Revolution - Jennifer Donnelly [27]
During dinner, G, Dad, and Lili talk schedules. G won’t be around for the next few days, he says. He’s flying to Belgium tomorrow, then Germany—provided the airlines don’t strike—to meet with two other geneticists taking part in the testing. He tells Dad that there will be meetings with members of the trust, and press conferences, and that he needs to attend them all.
In addition to the DNA tests he’s conducting, Dad’s doing the superstar-genius thing while he’s here—giving lectures at the Sorbonne, attending a dinner with the president, and meeting with financiers interested in funding his next project.
“And what will you be doing?” G asks me.
Dad answers for me. “Andi will be working on the outline for her senior thesis,” he says.
“What’s the subject?” G says.
“Amadé Malherbeau,” I tell him, pushing a piece of chicken around on my plate.
“Malherbeau! Why didn’t you say so?” G says, jumping up. He starts rooting in a bookshelf. “I have some books on him. And of course I now can’t find any of them. Ah! Here’s one. You should also go to his house near the Bois de Boulogne. The Conservatory owns it. They use it for chamber concerts. There’s a wonderful portrait of him there. And I believe the Abelard Library has his personal papers, including a collection of original scores.”
He hands me a book and sits down again. I thank him, then continue to not eat my food. Lili tells us she’ll be teaching almost every day. She gives classes at the School of Fine Arts in Bourges starting tomorrow, then at the Paris division at the end of the week. Bourges is a bit of a hike, so she overnights at a friend’s house while she’s teaching there.
“And speaking of guest rooms,” she says, “I’m sure you are ready for yours, Andi.”
Finally. I make a move to clear up the dishes, but she won’t let me.
“Leave them. G will help me with them. It will be the first useful thing he’s done all day,” she says. “Let me show you to your room.”
I pick up my bag and my guitar case and follow her to the far end of the loft. There are two rooms and a bathroom there, partitioned off from the rest of the open space by drywall that’s been taped and spackled but not painted yet. My room has a huge window, a mattress on the floor, and a fruit crate for a night table.
“Not very luxurious, I’m afraid. We still have a lot of work to do on the place,” Lili says. “The bed’s comfortable, though.”
“It’s great, Lili. Really. Thank you,” I say. I’m so tired I could sleep on the floor.
She tells me she’ll leave two sets of keys on the table, one for me and one for Dad, and that I should come and go as I please. I tell her thanks, but she waves my words away. Before she goes, she takes my hands in hers.
“You are a ghost, Andi,” she says. “Almost gone.”
I look at her. I want to say something but I can’t get the words out.
She squeezes my hands. “Come back to us,” she says. And then she’s gone.
I close the door, turn off the light, and lie down on the bed. I look out of the window into the night sky, searching for stars. But there aren’t any. Just a few snowflakes whirling in the air. I should get up. Brush my teeth. Pee. Take my pills. But I don’t. I’m too tired. I close my eyes, hoping for sleep, but pictures float up in my mind—images of that small, sad heart. Of that small, scared face.
Paris. What a great idea. It might take your mind off things, Dad said.
I laugh then, until I cry. Then cry until I sleep.
13
I wake up jangling.
I fell asleep in my clothes, with all my metal on. My earrings are digging into my head. My bracelets are tangled in my hair. My cell phone’s in my back pocket and it’s digging into my butt. My boots are hurting my feet.
I’m jangling inside, too. I forgot to take my pills last night, which was really stupid.
I get up, hit the ladies’, and swallow two Qwells, and then one more, washing them down with tap water cupped in my hands. I check the time—nearly noon—then go searching for coffee.
Dad’s seated at the dining table, talking on G’s house phone. He’s got it on speaker, because that way he can converse, text his assistant,