reflection.
In the glass, his arms came down, one hand rubbing over his mouth. “Probably not.” The words were muffled.
“We’d better have curtains, then.” When she turned around, the doorway was empty. She found him sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace, surrounded by his work, a clipboard in his lap. He didn’t look up.
“Did you get everything you need?” His voice was rough in the empty room.
“Yes, thank you,” she said. She took a deep breath, trying to comprehend his sudden change of mood. “There’s some furniture at this cool store, Arts and Crafts period, that would work well. A bed.”
“Buy whatever you want. Just save the receipts so I can turn them in.”
Vessa wanted to retort with something sharp, to make him look up from his work and see her. They’d had a moment, something shared after midnight, intimate, and now he was ignoring her. She stepped through the door, and as she pulled it closed, his low voice murmured, “Be safe.”
She drove home with prickly skin, off-kilter and refusing to be self-conscious that he’d seen her with wet hair, in her pajama top and no bra. Back in her apartment, she slid out of her jeans, crawled under the covers, and slept another eight hours until the muffled ring of her phone at the bottom of her backpack woke her.
“Hullo?” Vessa’s mouth tasted like she’d been sucking on a grapefruit rind.
“How are you, sweetheart? Is the condo working out for you?”
“Daddy.” She dragged herself from the bed, glaring at all the open packing boxes marked Kitchen—Fragile! none of which held her coffee maker.
“Did I wake you? I always forget the time zone difference.”
She filled a mug with water and set it in the microwave. “I’m not in California, Dad.” She unwrapped the teabag from the packet containing soy sauce and a fortune cookie that came with her take-out last night. “I’m here. In Burlington. To stay.”
She hoped, anyway, blinking at the morning sunshine streaming through the huge windows that looked out over the little city. In the distance was the bright shimmer of Lake Champlain. Her apartment was perfect, light and space and hers .
“Really?” The delight in her father’s voice warmed Vessa to her bones.
“Yes. I couldn’t get work out there. And I wanted to be closer to Nana and Grampa.”
“Oh, honey, that’s terrific. We could go out and visit them together. Sometime soon.”
Soon meant July. He was still playing by the rules. “I might go earlier than that.”
“That’s fine,” he said. “You do that.” He spoke to someone on his end, a polite exchange, before asking, “So where are you?”
Vessa told him about her apartment, and Manny’s store. “I sublet the condo in L.A. It costs the same,” she said. “I’m not making any money on the deal or anything.” She was at least obeying the letter of the arrangement, if not the intent.
“That deal is between you and Celeste,” he said. “I have no dog in that fight.”
“No, it’s between her and my mother. And I am the dog in the fight.” The microwave beeped, and she dropped the teabag into the cup. The water hissed and bubbled as it swallowed the sachet, a cruder brew than Donna Edith’s elegant potions.
“You know how I feel about all of this, sweetheart. I will back you up, whatever you decide to do.”
“Well, I got a job. Two of them. Pizza Piazza—” She waited while he expressed his approval for their calzones. “And I’m decorating a guy’s house.”
“A guy?”
She dipped the bag up and down, watching the water grow russet brown. “He’s an architect.”
“What firm?”
“Bergman and Bjorg, or something like that.”
“Bjorn? Bergman and Bjorn? Jesus, Vess.”
“You know of them?” She mashed the swollen teabag against the side of her cup with the spoon.
“Yes. I do. They do work all over the state.” He had moved to another room, where his voice echoed differently. “Are you working for
In the glass, his arms came down, one hand rubbing over his mouth. “Probably not.” The words were muffled.
“We’d better have curtains, then.” When she turned around, the doorway was empty. She found him sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace, surrounded by his work, a clipboard in his lap. He didn’t look up.
“Did you get everything you need?” His voice was rough in the empty room.
“Yes, thank you,” she said. She took a deep breath, trying to comprehend his sudden change of mood. “There’s some furniture at this cool store, Arts and Crafts period, that would work well. A bed.”
“Buy whatever you want. Just save the receipts so I can turn them in.”
Vessa wanted to retort with something sharp, to make him look up from his work and see her. They’d had a moment, something shared after midnight, intimate, and now he was ignoring her. She stepped through the door, and as she pulled it closed, his low voice murmured, “Be safe.”
She drove home with prickly skin, off-kilter and refusing to be self-conscious that he’d seen her with wet hair, in her pajama top and no bra. Back in her apartment, she slid out of her jeans, crawled under the covers, and slept another eight hours until the muffled ring of her phone at the bottom of her backpack woke her.
“Hullo?” Vessa’s mouth tasted like she’d been sucking on a grapefruit rind.
“How are you, sweetheart? Is the condo working out for you?”
“Daddy.” She dragged herself from the bed, glaring at all the open packing boxes marked Kitchen—Fragile! none of which held her coffee maker.
“Did I wake you? I always forget the time zone difference.”
She filled a mug with water and set it in the microwave. “I’m not in California, Dad.” She unwrapped the teabag from the packet containing soy sauce and a fortune cookie that came with her take-out last night. “I’m here. In Burlington. To stay.”
She hoped, anyway, blinking at the morning sunshine streaming through the huge windows that looked out over the little city. In the distance was the bright shimmer of Lake Champlain. Her apartment was perfect, light and space and hers .
“Really?” The delight in her father’s voice warmed Vessa to her bones.
“Yes. I couldn’t get work out there. And I wanted to be closer to Nana and Grampa.”
“Oh, honey, that’s terrific. We could go out and visit them together. Sometime soon.”
Soon meant July. He was still playing by the rules. “I might go earlier than that.”
“That’s fine,” he said. “You do that.” He spoke to someone on his end, a polite exchange, before asking, “So where are you?”
Vessa told him about her apartment, and Manny’s store. “I sublet the condo in L.A. It costs the same,” she said. “I’m not making any money on the deal or anything.” She was at least obeying the letter of the arrangement, if not the intent.
“That deal is between you and Celeste,” he said. “I have no dog in that fight.”
“No, it’s between her and my mother. And I am the dog in the fight.” The microwave beeped, and she dropped the teabag into the cup. The water hissed and bubbled as it swallowed the sachet, a cruder brew than Donna Edith’s elegant potions.
“You know how I feel about all of this, sweetheart. I will back you up, whatever you decide to do.”
“Well, I got a job. Two of them. Pizza Piazza—” She waited while he expressed his approval for their calzones. “And I’m decorating a guy’s house.”
“A guy?”
She dipped the bag up and down, watching the water grow russet brown. “He’s an architect.”
“What firm?”
“Bergman and Bjorg, or something like that.”
“Bjorn? Bergman and Bjorn? Jesus, Vess.”
“You know of them?” She mashed the swollen teabag against the side of her cup with the spoon.
“Yes. I do. They do work all over the state.” He had moved to another room, where his voice echoed differently. “Are you working for
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