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Her relationship with Aaron remained hopeful. They enjoyed the show—a silly farce about relationships, involving an obsessive-compulsive magician and a hairstylist turned veterinarian—then walked a few blocks under the bright half-moon to Playwright Bar & Restaurant for Irish coffee and cheesecake. They were seated at a romantic candlelit table near the bar, and a server with short black hair tinged with magenta tips promptly took their order. Fordham was glad Aaron hadn’t said a word about David in the car as they were going into the city. She figured she was home free.
“This is fun,” she said, taking a sip of water. “It’s nice to be in the city for pleasure instead of business, for a change.”
“The show was pretty ridiculous, but it was nice not having to share you.”
Fordham wriggled in her seat and was thankful when the server came with their order. “Yum.” She poked at the huge swirl of whipped cream with her long spoon.
“What’s the deal with the principal?” Aaron asked.
“He’s a principal with a sweet little daughter that Whitty likes. They’re friends.”
Fordham picked up the cocktail menu.
“They’re friends? What about the two of you?”
“We’re friends too, I guess,” Fordham answered. “I haven’t known him very long.”
“No, you haven’t. I could tell. Be careful, Fordham. This guy wants something.” Aaron picked up his fork and helped himself to her cheesecake as if it were his.
So much for keeping their conversation light. At least he hadn’t brought up anything about the night to remember or the fact that they still hadn’t consummated their new relationship.
***
FORDHAM WAS UP AT THE crack of dawn and toyed with the idea of taking the day off. With everything going on, she was entitled to some time to herself. It had been the weekend from hell when all she’d wanted was an easy transition from the disappointing past to the promising future. And if she went in early and left early, she wouldn’t have to see Abe, who’d sent a company email saying he’d be in late. The idea of another day between them and that ridiculous night was comforting. Try as she might, she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to look at him the same way again. As if the thought of him in those silly boxers, sharing pleasures with her mother, wasn’t enough, she had to hold onto the image of herself in a bare-breasted frenzy, like Florence Nightingale performing triage on The Love Boat.
She went to the kitchen, found her Fordham University mug, and boiled water for a cup of Roastaroma tea, hoping for some soul-soothing magic. As was often the case, David came to mind. He was a good man. Pam was lucky. He was a bit of a flirt, but she didn’t think it was in him to be calculating and hurtful. Sometimes, nice men with no particular agenda gave women the wrong idea. They didn’t realize that by being attentive, they were sending out vibes that said they were interested. Even if he had kissed her that day—she still hadn’t had any breakthroughs on that—it was probably just to calm her down. There was no legitimate reason to try to turn David into a bastard just so she wouldn’t have to think about him. But it didn’t matter anyway. He was probably counting his blessings that he had Pam, especially after Aaron’s little scene.
The facts were clear. She was with Aaron now, and it was time to put everything in the proper perspective, which also meant addressing why their timing was always off. Sure, she was appreciative that he wasn’t pressuring her to be more available. He was easy that way—so involved in his business that he didn’t have the chance to dwell on her stuff or their stuff for very long. That was a good thing. This way, she could be her own person and never have to worry about getting swallowed up by his identity. If the key to independence was sharing a little bit less, she was headed in the right direction.
She decided to hang tough. She was going to get dressed, run a few errands, work through lunch and dinner, and not ruminate over what had happened with Abe and her mother. Just because they were older didn’t mean they weren’t entitled to a booty call every now and then. At least someone under her roof was finding the time for sex. It was a win-win situation, and Fordham was old enough and young enough to accept it and mind her own business.
She got a text from Aaron saying he’d be tied up. Had she wanted to engage in sexy banter, she might have asked him by whom. Instead, she responded with a benign np and got ready for work.
The trip to the office was therapeutic. The roads were as clear as the skies, and the leaves clung to the trees in pretty shades of purple, red, and yellow. If she had any artistic ability at all, this day would inspire her to paint. Things were good. The universe was telling her to relax and let life move her gently where she needed to go. She was more resolved than ever and ready to meet whatever the rest of the day would bring...
But when she arrived and found a note from Abe requesting her to come to his office, she stopped feeling ready. There was no sense in prolonging the inevitable or trying to hold onto the autumnal palette that had her smiling seconds before. She walked to Abe’s office as resolutely as possible, hoping that her professionalism would usurp her tendency to get emotional. She was in no mood to confront Abe about his cavorting with her mother.
Myra stopped her. “You just missed him. He’s meeting with Voltage Press. He should be back by three.” She cleared her throat. “He asked me to make sure you wait for him,” she said, taking out an extra-large box of cough drops. She offered one to Fordham, who declined. Myra needed whatever she had left.
Fordham went back to her office. She gazed out the window and watched the toddlers playing in Hudson Park. They were cute, climbing up and down little metal ladders and beams. Their first hurdles. Others would follow, but that day, they would conquer these steps and decide whether to choose Cheerios or Kix with their milk.
Maybe we never grow up. We’re always checking out the lay of the land in search of ground that feels safe and steady. Fordham closed her eyes and imagined being on a swing as she munched on trail mix from a bag in her desk drawer.
There was a stack of submissions she’d printed out sitting on her desk, and she methodically read through each, reworking some of the text for flow and editing content when necessary. She had passed the point of feeling overwhelmed, and at times she actually had fun bringing these stories to life.
She checked her watch—almost four. If she wanted to make a run for it, she still could. Myra would be too consumed by phlegm to stop her. Or she could stay and be the responsible adult she was supposed to be, armed with a bevy of excuses if she needed any. The decision was made for her when Abe came through the door, calling for Myra.
Myra knocked and let herself into Fordham’s office. “Please go talk to him,” she choked. “He’s a wreck, and I need Nyquil.” She wiped her nose with a spent tissue. “I’ll see you tomorrow, or whenever.” She sneezed and left.
Fordham put her work away and finished off a few fortifying sips of exceptionally stale coffee. As she walked down the hall, she noticed there were only a few people still in the office. Maybe four o’clock was the new six o’clock. She was usually too busy to notice.
Abe was sitting at his desk, and for the first time since she’d met him, she noticed he had warm green eyes. Maybe that’s why he wore the green boxers, she mused and instantly regretted that she’d let her mind wander in that direction.
“First things first,” he said, handing her a postcard while she was still standing. It was from Margo.
Dearest One and All,
Exciting news—I am having twins! Yes, a boy and a girl. So now I am twice as thrilled and twice as bloated. We’ve decided to postpone the wedding until we don’t have to buy a tent to dress me. I will keep you posted and will Skype as soon as my face doesn’t take up the screen. Love You! M.
“That’s interesting news,” Fordham said. “She’ll love all the shopping options. But I don’t think she’s coming back to work anytime soon.”
Abe was stoic. Maybe he was going to tell her he needed a hearing aid.
“Have a seat, Fordham,” he said in a low voice as he floundered for more words. If she was being laid off, this would be the worst timing in the history of timing. “I’m sorry about the other night.”
“Forget about it,” she said. “I’m certainly trying to.”
Abe was pacing in the small area between the bookcase and the file cabinet. “Well, that’s... kind of the point.”
“What is?”
“I can’t forget about it. And I don’t want to. I’m not sure how to say this.” Abe’s pale had become a light shade of crimson, and he perched himself on the corner of the desk to face her.
It dawned on her that he might not be able to deal with seeing her every day, knowing what he had done with her mother. “You’re going to fire me because you had sex with my mother?”
“No! Of course not.”
“Okay, well... if you want my blessing,” she cajoled, “you have it.” She’d already resolved that she was fine with him and her mother spending intimate time together.
“Really?” he said with more gratitude than she’d anticipated.
“You’re serious? You want my mother?”
“I love her. Really.” He nodded. “I, who swore on my late wife’s wedding ring that there could never be another.”
“I’ve heard you say that.” Fordham glimpsed at Abe’s hand and noticed his ring was off.
“Last night, I went to the cemetery to tell Harriet about your mother. I asked her for her blessing and some kind of sign.”
“You did?”
“Yes. I had to. Harriet was my best friend. It was only right. Later on, your mother and I were playing Scrabble online. It was the end of the game. I laid down my seven-letter word and picked up the last seven tiles.”
He got a piece of paper, wrote, “I, H, T, Z, O, H, K,” and handed it to Fordham. She stared at the page, confused.
“Ihtzohk? Like Perlman? Harriet played the violin?”
“Read it again. He doesn’t spell it that way.”
“Oh,” she said.
“Correct! There is an O,” Abe said enthusiastically.
Fordham tried sounding it out again, this time even less intelligently. If he wasn’t firing her, she didn’t understand the need for all the cryptic clues. Abe shook his head.
“I stink at this,” she said, “but it’s okay—I’m great at crossword puzzles.”
“There! You said it!”
“What did I say?”
“It’s okay!”
“Abe, this is becoming Who’s on First. Just tell me: What’s okay?”
“It. Fordham, that’s what the letters spell out. It’s okay.”
Fordham read it again excitedly. “Ah, I get it! But what’s okay?”
“To ask her to marry me.”
“What?” She wondered if her shock was visible. “Why?”
Fordham’s thoughts were as jumbled as the tiles shaken in a Scrabble bag. Her mother said she and Abe were talking all the time and seeing a lot of each other. Still, it was one thing to be a bed partner and quite another to be a life partner. Dorie had never been an impulsive decision maker with the exception of marrying Arnie—and even that had been out of necessity. Maybe a year of being alone had been enough to teach her that she didn’t prefer it. Maybe some people could fall in love at first sight.
“Because I love her,” Abe said. “Just don’t ask me where or when, because that’ll be up to her, if she’ll have me.”
Her state of having a lot to process had just become a whole new territory. Fordham didn’t think she could handle the terrain. She hugged Abe. “Congratulations... Dad.”
“It’s about time.” Abe gave her a hug. “I’ve always felt like you were my daughter.”
She left his office, but she really didn’t know what to think or feel. She just knew she had to run. She grabbed her bag and sped out to the elevator. It was atypically empty, and she was relieved to not have to make idle chitchat. All she wanted was to escape to the cushioned leather seats of her mother’s car.
My car. She didn’t even have that. She missed the welcoming scent of musky vanilla that emanated from the air freshener hanging on the rearview mirror. She also missed the chocolate stashed in the glove compartment. Dorie would never do that. Dorie would bake cookies, take one bite, and say she had to stop or she’d spoil her dinner. Fordham dissected the glove compartment anyway. Nothing but registration and insurance cards and... yes! In what must have been a moment of delirium, Dorie had caved and bought a roll of chocolate antacid tablets. No surprise, it was still unopened. Fordham sighed. Oddly, she was thinking about how much she wanted to talk to David.
***
A WEEK LATER, DORIE, having had what her orthopedist called a “miraculous recovery,” was almost herself again. She’d left Fordham a note on the fridge, saying she’d be gone for the day and would pick Whitty up after school to get her a dress for the Poetry Awards.
Whitty had won first prize and still refused to let Fordham read her poem. “Mom, it’s a surprise,” she’d said.
Great, another surprise. Take a number. So much had already changed in a few short months. For the most part, she didn’t like change. At least with Gil, she’d known with certainty that every day was going to be a depressing challenge. She didn’t really want that life back, but she did crave terra firma.
There were more cars in the school parking lot for the Poetry Awards than there had been on the West Side Highway earlier that afternoon. Fordham had wanted to take the day off, but she’d had too much to do, and if she began taking more liberties, surely there would be gossip at the coffee counter. She didn’t want her colleagues to start crying “nepotism.” Although, the more she pondered it, the more she was enjoying the idea of Abe being her stepfather. The hard part was over. They knew each other, they liked each other, and they had already seen each other in compromising positions.
After combing the parking lot several times, Fordham finally got a spot and went into the auditorium alone. Aaron texted that his meeting was running late and asked her to save him a seat. Dorie left her a message saying she and Abe were on their way and to save two seats. If the requests kept up, she could start a company. There were surprisingly more seats than the traffic indicated, and she found a row of empties near the stage. Whitty had stayed after school for rehearsal and was nowhere to be seen. Fordham scanned the room. There was no sign of David, either. She hadn’t had the chance to see him since the day of the Was I dreaming? kiss and found herself missing him. She wasn’t proud of it, but she wasn’t going to lie to herself.
With nothing to do but wait, Fordham checked her email. There was a text from Margo.
Fordham, darling, major update... we’re exchanging vows at the Taj Mahal before the twins arrive. So much fabric my sari wants an apology. Miss you... and Abe. Kisses.
For a moment, Fordham found herself actually missing her spirited friend. So much was happening that she wanted Margo’s inimitable take on. Some of the news was work related. A couple of stray submissions had caught her attention, but for the most part, she was satisfied with what she had. She was still perplexed about what to do with her Prince Charming entry. There was a part of her that didn’t even want to include it in the book. It felt too personal, as if it was hers and too private to share. She was in the middle of reading it when Aaron arrived, and she quickly threw it in her bag.
He gave her a peck on the cheek and slung his coat over his seat. “Oh, good—your mother’s not here yet,” he said like a naughty child.
“What does that mean?”
“It means I get to have you to myself for a few minutes.” He kissed her again.
“That’s not what you meant, but I’ll go with it.”
Whatever their issues, his kisses were not the problem. Making time for anything else, however, was proving troublesome. Having been busy with back-to-back meetings for nearly a week, Aaron apologized for not seeing her. He promised to make it up to her and swore their sacrifices would be worth it. But they still had no set plans for even a moment of intimacy. She didn’t have to disclose that she was so wrapped up in her own work she almost didn’t care.
The auditorium was filling up. She wondered if any of the other parents were in her shoes and clueless about their children’s poems. It still didn’t seem right to her. Aaron was on his iPad, working on some kind of chart.
“Really? You’re going to do that now?” she asked.
“Hey, beautiful, calm down.” Aaron patted her shoulder. “Whitty’s just reading something, and she isn’t even on yet.”
Fordham scowled and turned her head toward the doors as Dorie and Abe walked in. She stood up and waved to them while Aaron scrambled to pack his work away in his bulging briefcase. Before they sat down, Dorie flashed her hand under Fordham’s nose.
“Can you believe it? Isn’t he stunning?” Dorie said, beaming at Abe.
“Yes he is—and the ring isn’t bad either,” Fordham said, inspecting her mother’s hand.
The ring was a big, shimmering, brilliant-cut diamond set high in an elegant diamond-studded band that gave Dorie license to serve brunch on paper plates next time Gloria was in town. Dorie’s smile was so broad that the rest of her small features almost disappeared. If she hadn’t just gotten over her foot injury, she’d have been jumping up and down. Abe’s complexion was brighter, and he seemed calmer now that his girl was wearing his ring. His forehead was smoother, and his eyes twinkled in a way she’d never seen before.
“Abe said you gave us your blessing.” Dorie got a little teary. “That means a lot to me. To us.”
Aaron offered his congratulations. Fordham gave her mother the excited-bride hug she’d become accustomed to giving ring recipients over the past few years. Now that her mother was one of them, she worried about how their relationship might change.
A teacher in a burnt-orange suit and frosted hair announced that they were having some technical difficulties and that the assembly would start as soon as possible. Dorie asked Fordham to go to the ladies’ room with her, and they left the men, who were already wrapped up in a discussion about politics. The bathroom was empty except for one woman applying way too much lip liner.
“You look really happy, Mom.”
“Oh, Fordham, you have no idea. Abe and I just clicked like computer mice. Or would you say mouses?”
“I don’t think it matters. The important part is the clicking.”
They stood at the mirror and retrieved makeup at the same time.
“It’s strange. I loved your father madly. But he was a lot older than I was, and even though we had a lot in common, we were still from different times.” Dorie brushed on a layer of highlighter she didn’t need. “Abe and I grew up on the same candy, movies, and music. It feels like we can be friends. And this time, no one can say he robbed the cradle and played Pygmalion.”
Fordham was jolted back to a day when she’d been out shopping with her parents. They promised her a movie and Chinese food if she would be cooperative and let Dorie find a dress to wear to a friend’s wedding. Each time Dorie would model a dress, Arnie would say she looked beautiful but then subtly add that one thing or another wasn’t quite right. Finally, he picked out a dress for her to try on. It was a flashy yellow cocktail dress that had a fitted bodice and several tiers of feathery flounces. Dorie seemed to think it was very funny and took it into the dressing room as if playing along with him. She came out laughing, and Fordham remembered thinking she looked like Big Bird. But Arnie never got the joke. He patted himself on the back for his keen eye and said, “Now, that’s the way I want my wife to look: like a million bucks.” Without a peep, Dorie had worn the dress as if had been her choice all along.
“I never knew it was like that for you,” Fordham said, feeling more enlightened.
Fordham had to admit that she and Gil had never been true friends. They enjoyed some of the same activities, had similar taste in movies and music, and even shared similar political views, but when push came to shove, he was more inclined to shove her to be what he wanted than push her to be herself. And she and Aaron had been so young that it was hard to know if their friendship was as strong as their attraction. She was certainly hoping so this time.
“Why would you know what it was like?” Dorie said. “Children seldom think past their own experiences.” She looked at Fordham quizzically. “What else is going on? That face you’re making has nothing to do with me and Abe.”
“I haven’t read Whitty’s poem. She’s been very secretive.”
“Are you worried she’s going to rat you out about the Ben & Jerry’s?” Dorie teased.
“No. Not that I’d like that, but it’s just not like her to keep things from me.”
If Whitty was being secretive about her poem, maybe there were other things she wasn’t sharing. She could be resentful of Fordham in deeper ways than she’d typically express. Maybe between the granola bars for breakfast and the string of horrific dates, her little girl didn’t trust her judgment, and maybe one day she would get fed up and take Gil up on his standing offer to live with him—though it was unlikely to actually happen. Gil, true to form, still hadn’t tried to connect with Whitty, and the more he continued to neglect her, the less she discussed his participation in anything going on in her life.
“You were ten once too,” Dorie said, raising her eyes.
“Yeah, but, Mom, I told you everything, unfortunately, and still do.”
“Like the time you paid Beegie Moser a dollar to show you his—”
“How’d you find out about that?”
“His mother noticed that he was two candy bars over his allowance.”
“And he ratted me out just like that.” Fordham shook her head. “The damn candy will get you every time. Why didn’t you say anything to me?”
“I didn’t think it was necessary. I figured you were normal and curious, and if you needed to talk, you would. Although I did cut back on your allowance.”
“I guess I gave you a good reason to worry about inflation,” Fordham said.
Dorie and Fordham got to their seats just in time to see David adjust the mic at the podium. Aaron’s shoulders tensed. Fordham hoped it was because he’d slept wrong.
“Good morning, family and friends. Please rise for the Pledge of Allegiance led by Whitney Presser.”
Everyone stood up as Whitty recited. When she was done, she left the stage and disappeared behind the curtain.
“Mom, she never even told me she was leading the pledge.”
Dorie shrugged. There was nothing diplomatic she could say anyway. Too bad your daughter doesn’t confide in you would be harsh, and Too bad you don’t know if she has her own Beegie Moser would be even harsher.
Fordham nudged Aaron, who swore to her that his eyes were closed so that he could pay more attention to the words. She could tell he was bored. This wasn’t his world. His job was over after the baby’s first breath, when the hardest part was just beginning. More than ever, she was impressed that he was willing to change his whole way of life for her.
David stepped back up to the podium. For a second, Fordham could smell his cologne. He was in a navy-blue suit and a great purple tie that brightened his face. That tie from Messengers. The girl had taste. It was conceivable that playing with Barbies was informing her sense of fashion.
David appeared very much at home as he began to speak. “Today is a special day for Crestwood. We are the very first elementary school in the state to host the National Young Poets Awards,” he said amidst applause and cheering. “The world is a busy place. AI is pushing its way into our daily routines. Yes, modern technology is forging ahead at a pace we have never experienced at any other time in our history. We can buy food and cars from our phones with our faces, we can watch our favorite movies and TV shows anytime and anywhere with an app, we can chat with our friends while scuba diving—at least those of us who can scuba dive—and we can gather information about ourselves just by plugging our names into a search engine.”
You could hear a pin drop in the auditorium. Fordham was once again impressed by David’s keen ability to engage his audience. It was a similar speech to the one he’d given on Back-to-School Night, but as always, he was speaking from his heart, which made him all the more effective... and attractive.
“With such intense change challenging us from one moment to the next, it’s easy to lose sight of other valuable riches—the riches born from our hearts and souls, not just from our heads. For this reason, I am especially proud of all the students who participated in the National Young Poets Contest. Their efforts illustrate that words, feelings, and ideas are alive and well and that pen and paper still, and will always, remain the most powerful tools of our society.”
David called students, waiting backstage, up to the podium one at a time to recite their winning entries. Some were cute, others more imaginative. Fordham had no idea what to expect when it was Whitty’s turn. She leafed through the program. As with the Academy Awards, Whitty, the overall winner, would be the last one called.
David spoke with what Fordham detected as personal pride when he introduced Whitty. “Our final presenter today is the first-place winner of the National Young Poets Awards, whose poem, ‘My Shoes,’ will be published in the National Young Poets Anthology. It is with pleasure that I invite back to the stage our own fifth grader, Whitney Presser.”
There was enthusiastic applause, but even after several moments, no sign of Whitty. David spoke to a teacher nearby then returned to the podium. Certain her daughter hadn’t been kidnapped, Fordham was more distressed than panicked. She had no clue why Whitty wasn’t going up to the mic.
“Whitney is feeling a bit under the weather and is unable to present her poem today. Please welcome back our runner-up, fourth grader Layla Fox, who will read another poem entitled, ‘My Dog Rocks.’”
As Layla approached the podium, David exited, looking more resolute than concerned, and Fordham took that as her cue to find Whitty. “I’m going to see what happened,” she said, jumping out of her seat.
“I’ll come with you,” Aaron said, standing up. “I’m sure it’s nothing serious. She was fine for the pledge.”
“No, please just stay here. I want to talk to her myself.”
“Babe, take it easy. Whitty has a way of being dramatic,” Aaron said.
Fordham flashed him a look of antipathy and stormed out of the auditorium. Dramatic. You don’t call your almost-lover’s child dramatic. It’s not good form. She tried to put herself in Aaron’s shoes and softened when she decided that, in his own way, he’d meant to be helpful. He still needed more time to get to know and understand Whitty. But she didn’t want to have to deal with that. At the moment, she wanted effortless support from someone who didn’t need to be taught how to give it.
Fordham was walking up and down the halls when she spotted David talking to Pam. For a moment, she wondered if Pam was missing her panties. Whatever they were discussing could wait. Fordham drew near and was relieved to see that Pam suddenly had somewhere else to go.
“David! Where’s Whitty? Do you know what happened?” Fordham asked.
“I do know. Don’t worry—she’s fine.” He nodded. “Come with me first. I need to show you something.”
They walked to David’s office in a comfortable silence. He escorted her in and closed the door. “You haven’t read her poem, have you?”
“No,” Fordham said. “She wouldn’t let me. Which really isn’t like her because we’re very close.”
“I know. But Whitty wanted to wait till today. She said if it won something, maybe it wouldn’t hurt as much.”
“Hurt?”
“Sometimes kids don’t want to burden their parents. Whitty adores you, but she knows you have a lot on your plate.”
Only a few weeks earlier, she’d told Fordham not to worry about going to Family Game Night at school because she knew Fordham had to work and would have to stay up later to make up the time. She even told her they could wait on shopping for her first bra until the book was done, claiming that no one cared about boobs until middle school anyway.
“But she knows she always comes first,” Fordham said, aware of Whitty’s sacrifices.
“Of course. But she loves you, and she puts you first too.”
Fordham couldn’t argue that. “She told you all this?”
“Kids share a lot over pizza and ice cream.” David opened a drawer and handed her a typed sheet. “Here. You’ll understand.”
Fordham hesitated, not wanting to intrude on her daughter’s privacy, but decided it wasn’t a page from her diary and continued.
Fordham read the title aloud. “‘My Shoes,’ by Whitney Presser.” Then she quietly read her daughter’s poem.
Sometimes late at night,
When I’m
Lying in my bed,
I think about the day
And the things that people said.
Sometimes they spoke the truth,
At times they chose to lie
But some of their nasty words
Have been enough to make me cry.
Fordham dabbed at her teary eyes with a tissue she retrieved from her jacket pocket.
It’s not easy to be different
In a world that’s filled with same,
When people stare and look at me
They box me in a frame.
I wish that I could say
I have two feet on the ground,
But God made me this way,
And one I drag around.
I hope one day I’ll wake up
In a world where I won’t lose
Because people will finally see
The girl who stands inside my shoes.
Fordham was crying, and David went to console her with a hug. His arms, wrapped around her, felt healing, protective, and familiar, just as they had in her ambiguous dream scenario at his house. She lifted her face and was overwhelmed by the unabashed compassion in his eyes. In that moment, they understood each other in a pure, uncomplicated way. She was about to give him a very wide-awake kiss when the office door flung open.
Aaron was clearly upset, and she quickly broke away from David.
“I don’t see Whitty in here,” Aaron sniped.
“David needed to show me something,” Fordham said with a tinge of guilt.
“That seems pretty obvious,” Aaron retorted.
“I think you’re getting the wrong idea,” David said calmly.
“I think I don’t care what you think.” Aaron got right in David’s face.
“Aaron, stop it. This isn’t about you or any of us. It’s about Whitty.”
“Come on, Fordham. I’ll take you,” David said, walking out of his office.
“I’m coming too,” Aaron insisted. “The thing is over, and I don’t need to continue to play dartboard for your mother.”
She wondered how badly Dorie had been treating him in her brief absence. “No! Just go back to the hotel,” Fordham said, pushing him away. “I’ll meet you later. I promise.”
Aaron threw his hands up in the air as if he were releasing footballs and stomped his way down the hall without looking back. With Aaron gone, David led Fordham down a series of corridors until they got to a classroom door bathed in silver glitter. The sign on the door was made of words cut out in the colors of the rainbow.
“This is the poetry workshop. The kids voted on the design,” David said. “She’s in here.” He pointed to a tie-dyed curtain that was closed, sectioning off a part of the room.
“Whitty?” Fordham called, pulling back the curtain.
Sure enough, Whitty was sitting there, holding a box of tissues and crying. Fordham had seen her in the exact same pose after she’d told her that Gil was moving out and they weren’t going to be married anymore. Fordham hadn’t been able to shield her from that kind of pain—try as she might—and this was no different. Whitty had her cross to bear, and the only thing Fordham could do was help give her the confidence she needed to handle it. Fordham gave her daughter a hug, and David seemed to take that as his cue to give them some time alone.
“Don’t go,” Whitty said.
“Um...” David looked to Fordham for confirmation then sat on the writing table.
She was encouraged that Whitty seemed to trust and care about David. With no father figure around, Fordham worried there’d be a void in her daughter’s life that she’d be reluctant to allow anyone to fill. Even if this relationship wasn’t meant to be enduring, it was good to know she had the capacity.
“Are you all right?” Fordham asked. “You feel okay?”
“I’m fine,” Whitty declared. “I’m a woman. I changed my mind. I didn’t feel like reading my poem.”
“Well, not just any woman could have written such an awesome poem,” Fordham said, kissing her forehead.
“You showed it to her,” Whitty said to David, sounding betrayed.
“She was supposed to hear it today, right?” David asked.
“Yeah.”
“And, Whitty, what do we always say in PW?” He mouthed to Fordham, “poetry workshop.”
“Beautiful poems are meant to be shared, especially with those we love.” Whitty sounded like a robot that had said that line dozens of times before. “But it’s not beautiful. Sometimes I messed up the rhyming.”
“Whitty, it’s wonderful,” Fordham said. “I am so proud of you for writing it.” She kissed Whitty on the forehead. “All this hide-and-seek has my stomach growling. I need a hot-fudge-brownie sundae. How about you, monkey?”
“Can David come?” Whitty pleaded.
“Well, I—” Fordham stared at the floor.
“I wish I could, Whitty, but I still have things to do here,” David said.
“Okay,” Whitty said sadly. “I’m sorry I ruined the assembly.”
“Are you kidding? You didn’t ruin anything. And Layla Fox will probably want to be your best friend now.”
“You always know how to turn something bad into something good,” Whitty said.
“That’s a very nice thing to say,” David replied.
“I’m not really sure how to thank you,” Fordham said.
“Maybe one day we’ll figure it out.” David walked out the door.
Whitty was okay. That was the most important thing. Fordham watched David walk away and realized that for the first time all day, she was smiling. She and Whitty were holding hands and making little jokes as they strolled through the empty halls. Dorie and Abe were sitting on a bench near the auditorium. Aaron was still there, standing against an opposite wall and talking on his phone, which he swiftly pocketed when he saw Fordham.
“Finally,” Aaron said, exasperated.
Fordham was surprised he hadn’t left. If he had caught the desire in her eyes when she and David were hugging, which she was pretty sure he hadn’t, he’d have a reason to be concerned. She supposed she should be concerned, too, but then she caught a glimpse of David at the end of the hall, walking, with Pam clinging to his arm. She reminded herself that people could get caught up in the moment, especially when it came to romance, but moments were often just meant to serve the immediate and nothing more.
“Whitty, sweetheart, are you okay?” Dorie asked, giving her a hug.
“Do you feel a little better now?” Abe patted her head.
Fordham was touched that Abe was being so affectionate toward Whitty. He’d listened while Fordham talked his ear off about her daughter, but that was different than actually spending time with her. Since Abe and Whitty had met, it was as if they had never been anything but close. Fordham was fascinated by how quickly they’d bonded and thrilled that Whitty could grow up with a warm, caring grandfather after all.
“I’m fine. I just need ice cream,” Whitty said, brightening at all the attention she was receiving.
“Ice cream—now? For what?” Aaron checked his watch.
“For eating,” Whitty said as if addressing a cretin.
Aaron ignored Whitty’s tone. “Fordham, we have reservations for dinner.”
“Not until later. We have plenty of time, and I don’t really care whether we make it or not.”
Aaron shook his head as if he would never understand her. Fordham wasn’t sure why he was being so ornery. Even if he had seen her hugging David, she’d offered a logical, specific reason for it that she willingly shared with him. The problem had to be something else. Her best guess was that their relationship was being threatened not by David but by her. She was a parent, and Aaron wasn’t. It was strange that he and his wife had never had kids, but he was a doctor, not a superhero, and it was possible that the issues with his ex had extended beyond his abilities. She softened as she thought about Aaron missing out on fatherhood.
“Aaron, I still want to go. Maybe we can call and go a little later?”
“Sure, I understand. Why have champagne and caviar when we can have butter pecan and rainbow sprinkles?” Aaron said through a half-hearted smile.
“Yuck! I’m not getting that!” Whitty groaned.
Fordham escorted Whitty out the door. Aaron was a few steps behind, back on his phone. The parking lot was almost empty. She, Abe, and Aaron were parked at opposite ends of the lot. Abe told Dorie to wait while he got the car. He didn’t want her to put excess strain on her foot. Whitty nudged Fordham, saying she wanted to go with Abe and Dorie, and Fordham couldn’t see any reason not to let her. Grandparents were safe, especially when parents were impossible to figure out. It would also give her a chance to speak with Aaron and sort out the mess of this event.
Fordham told Dorie to meet her at CC’s Ice Cream Castle. She had coupons for free sundaes that she’d left at home. Dorie said that was fine as she watched Abe walk hand in hand with Whitty to his car.
Fordham was near Aaron’s car when he opened the window to tell her he had to run to meet a colleague about a “pressing issue.” Suddenly, he wasn’t as concerned about her eating ice cream sundaes and delaying their dinner plans. The meeting was one he’d been hoping to set up since he’d gotten into town. Soon, he assured her, all his phone calls and crazy scheduling would make sense.
It was just as well. Fordham was too tired to get into a relationship chat, and Aaron always seemed to perk up when he had business to tend to. There was a better-than-likely chance he’d be pleasant by dinnertime. Besides, he was too practical to enjoy dessert before dinner.
“Have a good time,” he said, after he gave her a peck on the cheek. “And don’t worry—I’m going to take care of everything.”
Fordham was happy to have a few minutes to decompress. She got into the car, cranked up Sirius Classic Vinyl, and let the music take her home.