Page 4 of House of Clouds


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She hardly heard his words because her mind had tripped up on the name “Tamzin.”

“Who’s Tamzin?” Did her father have a relationship she didn’t know about? After all, her mother had been dead for nearly twenty years. It was past time. Still, the thought of it made her uneasy.

“Tamzin? She’s Tom’s girlfriend.”

It was the relief that made her laugh. She was nearly giddy with it, even as she berated herself for it. Her father deserved to have a woman in his life, after all. “Tom has a girlfriend?”

“Tom always has a girlfriend,” said her dad. “Well at least that’s what the girls think. Women. I keep forgetting that you two are adults now.” He turned to her now, the spatula in his hand. He gave her a clownish grin. “Though you’ll always be my little girl.”

She snorted. “I’m a bit too tall to be considered little, let alone a girl.” Her height had meant that she could look in the eye any man more than an inch or two under six feet. One factor that had kept the men in her life down to a minimum. That and other things.

“How long have they been going out?”

Her father considered for a few moments. “Six months? I think. She’s some kind of glass artist from Boston. They met at an exhibition she had down here.”

She nodded. So it could be serious. Tom hadn’t had that many relationships that were serious. At least she thought not, since in the years since she’d left she hadn’t heard about any. Or met anyone on her fleeting visits. His last one, to her knowledge, had been when he was in college at NYU, when he’d been with Sally, his long-term girlfriend from Somerton Lake. And Sally was now a plump, happily married mother of three who lived with her husband, Joe, in the next town. No lingering heartbreak there.

The back door opened and Ethan walked in, clad in a leather jacket and jeans, a full-face motorcycle helmet under his arm. No glasses today. His hair, a casualty of the helmet, stuck out at odd angles. The ludicrous picture it presented did nothing to dispel his good looks or the shock Kate felt at seeing Ethan stroll in her back door.

“Morning Frank,” he said. “Kate.”

Kate, suddenly conscious of how of her appearance, looked down at the hole-filled overlarge T-shirt with her father’s store logo, which matched the one her father wore. It now sported a faint maple syrup stain in addition to the holes. At least her dark gray sweatpants, though faded, weren’t too embarrassing.

“Hey, Ethan,” said her father. “Have you had breakfast yet? I’ve got more bacon if you want it. Or I could easily whip up a few pancakes. There’s some batter left.”

“No thanks, Frank. I’m good,” he said, setting his helmet on the table and taking off his jacket. “Tom asked me to come over early to help with the setup.” Ethan looked at his watch. “He should be here soon.”

Kate sat speechless, taking in the exchange, its familiarity setting her off kilter even more. Not to mention the worn leather jacket, so obviously expensive, and the watch. Vintage Patek Philippe. A watch that should be insured and placed behind collector’s glass. She knew that Ethan came from a prominent New England family, but she hadn’t realized how prominent.

“You came on your motorcycle, then,” said her father, serving up some bacon on a plate and handing it to Ethan. He pulled out a chair at the table and pushed Ethan into it. “Eat.”

Ethan gave him a wry look and took the proffered seat. A fork was placed in his hand.

“Do you want Kate to pop over to your house and pick up the wine and beer?”

Ethan put a forkful of bacon in his mouth and shook his head. “No,” he said after he swallowed. “It’s all in hand. Zig is bringing it later.”

Kate forced herself to take another bite of her pancakes. Anything to convince herself and the other two that she didn’t find this unnerving. That the exchange didn’t fill her with a multitude of feelings, some of which she couldn’t bear to even examine. Not to mention that this exchange she’d just witnessed seemed to emphasize how much she wasn’t an integral part of her father’s life. She didn’t want to consider why it was upsetting that it was Ethan who seemed more familiar with her father’s everyday minutia.

“Congratulations on your exhibition,” said Ethan.

She looked up to find he was regarding her closely. She opened her mouth to ask him how he knew about her show, but shut it before she could say a word. Her father, of course. Or maybe Tom. They seemed like good buddies. Both thoughts confused and angered her at the same time. For so many reasons. Reasons she really didn’t want to resurrect.

Before she could answer Tom burst in the house, the door slamming open against the wall. His arms were full of grocery bags, his chestnut hair shaggy and tousled. “Morning,” he said from behind the paper bags. “Coming through.”

“Put them down over there,” said her dad, guiding Tom to the vacant space on the smooth pine kitchen counter.

Tom moved toward the counter, revealing the petite woman behind him. “Hey, Mr. W,” she said. She greeted Ethan. She looked at Kate and beamed. “You must be Kate. I’m Tamzin.”

Kate nodded, almost overwhelmed with the vision Tamzin presented. She wasn’t like any of the other girls Kate remembered Tom dating. Her rust-colored baggy sweater and olive-green baggy pants made her caramel-colored skin glow and set off her golden-brown doe-shaped eyes. All this was amplified by the nose stud and the glorious dark hair braided into piles of tiny plaits gathered at her neck and hanging down to her hips. Tamzin’s whole persona shouted statement.

“Hi, Tamzin,” Kate said. “Nice to meet you.”

Ethan rose from his chair. “Let me help you unpack that, Tom. Frank, why don’t you go relax? We’ll see to the rest in here.”

Her father nodded and headed out of the kitchen.

Kate rose, too. She was done with breakfast, regardless of the half-finished state of her pancakes. It was time to get herself out of here. “I’ll just change a minute and be down to help.”

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