Chapter 11 Henry
Chapter 11
Henry
The clinking of glasses and aroma of Jean-Paul’s cooking have Henry believing that things are normal. They’re in the gourmet kitchen, where Jean-Paul holds court behind the cooktop, slicing and dicing. They spend some time talking with the Cassidy woman and her daughter, Rosalie. Henry hears Lucy’s therapist radar blaring—the mother knocking back two glasses of champagne in under ten minutes, the daughter cloaked in layers of black clothing and dark makeup.
He scans the table and sees the envelopes that greet them each year with the menu and accompanying recipes. “Can I peek?” he asks Renée.
She smiles, though it’s more subdued than usual. “Anyone else, I’d say no,” she says.
Lucy’s lost in conversation with the mother-daughter duo; her red-rimmed glasses match the deep color of her lips. When he picks up the envelope, his phone rings. He should decline, but his mother has progressed from texting to calling, which means something, and he steps out of the room.
Before he can greet her, she’s rambling. He sucks in his breath and smooths a wrinkle in his linen pants. “I understand.” He doesn’t, but he’s trying to remain calm. “But we’re away. It’s hardly the time or place—”
“You’re going to have to face him at some point,” Dominique Rose-Wall replies. She is nothing if not blunt. “You can’t hide away forever.”
He’s been trained to compartmentalize. His life has two distinct sides—only a handful know about his father, and nothing about his unexpected release. “Please, it’s really a bad time.” It will never be a good time. His father betrayed them in the worst possible way. His hero, his mentor, the man he had trusted most in the world. He clenches his eyes shut, banning the hurt from coming closer.
Lucy finds him, her hair pulled back in a dark braid, emphasizing the blue of her eyes. Her gaze grabs hold of Henry, telepathy kicking into high gear. Like a pit bull, she sniffs out any situation.
He should hang up, but Lucy’s probing stare is worse than any conversation. This is what ultimately tore them apart: his father’s deception and the layers of humiliation they were left to wade through.
“Are you there?” Dominique asks.
He’s there, but he isn’t. His work at the Fernbank Science Center’s planetarium means feet planted on the ground with a head hitched to the sky. The sky means comfort from an antagonizing world, this embarrassing problem. With an eye trained on the stars through the lens of his Celestron telescope, he can disappear.
“I’m here.”
“He’s waiting. Please do this, Henry.”
Lucy’s eyes sear his skin, but it’s his mother’s voice that draws him away. The shakiness reminds him of a time when they were a family, and conversations centered on philosophy and finance, the Panthers and the Hornets. They were once so close, playing chicken in the pool or shooting baskets in the driveway, but now his mother’s plea reeks of desperation, all they’ve lost.
“I can’t.”
He gently taps the screen to end the call, his mother’s last words muffled.
“What was that about?” Lucy asks.
He gives her a sidelong glance. “Nothing.”
If he wants to avoid an argument, nothing is the worst possible response. Nothing has upended seemingly pleasant afternoons, initiated multiple blowups, and slammed several doors. He waits for the canned responses, the ones she uses on her clients. It’s never nothing. This is why you’re here—to talk about the nothing. But this time, she only laughs. If Henry were a betting man, he’d say the chuckle was a white flag, a small sign of defeat. Or maybe she, too, is nervous about what waits for them at the table.
To drive that point home, they enter the kitchen as Sienna and Adam waltz down the stairs. Seeing them, all smiles and affection, it’s hard not to feel as though he’s failed, that the expectant life that once stretched ahead has gone astray. It’s impossible not to compare.
What do they have that he and Lucy didn’t?