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Chapter Fifty-eight
“You’re late,” myfather said.
“Happy birthday, Dad,” I said in return, trying not to notice how gaunt he looked, and experiencing a moment of relief at the familiar greeting. I leaned in to kiss his dry, hollow cheek, feeling several days’ growth of unfamiliar stubble. My father had always been so fastidious about his appearance. “My God, how much weight have you lost?”
“Only a few pounds,” Elyse said, joining us in the front hall, looking very chic in black silk palazzo pants and matching satin shirt. “It looks like more because he didn’t shave today, said not shaving was his birthday present to himself.” She turned her attention to my children. “And how are my little angels?”
“Mommy and Daddy were fighting,” Daphne told her.
“They were?”
“That’s enough, Daphne,” cautioned Harrison. “We weren’t fighting.”
“They were having a discussion,” Sam explained.
“Ah, yes,” Elyse said knowingly. “A discussion.”
I handed my father the gift we’d bought him.
“It’s a book,” Sam announced.
“So I suspected,” my father said, not bothering to unwrap it.
“Your new one?” Elyse asked Harrison.
“No. That won’t be out for a while yet.”
“So exciting. May I ask what it’s called?”
“Maroon Sky.”
“Ooh. Sounds very intriguing.”
“I thought it wasDark Sky,” I said.
“I thought this was better. More evocative.”
“I agree,” I said, hearing footsteps approaching from the living room. I turned to see my sister. She was wearing a short, black leather skirt and a see-through leopard-print blouse over a black lace bra, a pair of spotless white sneakers on her shapely, bare legs.
“What’s going on out here?” Tracy asked.
“I didn’t realize you were here already,” I told her. “I didn’t see your car.”
“That’s because someone picked me up.”
Her smile told me that I didn’t have to ask who that someone was.
“You remember my son, Andrew,” Elyse said as my former lover entered the front hall.
He was wearing a light blue shirt and a pair of navy pants, and while he looked as handsome as ever, I felt a wave of revulsion so powerful at the sight of him that I almost lost my balance. “Harrison…Jodi,” he said. “Nice to see you again. And these gorgeous children must be Sam and Daphne.”
“I’m Daphne!” my daughter proclaimed.
Andrew—the man I knew as Roger no longer existed—knelt to her level. “Very pleased to meet you, Daphne. I love your dress. Is pink your favorite color?”
“I like pink, then yellow, then purple.”
“Those are great colors.”
