.
“Mom, I know this is bizarre, and we haven’t even talked about what happened with Billy and Lizzie all those years ago, but—”
Debbie interrupted with the shake of her head. “When are you leaving?”
Amy tried to look at her mother, but the second their eyes met, Amy veered hers toward the pool. She couldn’t do it. “Now. We have to head to the airport in ten minutes.”
Debbie didn’t answer right away. “I need some time to gather my thoughts,” she finally said. “You’re an adult and can make your own decisions, so I’m not going to stop you. But when you get to Paris, please call me. We’ll need to sort through some stuff.” As Amy nodded her response, Debbie continued, “Go say goodbye to your father.”
Amy hugged her mom before heading toward the house and zigzagging throu
gh it to the front door. From the front porch she could see her father standing at the passenger’s window of Will’s truck, leaning on the handle of his lawnmower and talking to Will. Amy ventured down the driveway.
“You know this guy?” Spenser said to Amy. He grinned and pointed in Will’s direction. When Amy nodded, he said, “Small world, isn’t it?”
Amy nodded again. “It sure is.” She hugged her father. “Bye, Dad. Thanks for not being mad about this.”
“How’s your mom?” Spenser’s eyes filled with concern.
“I think she’s okay. April must have cast a magical spell on her last night. I expected her to be mad, but she’s not. She’s a little confused, but not mad.”
“That sister of yours. She gets that talent from Eva. They both have a way of orchestrating events so that they get what they want.”
Amy glanced in Will’s direction knowing that they needed to get going. She hugged Spenser again and said, “I’ll call you when I get there.”
“Be careful.” Spenser turned to Will. “Good to see you again. Drive safely.”
“Good to see you, too,” Will answered. “Have a great afternoon.”
Amy climbed into Will’s truck, and the two of them waved at Spenser as they pulled away from the curb.
“How long were you talking to my dad?” Amy asked.
“Just long enough to tell him that Billy asked me to chauffer you to the airport. I figured that was the easiest way to explain why I was lurking outside his house. Hey,” he continued, now with a twinge of excitement in his voice, “I have a going away present for you.” He lifted the top of the console between them and pulled out a small brown shopping bag. “Sorry I didn’t have time to wrap it.” He handed the bag to Amy without taking his eyes off the road.
Amy recognized the bag. It was from her favorite bookstore. She looked inside and pulled out three books. “Oh, Will—”
“Let me explain,” he interrupted. “I’m giving you each of those for a reason.” He glanced at the stack of books in her lap. “The top one is a guidebook to Paris. I figured you wouldn’t have time to get one, but you definitely need it. The second one,” he paused, waiting for Amy to flip to the second book, “is a new copy of East of Eden. You’ll need something to read on the plane. And the last,” he paused again and Amy automatically flipped to the final one, “is the Astronomy book I got awhile ago. I was hoping you could tell me what planets are visible in the Paris sky this time of year.”