46. Henry
46
HENRY
I’ve never been less excited for something in my life.
After dropping Amelie off at her apartment, dread settled around me like a fog. I drove home as slow as humanly possible without causing problems. The only positive thing I can pinpoint about being home is that Liz lives across the hall. Maybe she can give me a heads-up as to what’s going on.
I’m a ball of nerves when I knock on her door. She steps out, donned in a fuzzy purple unicorn onesie, and gasps.
“HEN! You didn’t tell me you were coming back!” She rams into me with a hug, her bony elbows jamming into my arms. “Can you please tell me why Dad is losing it?”
Off to a great start, I see.
“I’ll work on that later,” I mumble, going across the hall. I unlock my door and step inside, greeted by Betty, who rubs all along the hem of my pant legs. “Has he been around?”
“No.” She drops onto my couch and scoops Betty into her lap. “But he’s been ringing me like crazy. I answered one singular call and got told off, so I’m over it. He asked where you were, what you were doing, why I didn’t tell him, and about a thousand other things.”
“Can I borrow your phone to call him? I blocked him.”
She blinks. “You did ?”
“The other day, yeah.”
She seethes and hands over her phone. “Yikes.”
“No kidding,” I mutter. I send a text that says Henry is home, because he’s much more apt to answer if he thinks he’s talking to Liz.
It only takes a few seconds for his response to come through.
Dad
In the lobby. Be up in a moment.
“He’s downstairs,” I say through an exhale. “He’ll be here soon.”
Liz nods and grabs a package of cookies from my cabinet. “I’ll be here for moral support.”
“I don’t think he’s going to want you in the room.”
“Don’t care,” she says, and I leave it at that.
It’s only a moment before Dad walks into my apartment. I left it unlocked on purpose, but I still expected him to knock, at least as a warning.
“Henry, Elizabeth,” he says, nodding to the both of us.
I’m in no mood for formalities.
“You used to be an art thief.”
Dad’s eyes lock onto mine, and he looks confused. I know it’s a ploy—it must be, but still, it unnerves me.
“What are you talking about?” His voice isn’t panicked. It’s frustrated. “Why would you say that?”
“It’s the truth, isn’t it?”
Not giving him my reasoning is a bad idea, but I don’t have a choice. I refuse to make mention of Amelie’s parents. I’ll be vague until I can’t, which unfortunately may be sooner rather than later.
“I don’t understand,” he says flatly.
I take a breath. “You have my Ophelia. You’ve had it the whole time.”
His brow wrinkles. “You’re lying, right? I finally got the image reports back from your apartment. It’s someone named Jensen Velasco.” He pulls his phone out and turns it toward me, revealing a photo of Amelie’s friend. With the way my dad is sneering, you’d think he discovered a mugshot, but that isn’t the case. The photo is casual, candid, like something you’d see on social media. “That’s the man.”
“That’s not true,” I say with full confidence. “You’re lying.”
“Henry, don’t test me. It’s the same man. I’ve got multiple image match-ups. You’d know this if you hadn’t blocked me.”
“You’re lying.” I shake my head. “You’ve been lying?—”
“ I’ve been lying?” He smiles, and I know I’ve messed up, but I’m not quite sure how. “Son, do you really think I believed you were at a convention? I’m not stupid. I know you were with Amelie. I know she’s burrowed deep in your mind, and that she has been for years, whether you’ll admit it or not.”
This is going to ruins much quicker than I’d planned.
“So that’s why you cut our calls,” I say, tired of holding back. “That’s why you broke our connection. You did that, and still, you don’t know why I’m angry.”
“I know that you’ll never believe a negative word about her again,” he says, grasping onto the subject change. I’m annoyed enough to let it work. “So why are we arguing? What is it that she’s got you believing?”
“Nothing that I don’t believe on my own.” I take a breath. “You have my Ophelia , and you sold Lover of Mine. Don’t bother trying to lie to me.”
Dad gives a deep, condescending laugh. “How would you know that if she hadn’t told you? Lover of Mine wasn’t on the open market; I looked for it when I noticed it was gone. You’re believing her lies, Henry, and you don’t even realize it. She could probably convince you that you’re the one at fault.”
I shake my head. “I don’t believe you.”
“And that’s your weakness.”
“Disbelieving someone who cares very little about me?”
“No.” He gives a sad sort of smile. “Trusting someone who cares even less.”
I swallow. All of this, it’s part of his plan. It must be. He’s trying to plant worry in my mind about Amelie. About all of this. He knows that I trust her, and he knows that she’s figured it out.
I just wish he’d give it up. I don’t understand why it has to drag on this way.
“I’ve given you everything,” Dad says, his voice laced with venom. “I’ve put all my money into you. Into your work and into the museum. And you don’t care. Your work is displayed because of me, and still, you’d rather believe the girl who’s had her claws in you since?—”
“ Don’t ,” I say firmly. “This isn’t about her.”
Dad raises his eyebrows, looking amused. “So that’s what happened the other night, hm?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “What are you talking about?”
“When you punched those men at Bondi’s. Did they make a remark toward her? Or was that on your own free will?”
My mouth falls open. “What did you just say?”
He smiles. Truly smiles. “You really didn’t think I’d find out?”
“ How did you?—”
“Henry,” he says, almost condescendingly. “I own Bondi’s.”
And all at once, everything clicks into place.
The loose details. The pieces of information that didn’t quite make sense, they add up now.
He’s done pretending.
“So it’s true,” I breathe. “Everything. All of it. You were a thief. You’re still a thief.”
“Don’t accuse me of things that you clearly don’t care about,” he says, pointing a crooked finger in my face. “If you can excuse your girl’s career, you can excuse my doing the same thing.”
I take a step forward. “ She hasn’t lied to me. Not about what she does or who she is. She didn’t send me on some wild goose chase because—“ I stop. Look at the ground. “Why are you even doing this?”
“For money,” Liz pipes up from the kitchen, and I jolt. I forgot she was even here. “Mommy dearest told me about the bills.”
Dad’s jaw tightens. “Elizabeth.”
“She said you’re in the hole, bad. The bail from forty years ago is coming back to hurt you, I guess.” She shrugs nonchalantly. “The tax evasion isn’t helping, either. Maybe if you were ever home, she wouldn’t let these things slip to me, but…”
“ Elizabeth ,” he scolds, and Liz smiles like she’s won the lottery.
I feel a little foolish for not connecting these dots.
I’ve always known business was in decline. That’s never been a secret. But his bail…it was money that we’ve never truly made up for. I’d be willing to bet that a good chunk of Dad’s wallet has also gone to getting his crimes covered up. Once, out of curiosity, I tried to look up his arrest reports online, but I never found them. The only thing that appears under his name is the museum.
“We’re done here,” I say again, my voice weaker than I’d prefer. “This can be over. Just give me my work back, and?—”
“No.” He cuts me off. “I don’t think I will. We’ll speak after the auction, Henry, and at that time, I will turn you out on your own.”
I swallow, trying very hard to focus only on that last part. That’s fine. That’s what he doesn’t understand. Being on my own is not a threat in the slightest, but I don’t want this to hurt Lizzy or my mom in any way.
“Me,” I emphasize. “You will turn me out on my own. This will not come back on Liz or Mom.”
“You have my word on that,” he says, as if it means anything at all.
I exhale and shove my hand into my pocket. “When is the auction?”
“This Sunday. Eight o’clock. If you’re there…” He shakes his head. “Don’t be.”
“You asked me to bring Amelie. Is that void?”
“Yes. I’ll deal with her myself.”
“I have to be there,” I continue, arguing just for the sake of it. “It’s an artist exhibit.”
“I’ll make an exception.” Dad shakes his head and walks out of my apartment, slamming the door behind him.
I stand in the middle of the floor, frozen in disbelief.
What am I supposed to do now?
“That was awkward to sit in on,” Lizzy says, pulling herself up onto my countertop. “What was all that ?”
I ignore her question. “Was that all true? About the money and taxes?”
She nods. “Yeah. Mom’s doing terribly, Hen. The last time you saw her was a good day.”
I chew on my lip. “How long does he have?”
“Until something big happens?” She shrugs. “Personally, I’d say a couple months, give or take. But based on the way Mom was crying, it could be tomorrow.”
My heart twists at the thought of my mom crying over his mistakes.
“I’ve got to get my work back,” I mumble, sitting at my kitchen table. “If only just so he doesn’t have it any longer. I don’t care what it takes.”
“You’ll get them. You’ll think of a way. Just be careful.”
“I will,” I say, though that probably isn’t the truth. I haven’t been careful in a while.
Liz slips off the counter and puts the cookies back in my pantry. “Oh, before I go. I’ll send you the link to my old Prada bag. Betty peed on mine, so I’ll be expecting another. Also she’s out of treats.”
I force a laugh. “Bye, Lizzy.”
“Fill me in on the trip later,” she says, throwing me a look over her shoulder as she leaves.
Once the door clicks shut, I drop my face into my hands and sigh. What is there to do? If I know my father at all—and I’m afraid that I do—he’ll have the auction hall locked down, with specific instructions not to let me in.
Or it’ll be easy. Too easy. There’s no reality where this goes smoothly.
Sighing, I lug my bags into my room and vow to unpack later. Knowing that Amelie will be here in a few hours to discuss this makes it a little more bearable. Maybe she’ll have some ideas on how to solve this whole thing. If anyone can work through this insanity, it’s her.
Finally, after a few minutes of standing completely still, I bite the bullet and go to my studio. The thought of even looking inside is harrowing, but I have to know if he’s taken all of my work, or if it’s only fun when it’s a game for him.
I unlock the door, and I’m shocked.
Childlike Wonder is on my easel.
Suspiciously untouched, except for an ace of hearts tucked against the grain.