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“It’s just… Russell’s so smart—all my kids are. They get it from their moms. But I was always terrible at school, I never went to college.… I thought that this was my way of contributing something. So that I would almost get to be there too, the only way I could…”
I shook my head. “It’s not stupid. I just think that maybe… you should be telling this to Russell.”
Wylie flashed me a smile. “I always knew you were smart.” He shook his head. “I know I messed up. But I’m a parent. And you start out protecting your kids from everything—baby-proofing the house and making sure their laces are tied tight. And it’s not like that goes away, even as they get older. And if you can step in—it’s really hard not to.”
I suddenly flashed back to the note Gillian had attached to the Stanwich College brochure—the way she’d reached out to me, extended a hand for a fresh start.
Maybe it hadn’t been a bribe, or a trap. Maybe it had been a gift, imperfectly wrapped.
Wylie looked down into his cup. “Want another?”
“Um.” I glanced at mine. “Yes? But just fill it halfway? I like a little coffee with my milk.” He laughed at that and picked up my mug, navigating around the ever-hopeful dogs as he made his way back to the coffee maker.
I glanced outside, to the day that was dawning over Nevada, the light starting to stretch across the pool. Wylie returned to the table with a half-filled cup of coffee and a bottle of whole milk. I poured some into my cup as Wylie sat back down at the table.
“I do need to make sure I talk to him, so we can clear the air before he goes home,” Wylie said, and I didn’t have to ask which he Wylie was talking about. “You never leave a fight unresolved, you know?”
I nodded, even though I was thinking about Gillian and the things I’d said to her over the phone, the way I’d hung up on her.
“What?” Wylie asked, mug halfway to his lips as he looked at me.
“Oh—nothing,” I said quickly, wishing once again that my expressions weren’t quite so easily read on my face. “I just… kind of had a fight with my mother last night. And we didn’t—you know, resolve things. That’s all.”
“Ah.” Wylie sipped his coffee. “Is your mom in advertising too?”
“Oh—no. She’s in HR. She wanted to be an actress, but it didn’t work out. And she and my dad are divorced.”
“That’s hard,” he said softly, turning his mug in his hands.
“I know. But I promise I’m fine.”
“No,” he said, looking up at me. “I mean—I’m sure you are.” He gave me a quick smile. “I don’t doubt that. You seem more than fine, and with a stellar musical education, to boot. I just meant…” He took a big breath, then let it out. “It’s hard not to achieve your dream.”
This was so unexpected that I just blinked at him for a moment.
“I’m the lucky one,” he went on. “And I know it. I get to do what I love, and I’m thankful every day. But three steps in the wrong direction, a missed alarm clock, a bad show…” He snapped his fingers. “Poof. Just like that, all this never happens.”
“But it did happen.”
“But it doesn’t for most people. Just think about all those songs we never got to hear. My first bassist—”
“Dustin Henry,” I said automatically.
Wylie grinned at me. “I bet my own kids wouldn’t have been able to make that pull. I knew I liked you, Darcy.”
“Call me Fitzwilliam.” He laughed at that. “Dustin Henry?” I prompted.
“Right! Dustin quit the band before we hit. He wanted to sing his own songs, thought we were holding him back.” Wylie shrugged. “But then he was never able to make it happen, and I saw it eat him up. If you go off and chase your dream, the longer it doesn’t happen, the harder it gets. And then to go home and admit you failed—that one is hardest of all, isn’t it? To accept you can’t do the thing you want to do the most.”
I shook my head automatically, already starting to push back against this in my mind. But even as I was trying to deny it, I realized I’d never once thought about this from Gillian’s point of view. “It’s just…,” I started, as I heard loud, clompy footsteps from upstairs.
“Where is my towel?” someone yelled.
“The hordes descend,” Wylie said, shaking his head.
“Thank you for breakfast.”
Wylie smiled at me. It was the smile I’d seen last night, the one that seemed real, not a trace of rock star in it. He raised his mug to me. “Thanks for the conversation.”
