I can’t avoid her forever, so I turn around, trying to piece it all together in a way that won’t drive her away immediately.
“I’m just thinking about you, Landry, about your happiness. I’m just thinking about how hard it is with school, and work, and a baby. It’s hard.”
“I already know that,” she sulks.
“Do you, though? How could you know?”
She takes a breath and sits up straight, trying not to seem like a disagreeable child, I know. She is taking this adult thing very seriously.
“I do know. People do it all the time. What I don’t know I will figure out.”
“I know you will,” I answer gently. “But it’s going to be really hard. You’re going to end up totally overworked, totally responsible for everything. Remember how tired Mom was all the time? After Dad died? I mean, it won’t be exactly like that...”
“No, because I will have you!” she adds brightly, the humor hollow in her voice.
“Of course you will, sweetie,” I sigh, unsure what else to say.
Dinner is over, and the conversation withers and falls away. But for now, what else is there to say? Landry covers her mouth and yawns hugely, and finally excuses herself to go to bed. Even though I feel like I didn’t get anywhere with her, I don’t have any reason to keep her here, so I just kiss her good night.
Chapter 13
Maxwell
The Tesla needed to be driven more, was my excuse. As though taking the Mustang to Sunny’s cottage meant the Tesla had been somehow neglected. I knew it was ludicrous, but there you have it.
On the highway, I could hit eighty in just a few seconds, which is really impressive for an electric engine. It felt good to see other drivers glancing at me with surprise, wondering what kind of car this is, realizing what it represents.
The miles flew by, but after circling on-ramps and off-ramps, I realized I had driven myself in a sort of spiral that ended up in Clarissa’s neighborhood, coincidentally. At first I drove on the street parallel to hers, but somehow here I am, just past midnight, stopped outside her front door. A parking spot happens to be available, right there. It’s fate. What can I do.
I knock softly, reaching between the security bars to the door glass. I don’t want to ring the bell. Landry is probably asleep. But I saw a light somewhere within the house. Maybe she is still awake.
It isn’t long before I see her shadow in the hallway beyond. My chest tightens. She opens the interior door and we stand there with the bars of the security gate separating us.
“I have an idea,” I say before she can object.
Scowling, Clarissa opens the security door without a word and stands aside, her arms crossed. She’s already dressed for bed, in a long, purple robe cinched tightly at the waist. Through the open collar, I can just make out the scallop of a bit of lace.
“All right, just hear me out,” I begin quickly, before she can kick me back out onto the sidewalk. “Sunny seems fine, I know, but she really could use some help. She loves that house and giving it up must mean it’s more than she can manage. If we are listing the cottage and she’s moving, it’s a big job.”
“All right…” Clarissa murmurs, her voice wary.
“What if Landry went to live with her? Get her out of the city. No one would know where she is. Sunny wouldn’t have to ask for help. Everyone could breathe easy and clear their heads.”
Clarissa opens her mouth as if to object, then closes it again. She purses her lips, reminding me of our kiss again.
“You told Sunny about my family?”
“Okay, I know what you’re thinking,” I interject, trying to head her off. “But Sunny has no involvement in this. She would never judge anyone—in fact the more outrageous the situation, the better. And she loves to help. She loves to have an audience, you know that.”
“Yes, I suppose so…”
“And what else are you going to do, bring Landry to work with you every day?”
Clarissa winces, and I know she is thinking of Landry’s bruises again. It’s almost impossible not to. That poor girl has already been through so much.
To my surprise, Clarissa pivots and shuffles toward another room. Since she didn’t tell me to leave or call the police, I presume I am supposed to follow her. In the darkness, illuminated only by the streetlights that filter through the front window, she finds the sofa in the middle of the room and folds herself into a corner of it.
“It could work,” I hear her murmur.