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I look down at her hands and she drops them hastily. “Please don’t do that—I really don’t want you to say anything; it wasn’t that big a deal.”
“Was he rude to you?”
“No!” she cries, obviously lying. “No, no, he just…” She’s backing toward the door, making sure I can’t get past her. “I must have surprised him.”
I shift in place, wondering how much I should say.
“It’s my fault. I told him you were staying here, but he was—“ (drunk)“—tired at the time.”
“Right, yes, totally get it…,” Theo says, her back pressed against the door, her body a barricade, “but I shouldn’t have gone over there and woken him up.”
We face off, all the words unspoken swirling in the air. Theo isn’t stupid, she knows what’s going on.
“It’s probably best if you don’t visit him,” I say at last. “He’s not doing very well.”
That’s the understatement of the decade.
But Theo gets it.
“Of course. I’ll just let him have his space.”
“Thank you.” I let out a breath that releases the pressure in my chest. “Thanks for understanding.”
Theo nods. After a moment, she says quietly, “My dad used to drink. Before he left us.”
I give a quick jerk of my chin, acknowledging reality, even while my heart rejects that my dad could be anything like hers.
“My dad wouldn’t leave us. And I’m not leaving him.”
Theo gazes at me steadily, unblinking, unjudging. “Is that why you’re doing all this?”
The gesture of her small hands seems to encompass my expensive suit and worn shoes, the clock on the wall revealing the lateness of the hour, and Theo herself, living in my house as part of this elaborate plan.
“Yes,” I say simply and firmly. “I’m going to pay off what’s left on the house so my dad always has it, even if he’s drowning at the bottom of a bottle. I’m going to keep floating Reese when he’s between paychecks, even if he’s down to singing telegrams. I’m going to make enough money that I won’t give a shit the next time someone calls me Rocko Rocks because I’ll be laughing all the way to the bank. And I’m going to get you your restaurant, Theo, whether it’s a diner or a fancy French chateau, because I may not be nice, but what I am is relentless. I don’t give up. I don’t quit. And I don’t go back on my word.”
“I believe you,” Theo says softly. “And you can believe in me. We’re in this together.”
It’s not hard to believe in Theo with the evidence of her genius all around me. Not to mention, sitting in my stomach.
And even though I know she’s repeating back what I said to her, it feels good to hear it.
I’m not alone. Not right now.
“Good,” I say. “Then give me another piece of that pie ‘cause it’s the best thing that happened to me all day.“
The warm, buttery pie truly is exceptional.
But as Theo heaps another slice on my plate, I can’t help thinking that the real best part of my day, the moment that shone brightest, was when Theo opened the door, face flushed with steam, that dark streak under one eye.
“What are you smiling about?” she says.
“You look like a baseball player.”
Theo peeks in the closest mirror and squawks with annoyance.
“Why didn’t you tell me I have grease on my face?”
I didn’t tell her because I didn’t want her to wash it off, which is exactly what she does, scrubbing with a cloth until she’s clean again.
