Gavin is very still.
“And then I say, ‘I’ve never met Gavin. I’d love to meet him one day.’ And Sydney says, ‘I think you would really like him because he’s nice and he’s helpful and he’s smart and he’s tall and he’s got very nice eyes.’”
“He says all that?” Gavin asks.
“Yes.”
“Those are nice things to say.”
“I think so.”
He shuts his eyes a long time and then he finally sits up on the bed and he looks at me like Dad does when he’s waiting for me to stop fooling around. “I know what you’re doing, Joan, and it’s really sweet, seriously. I don’t even know what to say…”
I guess he’s not lying when he says that last part because he doesn’t say another word. He’s not even looking at my face anymore. He’s looking down at my hands. I look down too and I see my journal.
“Did you have that journal when Sydney was here in January?” Gavin asks.
“No,” I say and then I realize why he’s asking—because he’s wondering if my journal has something important about Sydney. “The journal I was using back in January is upstairs in my bedroom.”
He nods like I should go get it right now, so I do. I run up to my room and grab the journal from January and by the time I’m back, I’ve found something.
“After Sydney left that day,” I tell Gavin, “Mom asked me to go downstairs and strip the bed and empty the garbage. There was a paper bag sitting on top of the trash can and I knew it was from the cupcakes that Sydney brought home to us and I loved those cupcakes, so I drew the logo in my journal.”
Gavin gets off the bed and takes the January journal from me. He finally has his energy back.
“Does this help you?” I ask.
He stares at it for a while and then he types into his phone. He reads his screen and he says, “It looks like there’s only one Kroftman’s and it’s in Brooklyn.”
“Is that good or bad?”
He squeezes his chin like people do when they’re thinking very hard. “I don’t know,” Gavin says. “But I need to find out.”
24
I pull Paige aside as we’re entering the restaurant. “I need to ask you something.”
She gestures for Ollie and Joan to go ahead in to where Ollie’s father and brother are already waiting. We’re here tonight, about to dine in some strip-mall establishment deep in suburbia, to honor the memory of Ollie’s mother. Apparently it’s a family tradition and apparently Paige extended the invitation to me yesterday and apparently I told her I’d be happy to join them. I have no memory of any of this. I was preoccupied at the time. I’m still preoccupied.
Paige stands under the ivy green awning, youthful in her spaghetti-strap dress. Her bony shoulders give off a girlish vibe, but her heavy eyes betray her years. “What’s wrong?” she asks.
“He was in Brooklyn. Syd was in Brooklyn.”
“When? What are you talking about?”
I undo one more button on Ollie’s shirt. I didn’t pack any formal wear. “When he was last here, back in January, you were with him in the morning. Then he went somewhere, he met someone, and when he came back he had cupcakes from a bakery in Brooklyn.”
“So?”
“What was he doing there? That’s what I need to find out.”
Paige presses her palm to her forehead. I’ve exhausted her once again.
“I know what you’re going to say, Paige. You think I’m turning this into something that it’s not, but what if it’s true? What if there really was someone else? It would change everything we had together. How am I supposed to go on with that question always in the back of my mind?”
She doesn’t answer, so I keep talking.
“Certain things don’t add up. Why wouldn’t he tell me he met with a broker in February? Why keep that a secret? And why didn’t he tell you he was here in February or April? Normally he’d go out of his way to come see you, right? He said he took you out to dinner but it was an outright lie. But you were with him that morning in January. Think about it. Was there something you guys talked about that stands out? Anything? Please.”
Ollie pokes his head out of the restaurant. “Table’s ready.”
“One minute,” Paige says. She takes a deep breath but remains quiet, staring down at the pavement.
An elderly couple exit the restaurant and pass between us on their way to the parking lot.
I wait until we’re alone again. “I tried to let it go, Paige. I did.”
She finally meets my eyes. “What do you need from me?”
It’s simple. “Help.”
We’re seated at a round table off in the corner. There are six of us: me, Paige, Joan and Ollie, and then there’s Ollie’s father, Jack, and his brother, Nick. Nick is older than Ollie and has one more kid and twenty more pounds.
I’ve been staring at the menu for five minutes now without actually reading it. When we were standing outside, Paige looked so frightened of me, like I was some paranoid patient who skipped his meds. I hope I am just being paranoid. Nothing would please me more. If Paige can just help me find some tangible proof for why my suspicions are entirely unfounded, I will happily return to the semi-rational man I used to be.
She’s seated to my right now, studying her menu. Meanwhile, across the table, Jack hasn’t even opened his. Something tells me he knew what he was going to order as soon as he woke up this morning.
The last time I saw Ollie’s father was probably at Ollie and Paige’s wedding. He’s got a thicker build than his younger son, and a lot more to say. While Ollie is often introspective and restrained, his father can be rather outspoken.
Jack grabs a piece of bread from the center basket and winks at his granddaughter. “I heard you wrote a beautiful song, doll.”
“Yes,” Joan says, seated directly to my left. “Me and Gavin wrote it and Dad helped and I think it’s good enough to win the whole contest.”
“That’s wonderful,” Jack says. “So what are you up to for the rest of the summer?”
Joan smiles, as if she’s been waiting all along for this exact question. “I’m thinking it would be a good idea for me and Gavin to play our song on a TV show.”
“Wouldn’t that be great?” Jack says. “I’m sure Gavin could help with something like that, couldn’t you, Gavin?”
I told Joan earlier today how I felt about the idea. But of course, she mostly ignores the word no. Now I’ve got her grandfather staring me down.
Thankfully, Ollie saves me. “Dad, you can’t just snap your fingers and get on TV.”
“Actually,” Joan says, “there’s this one show called The Mindy Love Show that called the house. Mom already talked to them. It sounded like they really wanted me on their show.”
Paige gives her daughter a stern look and then addresses the table. “Yes, I did speak to someone over there but—”
“Sounds like a great opportunity,” Jack says. “Looks like we may have two celebrities at our table.”
Joan is beaming.
“Mindy Love,” Ollie says. “Isn’t she a Dr. Phil type?”
“She’s very nice,” Joan says. “I watch her show all the time.”