The Moon and More (28 page)

“Clyde grew up on a dairy farm, Theo.”

“And went on to be a successful artist in New York. He’s no stranger to money, if the names of the collections that have bought his work are any indication.” He nodded at
Modern Coast
, the large, glossy book with pictures of many of Clyde’s paintings that I was flipping through. “He’s seen fancier than this, I promise you.”

“Maybe in New York,” I said. “But this is Colby. It’s going to be a distraction.”

“I don’t think you give him enough credit,” he replied. “It’ll be fine.”

Now, I glanced over at Theo, who had studiously avoided eye contact with me since Clyde’s arrival. Which, sure enough, had been followed by him insisting on the full house tour, during which he expressed awe, shock, and amazement over everything from the crown molding to the large soaking tubs in every bathroom. I kept quiet. Nobody likes to hear “I told you so.”

“Emaline,” Clyde called out now, gesturing at the long, double-story-height windows beside him, “you have any idea what the window budget was for this place?”

“No, can’t say I do.”

“Had to be at
least
one hundred and fifty, I’m guessing,” he mused. “I mean, you look at how much glass and it’s already gonna be a lot. But the sizes of these big ones? And the shapes of some had to be custom—”

“We get it,” Ivy said loudly, cutting him off. “The house is grand and opulent, entirely excessive, and therefore we are offensive for living in it. Can we talk about your work now?”

He looked at her, surprised. I think we all were. So far, Ivy had played all of Clyde’s games, from reading Irma Jean Rankles to, most recently, enduring a hands-on fish-cleaning tutorial he insisted was crucial for understanding of his collage technique. Now, suddenly and finally, she’d had enough.

I expected Clyde to get up and leave, or at least fire back.
Instead, for the first time I could remember on camera, he smiled. “You think I’m saying you’re offensive?”

“I think,” Ivy replied, “that considering how much you talk about wasting money, you have absolutely no problem with wasting time. Especially mine.”

Yikes
, I thought. Now Theo did look at me, both of us totally on edge. I was beginning to wish I’d eaten lunch at the office.

“I’m wasting your time,” Clyde repeated. He was still smiling. In fact, he looked more comfortable than I’d seen him so far in this entire process.

“From day one,” Ivy replied, clearly emboldened now. “It’s one thing if you have no respect for your own work. But by diminishing the value of both our passion for it and the project we are making
out
of that passion, you insult us both. And frankly, I’m tired of pretending otherwise. So if you want to talk about windows, or countertops—”

“Tell me what you want to know,” Clyde said. “Right now. Tell me.”

Ivy leaned forward, over the clipboard in her lap. “Why did you leave New York and stop making art?”

A beat. Then another, before Clyde replied, “I sold a painting for a half a million dollars. It made me sick to my stomach. I was twenty-seven years old and I didn’t know who I was anymore.”

Silence. All I could hear was the ocean outside. When I swallowed, it sounded deafening. Ivy said, “This was
Terns
?”

“Yeah.” Clyde picked up the book I’d been looking at earlier and flipped through the pages. It was weird for this to be the only noise in this huge house. He found the page, then
looked at it for a long moment. “It’s canvas, ground shells, plaster, some tubes of paint. You think that’s worth a half a million bucks?”

“I think it was the centerpiece of your first solo show. I think it put you, officially, on the map as one of the rising stars of the art world at the time.”

“You’re not answering my question.”

“I’m not sure I understand it.”

Clyde looked back down at the photo, and I realized I was holding my breath. “The last year before he sold the farm, my father made thirty thousand dollars. And that was a
good
year. Farming is back-breaking, soul-killing work. His body was ravaged by the time he was sixty.”

Nobody said anything. Outside, some kids were running along the water, a kite bobbing over them. Clyde lifted up the book, turning it so Ivy could see the picture. “Canvas. Ground shells. Plaster. Paint. It was like an insult to him.
I
felt like an insult to him.”

From where I was sitting, the photo was just a blur of grays and blacks. Ivy studied it for a moment. “But you were his son, and that was your work. You were getting paid for it. He could have taken it as partially his accomplishment as well, no?”

No
, I thought, at the same moment that Clyde shook his head. It would have been the same with my own parents. No matter how proud they were, that much money would change the balance, not only affecting how they viewed me but also making them assume I viewed them differently as well. Even if I didn’t.

“If I stayed in New York and lived that life, making that
kind of money from then on, I knew I’d become an asshole,” Clyde said now. “But turning away and coming back here … that made me one, too. I couldn’t win.”

Ivy said, “But you did come back.”

“Yeah.” He looked out the window at the kite bobbing, barely visible above the deck rail. “And I’m such an asshole.”

No one contested this. Not then, and not in the next half hour that I remained there, watching silently as they continued to talk. Clyde said a lot more about his work, his choices, his regrets. Glimpses here and there of things he might have done differently, or not, like a collage of words instead of materials. He didn’t speak to anyone but Ivy. He didn’t take breaks or ask questions about the house. And at one o’clock, when I slipped out the door to go back to work, I was pretty sure he didn’t even notice.

When I pulled up at the office, my father’s Subaru—recognizable by both color and its Connecticut plates—was parked right outside. I passed the open space beside it, which I would have taken otherwise, and parked around back instead. Then I came in through the supply room, as quietly as possible, so I could see what was going on.

As it was early afternoon on a Monday, things were pretty slow. My grandmother was on the phone, Rebecca sat picking at a salad at the front desk, and my mom was nowhere to be seen. I could hear my father in Margo’s office, so I dodged it, ducking into my grandmother’s instead, where I slid into a chair that gave me a clear view while still being hidden myself.

“Rolo?” she asked me, nodding at a half-open pack on the corner of the desk. I took one, sneaking a quick look at Margo, who was now getting to her feet as my father did the same. As they left her office and headed for the door, she suddenly glanced over, spotting me, and I ducked back out of sight. But not quickly enough.

The front door of the office swung shut. A moment later, though, I could just
feel
her in my grandmother’s doorway, even with the file cabinet solidly between us. “What
is
it with you two? He’s not a monster, you know.”

My grandmother grabbed another Rolo. “He’s not Santa, either.”

“Who else is hiding from him?” I asked.

“Your mother,” they said in unison. My grandmother pointed at me. “She was in that same spot until he turned his back long enough for her to escape.”

“Personally, I’m thrilled he’s here,” Margo said, adjusting her purse. “We’re going to North Reddemane to look at that house. If it’s half as nice as he thinks, I’m looking at a good chance for a decent commission.”

“It is,” I told her. “I was just there last week, when I was hanging out with Benji.”

“Is that the little boy that was here?” my grandmother asked.

“My half brother. He’s ten.” I looked at Margo. “Where is he now?”

“I sent him out with Morris,” Margo said.

“With who?”

“Morris,” she said, as if this was just the most normal
thing you could do with a child. “What? He stopped by looking for you, the kid was bored, and we needed to talk business. I gave him ten bucks, told him to go get ice cream or something.”

Ice cream. She would not have had to tell him twice. Morris would do about anything for a fudge ripple from the Squeeze Serve.

“What I need from you,” Margo continued, “is to keep an eye on him while we do this house thing, then bring him back to North Reddemane. Say, in an hour or so.”

“What?” I said. “I have a job to do also, you know.”

“Babysitting for a client who might make the agency money
is
your job,” she replied. “Besides, he’s your brother, Emaline. Honestly.”

She turned, heading out of the office, and my grandmother watched her go, an amused look on her face. I pulled aside the nearby blind, looking out at my father, who was standing by his car, squinting in the sun. I knew it probably did look weird I’d gone to such lengths to avoid him. But ever since I’d discussed everything that had happened between us with Theo, the thought of seeing him made me more nervous than usual. It was one thing to be angry with him; that, I could handle. Pitying him, however, was an entirely new ball game, one I was not up for playing. At least not yet.

Once the coast was clear, I went outside just in time to catch Benji and Morris darting across the main road, ice cream in hand. “Squeeze Serve, huh?” I called out. “That’s a serious Colby delicacy.”

“Morris said fudge ripple is obligatory,” Benji informed me.

“He used the word ‘obligatory’?”

“Any other flavor’s for punks,” Morris told me, pretty much confirming my suspicions. “Is Margo still inside? I have her change. But it’s not much. Squeeze Serve ain’t cheap.”

“She went to North Reddemane, to see the house,” I told him. “I’m supposed to bring Benji back up there in a bit.”

“I can take him, if you want,” Morris offered. “I need to go to Gert’s anyway.”

“Yeah!” Benji said. “I can show you my magic set, like I told you about.”

I looked at Morris. “You have a car? Since when?”

“Ivy said I could take the van. She wants me to go buy up all their milk crates, or something.”

“Ivy?”

He turned, glancing at me. “Theo’s boss. Remember her?”

“Yes, of course.” I hated when anyone made me feel stupid, but when it was Morris it burned especially. “I just didn’t realize you were still doing work for her.”

“When she needs it. Which seems to be a lot lately. Seems your boyfriend’s not much for heavy lifting.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” I muttered.

Just as I said this, the top of Benji’s cone rolled off and down the front of his shirt, leaving a smear of chocolate sauce behind it. “Whoops,” he said, and Morris snorted. Boys.

“Bathroom’s inside, just down the hall and to the right,” I told him.

“Right,” he said, handing off the cone to me. I held it at arm’s length, not wanting to risk my own shirt, as Morris and I sat down on the steps to wait for him.

“Thanks for taking him,” I said. “I’m sure he loved it.”

“He’d never been before,” he replied. “Every kid needs a Squeeze Serve.”

I thought of Theo, with his Cheez Doodle. It was a summer of firsts, apparently. “He’s a good kid.”

Morris nodded, not replying. We sat there a moment, just watching the traffic, before he said, “He knows about the divorce, you know.”

It took me a minute to understand. “What? When did they tell him?”

“They didn’t.” He leaned back, resting one knobby elbow on the next step and folding the other behind his head. “But he’s not stupid. He can tell what’s going on.”

“He told you that?”

“He told me his parents are splitting, that his dad is moving out when they get back.”

I thought of Benji, feeling a pang in my stomach. “God. That sucks.”

Morris shrugged. “He doesn’t seem too broken up about it.”

“I doubt he’d tell you if he was. He just met you.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, “but when you go for Squeeze Serve with someone, it’s a safe zone. What’s said there, stays there.”

I looked at him. “I think that’s Las Vegas.”

“That, too.”

I rolled my eyes, leaning back beside him. I had no memory of my father with my mother, and therefore no feelings when it came to thinking of them apart. But my mom with my dad—that was different. Even when I was ten, and they’d been married only a few years, to lose my sense of my immediate
family would have been devastating. If I was honest, actually, it wouldn’t be much easier now. Then I thought of something.

“You were around that age, right?” I asked him. “When your parents split?”

“Nine,” he replied.

“I think it’s going to be hard for him,” I said now, keeping my eyes on the sky overhead. “You know?”

“Maybe,” he said. “Or maybe not. Staying together isn’t always better.”

He didn’t elaborate. Morris wasn’t much on talking about his past—or anything, really—but from what I’d been able to cobble together, his life had been a lot different before the divorce. His parents owned their house and he spent a lot of time with his dad’s extended family, most of whom lived in Cape Frost. I’d even seen a few pictures of him with a black cat, obviously a beloved pet, in the one box of photographs they kept on their coffee table. He’d never mentioned any of these things, though. Like when the marriage ended, they did as well.

I nudged his foot with mine. “You know, I’m going to miss you.”

“I’m just going to Gert’s,” he said.

I sighed. “I meant in the fall, moron.”

I heard the office door chime sound, then footsteps. A beat later, Benji appeared, looking up at us. “You guys sunbathing?”

“Something like that,” I said, getting up and handing him his now-melty cone. “You ready to go?”

“Yep. I got some Rolos for the ride.” He held out his hand, showing me. “Want one?”

“Nah,” I said, ruffling his hair. Like always, he leaned into me slightly, like a dog. “Thanks, though.”

“Morris?” Benji asked.

“Heck yeah. Toss me one.” A Rolo went flying over my head and Morris grabbed it. “Thanks.”

The candy tossing, and other stupid behavior, went on pretty much all the way to Sand Castles. Having two sisters, I wasn’t used to so much boy around me all the time. By the time we pulled into the driveway, I was more than ready to be rid of them.