The memory keeper's daughter - Kim Edwards [117]
“I know that,” he said. “Better than you think.”
“And you?” she asked, struck again by how he’d aged, still trying to assimilate the fact of his presence, here with her, in this small room after all these years. “Have you been happy? Has Norah? And Paul?”
“I don’t know,” he said slowly. “As happy as anyone ever is, I suppose. Paul’s so smart. He could do anything. What he wants is to go to Juilliard and play the guitar. I think he’s making a mistake, but Norah doesn’t agree. It’s caused a lot of tension.”
Caroline thought of Phoebe, how she loved to clean and organize, how she sang to herself while washing the dishes or mopping the floors, how she loved music with her whole heart and would never have a chance to play the guitar.
“And Norah?” she asked.
“She owns a travel agency,” David said. “She’s away a lot too. Like your husband.”
“A travel agency?” Caroline repeated. “Norah?”
“I know. It surprised me too. But she’s owned it for years now. She’s very good at it.”
The doorknob turned, and the door swung open a few inches. The curator of the show stuck his head inside, his blue eyes bright with curiosity and concern. He ran one hand through his dark hair nervously, as he spoke. “Dr. Henry?” he said. “You know, there are a lot of people out here. There’s a kind of expectation that’ll you’ll—ah—mingle. Is everything all right?”
David looked at Caroline. He was hesitating, but he was impatient too, and Caroline knew that in an instant he would turn, adjust his tie, and walk away. Something that had endured for years was ending in this moment. Don’t, she thought, but the curator cleared his throat and gave an uncomfortable laugh, and David said, “No problem. I’m coming…. You’ll stay, won’t you?” he said to Caroline, taking her elbow.
“I need to get home,” she said. “Phoebe’s waiting.”
“Please.” He paused outside the door. She met his eyes and saw the same sadness and compassion she remembered from so long ago, when they were both much younger. “There so much to say, and it’s been so many years. Please say you’ll wait? It shouldn’t be long.” She felt sick to her stomach, an uneasiness she couldn’t place, but she nodded slightly, and David Henry smiled. “Good. We’ll have dinner, all right? All this glad talk—I have to do it. But I was wrong, all those years ago. I want more than just the scraps.”
His hand was on her arm and they were moving back into the crowd. Caroline couldn’t seem to speak. People were waiting, glancing frankly in their direction, curious and whispering. She reached into her purse and handed David the envelope she’d prepared, with the latest photographs of Phoebe. David took it, met her eyes and nodded seriously, and then a slight woman in a black linen dress was taking him by the arm. It was the woman from the audience again, beautiful and faintly hostile, asking another question about form.
Caroline stood where she was for a few minutes, watching him gesture to a photo that resembled the dark branches of a tree, talking to the woman in the black dress. He had been handsome and he was still. Twice he glanced in Caroline’s direction and then, seeing her, turned his attention fully to the moment. Wait, he’d said. Please wait. And he’d expected that she would. The sick feeling rose up in her stomach again. She didn’t want to wait; that was it. She’d spent too much of her young life waiting—for recognition, for adventure, for love. It wasn’t until she’d turned with Phoebe in her arms and left the home in Louisville, not until she packed up her things and moved away, that her life had really begun. Nothing good had ever come to her from waiting.
David was standing with his head bent, nodding, listening to the woman with dark hair, the envelope clasped in his hands, behind his back. As she watched, he reached up and put the envelope casually in his pocket, as if it contained something trivial and mildly unpleasant—a utility bill, a traffic