Look the Part Read online

  “What do you want?”

  I grin at his grumpy façade. “Hey, Dad. I figured you might still be out fishing.”

  “Been there. Done that. Did you just roll out of bed?”

  “Yeah, like … three hours ago. Couldn’t sleep.”

  “Nightmares?”

  “No. Just a racing mind. You should come for a visit?”

  “And leave my boat?”

  “It would survive without you.” I chuckle.

  “I think you’re the one who should come for a visit.”

  “I’m not ready.”

  “Can’t stay in the middle forever.”

  I laugh. “I like Minnesota. It’s cold here, but I like it.”

  “Goddamn! When did my New England girl turn into such a delicate little flower?”

  “When I moved to Florida and then Southern California.”

  “That’s a bunch of bull. Southern California is not Arizona. Are you sick?”

  “I’m fine, Dad.”

  “You’re calling me. That usually means you’re not fine. What’s going on?”

  Lady Gaga crawls into the front pouch of my sweatshirt. Smart girl. “I just miss you. Can’t I want to hear your voice without reason?”

  “It’s a gruff old voice, but if that’s what you need, then I can talk all day.”

  “You seeing anyone?”

  “Do you have a new mother?”

  “Dad …”

  “Well, you’re suggesting I’ve replaced her. Why can’t I ask if you’ve replaced her?”

  “It’s not the same thing and you know it.”

  “If you come for a visit, I’ll let you fix me up with a hot, younger woman. You have any friends?”

  I twist my lips. “I was thinking we’d hire a professional.”

  “Now you’re talking.”

  We both laugh in spite of the underlying pain of losing my mom.

  “You find yourself a worthy man? I bet you’re breaking hearts especially if you still shamelessly flirt like your mom always did. God … she was a ball-buster.”

  “I’m doing my best.”

  “And Alex?”

  My hands clinch a few times. “Haven’t talked to him.”

  “You miss him?”

  Drawing in a shaky breath, I nod. “Sometimes.” All the time. I miss him every day. In spite of how terrible he was to me. I remember the old Alex.

  “Maybe he just needs more time.”

  We’re divorced. Dad knows this, yet he acts like we’re just separated, awaiting reconciliation.

  “Maybe.” Time can’t heal everything. I know this. I also know my dad wants to keep hope alive.

  “I got the pictures you sent me of your new office space. Looks perfect.”

  I grunt a laugh. He doesn’t know about my recent eviction notice. “It’s okay. I’d still like to find a main level place. I could potentially end up with a handicapped client who has a fear of elevators. Then what?”

  “You go to their house. Years ago healthcare used to be more personalized. Doctors made house calls. It would probably be cheaper to drive to clients’ homes than rent a space in the city.”

  “It’s an idea.” Not a perfect one, but I don’t want to think about it right now. I really did just call to hear his voice.

  “What are you doing for the holidays? Going to see Alex or coming to see me?”

  Again with my ex-husband. My dad is such a dreamer.

  “I thought you could come to me.”

  “Christmas in your dinky apartment?”

  “You haven’t seen my apartment. What makes you think it’s dinky?” It’s dinky.

  “Just a hunch.”

  “Besides, I don’t have anyone to watch my rats.”

  “Oh, Elle … don’t tell me you still have those varmints.”

  “You haven’t even met them yet. Don’t be so judgmental.”

  “You said they have a short lifespan. Let me know when they die and you’re between rats. I’ll come for a visit.”

  “That’s just mean. I’m going to be broken hearted when they die.”

  “I’ll send flowers.”

  “Terrible. You’re a terrible old man. I have to go shower and play with your grandbabies. I love you.”

  He grumbles at the grandbabies remark. “Love you too. Bye.”

  *

  MONDAY. AN AWKWARD day. There’s the lingering eviction notice. The getting me off in the alley. And the meet-my-rats incident. I have no idea what to expect this week. Flint and I are two pinballs bouncing into each other and shooting off in opposite directions until we’re destined to collide again. Each crash feels more explosive.

  I see patients at the hospital in the morning and take a long lunch at home since my first afternoon appointment had to cancel. By the time I arrive, Amanda is on her way out.

  “You get fired again?”

  She laughs. “Every day. He’s in court most of the week, so I have flexible hours to chauffeur my kids around. Have you found a new place yet?” Her smile turns into a small frown.

  “Not yet. I’m looking at a place tomorrow morning.”

  “Hope it works out. Harrison will be crushed when he finds out.”

  I nod. I don’t know Harry well enough to know how crushed he will be, but I’ll be a little crushed because I like him a lot.

  “See you tomorrow.”

  “Yes. Bye.” I smile as she passes me.

  My new client suffers from early-onset Alzheimer’s. The client after her is a seventeen-year-old girl with an eating disorder. After her, I sit at my small desk by the window and type up case notes on my laptop as the sun sets and my favorite Chopin Nocturne No. 2 in E-Flat Major drifts from the speakers.

  “Hi.”

  I jump. “Jeepers! You startled me.”

  Harry frowns. “I didn’t say boo.”

  “What are you doing here?” I close my laptop and swivel in my chair to face him.

  “My dad said if I helped out around the house more, finished my homework without being asked to do it, and stopped complaining about the meals he makes, then I could play guitar with you.”

  “Oh, I see.” My lips roll between my teeth as I sort out his explanation. “Well, it’s getting late. How much longer will he be here?”

  “Who?”

  “Your dad.”

  “He’s not here.”

  “He just dropped you off?”

  “I rode my bike.”

  “You rode your bike? That has to be an hour ride.”

  “Eighty minutes.” He sets the guitar case on the floor.

  Holy crap. He rode eighty minutes on his bike with a guitar case that doesn’t have a strap.

  “I have two guitars here.”

  “I like this one. I have it tuned perfectly.”

  “Your dad let you ride your bike here?”

  Harry shrugs. “Sort of. I mean he said I could come here if I helped out around the house, finished my homework without being asked to do it, and stopped complaining about the meals he makes. So I finished my homework as soon as I got home from school. Cleaned my bathroom and emptied the trash from the kitchen. And I didn’t complain about the shitty lentil loaf and some squash thingy he made for dinner.”

  “Harrison, does he know you’re here?”

  He sighs. “He’ll figure it out.”

  I watch him strum the guitar. He’s good—incredible natural talent. But I can’t get distracted by his abilities. He rode off without telling anyone where he was going.

  I bring up Flint’s number and press send. It eventually goes to voicemail.

  “Hey, it’s Ellen. Harry is with me. He rode his bike to the office. I’m about ready to leave, so I’ll drop him off. Hope you get this message and know that he’s safe with me.”

  “I thought we were going to play.” Harry shoots me a frown that is totally Flint.

  “Let’s play in the car—carpool karaoke. You play and I’ll sing.”

  After determining that his
bike will have to stay since it’s too big for my car, we get settled into the front seat, guitar hugged to his chest. My phone vibrates with a text from Flint.

  Thank you

  Harry plays and I make up songs on the way to his house. “I know some good music teachers. I could give your dad their names.”

  “I have you,” he replies with such innocence.

  “I’m more of a therapist. I could work with you too, but I’m not sure your dad wants you working with me as a client like that.”

  “So I’ll just keep playing with you when I come to my dad’s office after school or when I get my stuff done at home.” He opens the door and hops out. “Come see my room.”

  “Uh … I’m not sure tonight is a goodnight for that.” I base my response on the steam flowing from Flint’s nose as he waits on the front porch for his runaway son.

  “Come on!” Harry waves me in his direction.

  “What in the ever loving hell do you think you’re doing running off without saying a word?”

  I cringe as Flint yells at Harry.

  “Not now, Dad. Okay? Come on, Elle.”

  Flint looks past Harry to me sinking low in the driver’s seat. I should back out and let them bicker, but I feel a certain obligation to Harry. I don’t want to just leave without saying goodbye.

  I ease out, staying guarded behind the car door. “Another time, Harry. Okay?”

  “Why?” He deflates.

  “Get your butt inside.” Flint grits his teeth.

  “Elle, it won’t take long.” Harry ignores his father.

  Camilla steps out onto the porch and pulls Harry in for a hug. He says something to her and she motions for me to come in. I cringe, glancing at Flint, who is not giving me any sort of welcoming look.

  “Quickly. I have to get home soon.” I climb the porch steps.

  “Take the guitar with you when you leave.” Flint’s jaw works overtime as I pass him, giving him a slight nod of understanding. Taking away the guitar I loaned Harry is not the right kind of punishment, but he’s not my son.

  Not my house.

  Not my rules.

  Not my call.

  Their home is just as magnificent and enchanting as the Hamiltons’, but they have a grand piano in their great room. I gawk at it a few seconds before following Harry. Just as I suspected, Harry has a huge window seat in his bedroom. He shows me everything, including pictures from when he took dance lessons and his fishing lure collection.

  “My dad loves to fish. He lives in Cape Cod,” I say.

  “Really? That’d be cool to fish in the ocean.”

  I nod while grinning. “My dad sure thinks so.”

  Flint’s large frame fills the doorway. He’s removed his suit jacket, loosened his tie, unbuttoned the top of his shirt, and rolled up his sleeves. I fight the internal struggle to want to piece him back together versus strip him the rest of the way because I still feel cheated that I’ve not seen him completely naked.

  “Who’s this?” I nod to a photo.

  “My mom. She died in a car accident when I was two.”

  He hands me a framed picture of a woman breaking the finish line tape.

  “Is this a marathon?”

  “Chicago. I think. She was supposedly a runner.”

  And beautiful. I study the picture until Flint clears his throat.

  “We need to have words, young man. And I don’t think you want Ms. Rodgers here when we have them.”

  “I did everything you told me to do. Homework. Chores. Gagging down dinner without complaining.”

  “I’m going to walk Ms. Rodgers out and then we’ll talk.”

  I give Harry a sympathetic smile and hand the photo of his mom back to him. “Do you have a phone?”

  He nods and pulls it out of his pocket.

  “Unlock it and I’ll give you my phone number. I could have been gone earlier when you rode all that way to see me. Next time just give me a quick call or text me. Okay?”

  “Okay.” He unlocks his phone, and I add my name to his contacts. “Wait!”

  I turn just as Flint moves out of my way.

  “Smile.” He shrugs. “Or don’t.” Harry takes my picture. “For your contact profile.”

  “Bye.” I hold up a hand, hoping it’s not the last time I see him, but, from the look on Flint’s face, I fear it might be a final goodbye.

  “Good to see you again.” Camilla and Gene smile as I pass by them at the bottom of the stairs.

  I think they were eavesdropping because they look awkward just standing at the bottom of the stairs.

  “You too.”

  “Maybe you could come for dinner tomorrow.”

  Flint halts in front of me, turns, and scowls at his mom.

  Dear god this is awkward.

  “Flint, it’s fine. Your dad and I will make dinner. I know you have a lot of work this week with your trial. It’s better that she come here than Harrison ride his bike to see her.”

  “Mom—”

  “Six thirty sound okay, Ellen?” Camilla waves off Gene as he nudges her, probably to warn her what a terrible idea it is to invite me to dinner. “Please, Harrison would love it.”

  “Um … sure.”

  “Great. See you tomorrow.”

  I turn back to Flint and shoot him a sheepish smile. He grumbles something and stomps out the door.

  “What was I supposed to do?” I jog to catch up to his long strides. He doesn’t have to escort me to my car. I will leave the premises without being kicked off.

  “Say no.”

  “Fine.” I stop and pivot back toward the house. “I’ll go back in and tell her no.”

  “Stop. Just …”

  I turn back to him.

  He rubs his hands over his face. “It’s fine. Just let it be.”

  I brush past him, too hungry and tired to deal with his family issues. Or maybe they’re just Ellen Rodgers issues.

  “Fine. I’ll let it be.” I get in my car.

  Flint grabs the door before I can shut it. He leans down putting us at eye level. There’s not room for oxygen and him in this vehicle. My heart pounds like a metal detector nearing a treasure.

  If I lean in three inches, our lips will meet. I like his lips, and the way he’s looking at mine leads me to believe the feeling is mutual.

  “Thank you for bringing him home.”

  He smells like herbs, like I imagine a chef might smell. I’m hungry. I’d settle for him, but I don’t think he’s on the menu tonight. I don’t know if he’ll ever be on the menu. He’s that dessert on the dessert tray that no one ever gets to eat because it’s just a display.

  “No problem. Did you notice how I returned him to you without bitching about my time? And I didn’t put him in a brown paper bag and threaten to dump him out the window without stopping the car first.”

  His lips press together and he hums. “That was very kind of you.” Those dark eyes shift to my mouth again, then lower.

  I feel his gaze everywhere. It’s warm and tingly. “Go easy on him.”

  “We’ll see.” He straightens to full height. “Goodnight.”

  The door shuts.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Flint

  “IT’S NOT OKAY for you to leave without telling anyone where you’re going.”

  Harrison, perched on his window seat, keeps his nose in a book while ignoring me.

  “You said I could play guitar with her if I—”

  “You take things too literally. I meant if you showed me a pattern, if you did it for a week or more. And then I would take you to the office. I would call to make sure it was okay with her. You’re twelve. You can’t ride your bike that far alone. It’s not smart. It’s not safe. Had she not given you a ride home, you would have had to ride home in the dark with no reflective clothing, no lights on your bike, and no sense of direction because I know damn well you rely on familiar things that would not look familiar at night.”

  “Fine.”

  I hold
back my irritation to his fine remark. It’s his version of sorry. I know this, but it still irritates the hell out of me when he says it so dismissively.

  “Grandma invited Ellen to dinner tomorrow night, but after that, you’re going to take a break from seeing her.”

  “That’s not—”

  I hold out my finger. “And if you argue with me, I’ll send the borrowed guitar home with her like I should have done tonight.”

  He leaps up, stomps across the floor, and slams the door in my face.

  I remind myself that raising him is a gift and a debt. Tonight it doesn’t feel like a gift.

  *

  MY COURT CASE drags out. It should have ended by now, but opposing counsel sprung a new witness on me, and now I have the weekend to prepare a cross-examination. Harrison is giving me the silent treatment, which is better than him relentlessly pushing my buttons like he usually does. And my parents are cooking up a storm in my kitchen for Ellen, the woman I’m evicting as soon as I can squash my son’s obsession with her.

  I take my penance without complaining. Killing my wife shouldn’t come with any sort of mercy.

  “She’s here!” Those are the first words I’ve heard out of Harrison since he slammed the door in my face last night.

  I continue to comb over the evidence in this never-ending case as I listen to voices echo from my parents greeting Ellen.

  “Flint? Dinner is almost ready. Come out of your office and join us,” my mom calls.

  “In a minute,” I mumble to myself.

  One minute turns into fifteen before I get another dinner call from my mom. I tug at my already loosened tie and stand with a sigh. This suit has to go, so I take the spiral staircase in the back corner that goes from my office directly to the master bedroom. It’s one of the original design features I love most about this old house.

  I untie my tie and return it to its drawer, remove my shirt, and unfasten my pants just as the toilet flushes in the en suite bathroom. “Harrison, how many times do I have to tell you to use your own—”

  The pocket door slides open, and Ellen sucks in a quick breath, eyes wide. “I … the hall bathroom was …” Her gaze roams along my bare chest and down to my unfastened pants.

  I picture her rats, imagine her with spinach stuck in her perfect teeth, anything to keep my dick in check.