28. Klein
The Beach Clubis an upscale restaurant connected to Nautilus, the hotel where Shane and Sienna will be married. White tablecloths drape over tables, and the mirrored bar reflects the ocean back at us.
Paisley leads the way, weaving through the full dining room. At a table near the back, beside the streak-free glass window, sits a man with his back to us.
If I were waiting for people, I’d sit where I could see them.
“Dad,” Paisley greets, in a voice I’ve never heard before. Kind, but restrained. Polite. Crafted.
He stands when he hears her, depositing his linen napkin on his abandoned seat. “Paisley,” he says, offering a stiff hug.
The difference between the way he hugs his daughter, and the way my mother hugged his daughter, is stark. “Dad, this is Klein. Klein, this is my father, Andrew.”
We shake hands. “Nice to meet you, sir.”
“Likewise, Klein. Interesting name.”
I nod but stay silent. Not much can be said to me about my name that I haven’t already heard. The underwear jokes abounded in school. Kids can be cruel, and when it came to me, they had more than enough material. I would’ve been happy if my name was all they had to make fun of me about, but, well, that’s not the road I walked.
We settle in our seats, Paisley beside her dad at the square table, and me across from him. I’d pictured her dad as a titan, a captain of industry, but he’s a regular guy, a Joe.
Judging a book by its cover is supposedly frowned upon, but I don’t think very many people would take a look at this average-size man with a receding hairline and think it plausible he cheated on Robyn.
Andrew orders a bottle of cabernet for the table without asking if that’s acceptable to anybody else.
“So, Dad,” Paisley says after we’ve ordered appetizers and dinner. “How have you been?”
“Working my fingers to the bone.”
Figurative language, of course. White-collar fingers stay intact and silky smooth.
Paisley leans back in her seat and sips her wine. “How’s Perri?”
“Perri is fine.”
Paisley explains to me, “Perri is my dad’s administrative assistant. She’s been working for him for twenty years.”
“That’s… nice.” Lame, but what else am I supposed to say? Perri deserves a raise, no matter the figure of her current salary?
“Klein, what do you do?”
I’m surprised it took us this long to get to this point in the conversation. Here we go. Before I can say anything, Paisley answers.
“Klein is an author.”
I know Paisley is trying to save me from having another experience similar to the one I had with her mother the night I met her, but it’s fine. She doesn’t have to lie for me.
“An aspiring author,” I amend.
“Not for long,” Paisley shoots back. She looks at her dad. “My company recently launched a digital marketing campaign centered around Klein’s work, with the goal of creating and fostering his online footprint to appease an interested publisher.”
Our appetizers arrive, and I squeeze Paisley’s hand where it sits on top of the table.
“Nothing against your book, Klein, but Paisley, if you worked for me you wouldn’t be delivering overly curated sentences about making stuff up and posting it.”
Paisley’s eyes drop down to her plate of melon wrapped prosciutto. “That’s not what I do.”
“What is it that you do, Andrew?” I’m changing the subject for the benefit of everybody at this table. If I have to listen to him put down his daughter even one more time he won’t like what I have to say.
“I own a wealth management firm.” Pride creeps into his voice. “Remember the housing bubble? I saw it coming and I shorted it.”
He must assume I know what that means, but I don’t. Nor do I want to, so I nod along to keep him from explaining it to me.
“Made my clients very wealthy,” he continues. “And me, too.”
“Congratulations on the, uh, shorting.”
Paisley lets out a garbled laugh. Andrew releases a tight smile, his first one since we arrived.
“Paisley here could have followed in my footsteps, but she decided to have a rebellious phase.” He sighs, giving her a look, meant to let her know he is still disappointed in her. “I could have eventually given her the keys to the castle, but she didn’t want them. She wanted to move across the country, and take classes that wouldn’t get her anywhere.” His cheeks are rosy from wine. “Did she tell you she took creative writing, Klein? Not surprisingly, she did not like it.” He points at her with his wineglass. “Just like I told her she wouldn’t.”
I’m waiting for Paisley to stand up for herself, but she doesn’t do it. She only sits there, quiet, gazing out the window.
If she won’t, I will.
“Andrew, have you ever been to P Squared Marketing?
“What is that?”
The guy doesn’t know the name of his daughter’s business? Doing my best to keep my already low, but still plummeting, opinion of Paisley’s father from my tone, I answer, “The name of Paisley’s firm.”
He glances at Paisley over the rim of his wineglass. “No.”
“You should visit her sometime and take a look at what she’s built.”
“I’m waiting for her to come to her senses and join me in my business.”
“I won’t,” Paisley says, her voice small but firm. “I love what I do. The people I help.”
“You can help people by managing their wealth.”
“Before Klein, I had a client who owns three local coffee shops and was struggling to connect with her customers, and?—”
“It’s coffee,” Andrew interrupts, “how hard can that business be? People are already addicted to your product.”
“That’s not what this woman saw for her business. She wanted an inviting environment, a meeting place, friendly faces and employees and patrons who developed rapport. But she didn’t know that was what she wanted, only that something was missing from her business. My team and I helped her figure out her vision, and use it to show people what she had to offer.”
Watching Paisley speak, gesturing with her hands, it’s clear she’s passionate about what she does. I have so much respect for that, for someone who loves what they do.
“That’s nice, honey,” Andrew says patronizingly. He’s not giving up, he’s merely switching tactics.
A fire lights in Paisley’s eyes, and just when I think she’s about to tell her dad off, the fire dies.
Someone clears our appetizers, and our server appears with dinner. We eat quietly, awkwardly, until Andrew says, “Is your mother about done embarrassing herself with the man-child?”
“He has a name.” Paisley cuts into her steak with a little too much force.
“I don’t care about his name.”
Andrew went from patronizing to petulant. I think we know who the man-child really is.
“Mom’s happy.” Paisley chews her bite.
“Your mother isn’t happy. She’s throwing the world’s longest fit.”
Paisley takes another bite and avoids eye contact. “You’re divorced.”
“What’s that?” He angles an ear toward her, but I’m betting he heard her just fine.
Paisley places her utensil on the table and attaches her gaze to his. “You’re divorced.”
“And whose fault is that?”
My fork clatters to my plate. Under the table, Paisley stomps on my foot. A warning.
“I’m not the one who was caught with my tongue down the neighbor’s throat,” Paisley says cooly. Andrew’s nostrils flare.
“Is this your doing?” He spears a bite of steak and points his fork at me. “This attitude of hers?”
“No, sir. I believe this is your doing.”
The muscles in his cheeks tighten.
Paisley continues. “I know you’re sad. I know you’re alone, and all you do is work. But you’re only hurting yourself by acting this way.” Paisley’s tone is soft but firm. Respectful, but take no shit. “Of your three children, I’m the only one who came here tonight. Think about that. Sienna and Spencer aren’t busy. They just don’t offer themselves up as your punching bag like I do. But even I will eventually stop doing that.”
I’m so proud of her I could applaud. Maybe stand up from the table, slow-clap, make a show of it. I wouldn’t dare, because Paisley would be embarrassed, but I want to show her what an accomplishment this is.
Paisley pushes to her feet, grabbing her purse. I follow.
To her father, she says, “Dad, I love you, but I don’t like you. I haven’t for a while. It’s up to you to figure out why.”
Paisley strides away from the table. Anger turns the tips of Andrew’s ears red, but I’m betting there’s another emotion adding to the color. Shame.
That’s good. It’s okay to feel shame when you’ve done something shameful. It also means he’s not completely unaware of the effects of his behavior.
I catch up to Paisley at the hostess stand. She’s handing her credit card to the hostess and asking her to have the manager run the card. The baffled hostess hurries away, and Paisley turns to me, hand tapping the side of her leg.
“That felt good in the moment, but now I’m starting to feel scared.”
Slipping my arms around her waist, I pull her in and kiss her forehead. “If it helps, I’m so damn proud of you.” Gathering up my courage, I say, “If I had the opportunity to look my dad in the eyes and tell him off, I would. In a heartbeat.”
Paisley’s eyes widen. “You never talk about your dad.”
“I know.”
“Ms. Royce?” A man in a pressed white shirt extends Paisley’s credit card.
She steps from my arms to take it from him and slide it back into place in her wallet. “Thank you.”
His brows furrow. “Is everything alright?”
“Yes,” she answers, using a pen from a cup on the hostess stand to sign the check. “The service was fine. The food was delicious. The view was spectacular.”
His head tips as he tries to understand. “What was the problem?”
“The company,” Paisley responds, tossing down the pen. “Have a nice night.”
Paisley strides out into the balmy evening. We’re nearly to the golf cart when someone calls her name.
She whips around, seeking out the voice in the lighted area strewn with golf carts.
A woman walks closer, her sandy brown hair pulled into a bun. She looks familiar, though I’m certain I’ve never met her. I notice Tag climbing from a cart and put it all together. This is Shane and Tag’s mom.
“So lovely to see you again, Rebecca,” Paisley says, arms open for a hug. She pulls away, saying, “This is Klein. My boyfriend.”
We shake hands, and I see where Shane got his eyes and nose. Tag, too. I offer him a wave as he strolls up behind his mom, and he does the same.
“It’s good to see you, Paisley. I always liked you.” She places a vertically held hand beside her mouth like she’s telling a secret. “Kind of weird that Shane’s marrying your sister.”
Paisley laughs. “Agreed.”
“Mom,” Tag gusts a sigh. “You promised you weren’t going to say stuff like that.”
“I promised not to say stuff like that to Shane.”
Tag looks apologetically at Paisley. “I’ll have to rework the wording on that promise.”
Rebecca shrugs. “Too bad. No retro-fitting.”
Tag shakes his head. “We’re going to miss our reservation if we don’t get in there. I had to donate a kidney to get the ocean view.”
Rebecca hugs Paisley again. “Wouldn’t want that donation to be for nothing. Good to see you again, Paisley. Nice to meet you, Klein.”
They head inside, and Paisley hands me the keys to the cart. “Back to the house, but I don’t want to go inside. I want to sit on the beach and decompress before I face anybody.”
We arrive back at the place, but I ask Paisley to wait for me while I run inside and grab something. I’m back five minutes later with a glass Tupperware dish, two forks, and a bottle of wine.
Paisley claps her hands. “Is that cowboy spaghetti?”
Adopting a terrible twang, I say, “Sure is, darlin’.”
Paisley kisses my cheek. “All you need are boots and a hat. Klein the cowboy.”
She grabs a beach blanket from the second row of the golf cart, and we carry our haul out onto the beach.
“Another day gone.” Paisley plunks down on the blanket after she has spread it out.
I lay out the food and drink as she stares at the fraction of sun visible on the horizon. She grabs a fork and removes the top from the Tupperware, bending her head to inhale. “Smells just like I remember.” She twirls the fork and loads spun noodles on her utensil. She sighs happily while chewing, capping off her huge bite with, “Tastes like I remember, too.” She takes a few more bites and passes the container and fork to me.
While I eat, she says, “I wish they would all leave my happy place alone. Why did my dad have to come here and bring all that up? Real life stays on the mainland. This island is for the good life, and the good life only. My sister shouldn’t be getting married here.”
I swallow. “Maybe it’s her happy place, too?”
“Whose side are you on?”
“Always yours. But I wouldn’t be much of a friend if I didn’t offer ways to see or think of something differently.”
Paisley bumps me with her shoulder. “What’s the deal with your dad?”
I knew this was coming. I’ve only managed to avoid it this long because Paisley has been respectful of my boundary, careful to step back when she has sensed she came too close.
I set down the nearly-empty spaghetti container. Here we go. “Growing up, I had severe dyslexia.”
Paisley blinks in surprise. She stays silent, waiting for me to continue.
“I know you wouldn’t think that considering how much time I spend around books. I worked really hard to overcome it.” I look out at the dark water, easily seeing my dad’s face, feel his presence as he stood over me at my desk. “Overcoming it was the easy part. It was the time leading up to the diagnosis that was painful. It was caught a little late, in the second grade. I’d listen to the people around me and memorize what they were saying about a book. I came up with ways to work around the fact that when I looked at a word, the letters mixed themselves up. But then it started to show up in math, because we had word problems. My grades were really bad, and I remember the way my dad stood over me when I was doing homework. He’d watch me attempt the problems, and it made everything worse.” In my mind’s eye I see my small fingers trembling with a yellow pencil in my grip. “He was cruel. He’d ask me if I was an idiot. If I was blind. He once asked my mom why she gave him a son who was stupid.”
Paisley gasps, lifting a palm to cover her mouth.
“I know. It’s terrible. What he said. How he acted. He left soon after that. I felt like it was my fault, but my mom said he was doing us all a favor. Anyway, she’s the real champion in this sad story. She went through the process of getting me an IEP. She got me accepted at a school specifically for dyslexia. It was expensive though, and even with help from the state it was nearly impossible to pay the remaining portion of the tuition. She did it, though. I don’t know how. When I think of what she must’ve went without”—stinging starts in the backs of my eyes—“knowing how she sacrificed? It makes me want to find my father and look him in his eyes and tell him he didn’t win. He’s the loser in all this.”
“He is,” Paisley insists passionately.
“I know.”
“Have you heard from him since he left?”
“Here and there. My mom had sole custody. He paid child support until we turned eighteen.”
“When was the last time you saw him?”
“I ran into him at a high-end car show. He was there with a friend. A woman.” I see him easily now, what he looked like that day. The way the event brochure stuck out of his back pocket, curved inward by his hand before he tucked it away. I’d known it was him immediately, even from the back. “He looked unhappy, and all I could think was that he’d done it for nothing. What was the point of him running out on his family if he wasn’t even going to be happy?”
“Did you speak to him?”
“No. He looked up and saw me. He nodded at me.” I pull the cork from the wine and take a drink from the bottle. “He just nodded.”
To this day, I cannot decide if I’m happy he left me alone, or horrified.
“What the hell is that?” Paisley says, voice raised. “If I thought I was invested in marketing you before? Now I’m doubling down. We’re going to make you a published author, Klein.” She stabs at the ground with a pointed finger. “And I’m going to find your dad’s address, and I’m going to send him a copy of your first book. With a photo of my middle finger.”
I can’t help but smile at her stern eyebrows, her ardent expression. “It’s sweet the way you’re defending me.”
“Nobody gets to treat you that way, Klein. Nobody. And I’ll gladly find your father and tell him he missed out.”
The half-moon sends an arc of light on Paisley’s face. Her eyes steel like a warrior, a woman with internal fortitude and strength, ready to engage in battle. I reach for her, caging her in my arms. She holds onto me, trusting me as I guide her back onto the blanket. Leaning on one forearm, I gaze down at her, drinking in the beauty in her face and in her soul.
“I like the way you want to stick up for me.”
She frowns. “I don’t like the idea of someone being unkind to you, even if it was almost twenty years ago.”
“I didn’t care for how your dad belittled your job tonight. Among other things.”
She nods, and her hair settles on the blanket. “I could see how difficult it was for you to stop yourself from saying something.”
“You stomped on my foot just as I was about to lose it.” Using a fingertip, I brush aside a piece of hair from her forehead. “You did a good job holding your own.”
“It was the first time I stood up to him like that.” Her eyes search my face. “It felt so damn good.”
“I’ll bet.”
Paisley’s head turns, her gaze finding the ocean. The waves lap at the shore, the most soothing of sounds. She’s quiet for a full minute before she says, “How do you feel about kiteboarding tomorrow morning?”
“Kiteboarding?”
“A big kite pulls you over the water while you ride on a board.”
“Hmm.” I don’t love the idea of not knowing what’s underneath me, but I’m fast becoming addicted to Paisley’s smile when she introduces me to another of her beloved island activities. “I’ll do it,” I confirm.
“Klein?”
“Yeah?”
“I’d like you to kiss me for a while. And then later, when we’re going to bed, don’t even pretend to sleep on the air mattress we know is going to deflate.”
My heart expands in my chest. “As you wish.”
I do exactly as she’s asked.
How could I not?