Chapter 4
The next evening, I sat in the back of the children’s theater while my daughter practiced for Alice Through the Looking Glass .
I was checking email when a gentleman sat down a few seats away, and I glanced up long enough to see an attractive man impeccably dressed in an expensive suit, clearly not off the rack.
His black hair was cut stylishly, and his face looked as if it’d been chiseled out of granite by a master sculptor.
It was hard to tell his age, but I’d have guessed within a couple of years of my own thirty-four.
I nodded to him politely and looked back to my phone.
Five or ten minutes later, I heard my daughter’s voice, and I stopped what I was doing to watch her sing and dance around the stage. When her piece was over, the gentleman beside me said, “That may be one of the best illustrations of a mother’s love I’ve ever seen.”
“Excuse me?”
“I don’t have to ask if she’s your daughter, I could see it in your eyes.”
“And you are?”
“How barbaric of me. I am Abbott Hamilton.”
I don’t like giving out my last name to strangers, but he’d only need to look at a program to find it, so I gave a polite nod and said, “Kirsten O’Shea. Do you have a child in the play?”
“Heavens, no.” His smile looked both relieved and sad. “I am a benefactor of the theater, and I enjoy watching the plays come to life.” His speech was proper, with each word enunciated perfectly, but not annoyingly so.
“So this is like a hobby for you? I’m here quite a bit and I don’t recall seeing you around.”
“My time is generally spent in the adult theater, but I occasionally come to the children’s theater to watch. Your daughter is in Cats as well, is she not?”
“Yes.”
“You and her father must be very proud.”
He was fishing for information I didn’t want to give. I’d adopted Lauren as a single mother, so there was a biological father out there somewhere, but no legal father. Plus, my daughter doesn’t like for me to talk about her story.
I was about to say, “Yes, I’m very proud of her,” when Mister Hamilton gracefully moved us beyond my few seconds of silence to say, “I’m sorry to make presumptions. If her father is no longer around and I’ve brought you grief, I am sorry.”
“No need to apologize,” I said with a polite smile. “There’s no grief. I’m very proud of my daughter, but my pride isn’t so much for her grace or her beauty, or even her intelligence — my pride is because she’s a kind and generous soul who cares about the feelings of others. The rest is a bonus.”
Something about him set off my radar and made me cautious, and yet he seemed to project vibes intended to make me feel safe in his presence. I checked my shields almost constantly, but no one tried to probe them.
“What a wise mother you are,” he said, his face the perfect mixture of polite and friendly. “I am intrigued. I’ll be at the final showing of Cats Saturday night — would you like to join me in my box?”
The final weekend, the kids got to perform in the big theater instead of the children’s theater.
Since he was inviting me to sit in one of the boxes only available to generous benefactors, he must’ve been telling the truth about that part, at least. If he’d asked me to do anything else I’d have said no, but this seemed safe enough.
My parents and Xiaolan would be in the audience in regular seats, Lauren would be on stage, and I’d be in a big fancy box watching the show.
I’d ask what could go wrong , but I’ve learned not to.
“That is most kind of you, Mr. Hamilton,” I told him, for some reason feeling the need to copy his almost-formal speech. “I’d be honored to join you.”
“You’ll probably arrive early to bring your daughter and get her ready. If I see you before the ushers are in place, I’ll come get you, otherwise just tell them your name and they will bring you to me, Miss Kirsten O’Shea.”
Lauren skipped up the aisle, two-stepped down the row in front of us, put her knees in the seat in front of me, and looped her arms on the back of it. “I’m hungry.”
I laughed and resisted the urge to push a stray piece of hair away from her face. “Of course you are, you barely picked at your dinner. I have a banana in my purse, but you can’t eat it in here. Are they done with you, or did they just give you five minutes?”
She wrinkled her nose. “Five minutes. Do you have some water?”
I handed her a stainless sport bottle and told her she could eat the banana on the way home. She guzzled the water, handed the bottle back to me, told me she loved me, and took off for the stage again.
“She looks like she’s twelve or thirteen close up, but comports herself on stage better than most young adults. I have no idea how old she is.”
“She just turned sixteen, but I haven’t turned her loose to drive downtown alone yet.
Before I was a mom, I heard about the curse of having a beautiful daughter and thought it was silly.
Now, I understand it. When I was growing up, my dad was usually cleaning his guns on the living room floor when my dates picked me up.
I’m thinking of taking up a similar practice. ”
“I’m shocked a lady such as yourself would admit to having guns. It doesn’t seem very politically correct.”
“Are you one of those anti-gun people, Mr. Hamilton?”
“Please, call me Abbott, and no, I am not anti-gun. I was merely surprised you spoke so frankly about owning them. Most people in the theater tend to be against weapons these days.”
Not wanting to get into how familiar I am with guns, I asked, “What is it you do when you aren’t stalking the theater?”
“I own a few businesses, and I’ve put competent managers in place to run things. Other than putting out fires as they arise, I find myself with a great deal of leisure time. What is it you do, Miss O’Shea?”
I’m not one to get hung on Miss versus Ms. versus Mrs., but it felt as if he was still digging for information while not giving me any.
He didn’t tell me what kind of businesses he owned, did he?
It wasn’t the time to point that out, though, so I answered his question.
“Please, call me Kirsten. I’m a therapist. I specialize in couples and family counseling. ”
He raised an eyebrow. “The woman who is not married helps married couples stay together?”
I gave him a mischievous smile. “If you spend any time at all around me, you’ll discover I’m a plethora of inconsistencies.”
His laugh was pure joy, as if I were a wonderful novelty. “I would be delighted to spend more time with you, to make these discoveries for myself.”
Part of me thought that sounded nice, the other part of me was alternately screaming warning and danger .
I’d meditated that morning, again at lunch, and again as I’d first taken my seat in the theater.
The vampire encounter the night before had weirded me out, and I was keeping enough energy reserve on hand to take care of anyone who proved a threat.
I put my phone into my bag and excused myself, saying I needed to see to Lauren and double-check the schedule. I told him I looked forward to seeing him Saturday night, and he answered with, “Likewise.”
He stepped out into the aisle so I wouldn’t have to squeeze past him. He was nearly a foot taller than me, and my heart did a little hopscotch in my chest. I was certainly attracted to him, but also cautious.
After a few words with the director, choreographer, and acting coach, Lauren and I were on our way. She ate her banana while we talked about her day — high school can be brutal, but all I can do is offer suggestions for how best to handle the little clique stuff.
Xiaolan was watching a movie when we arrived home.
Her name is pronounced shee-ow-lon, though when said fast the xiao is kind of like shout without the t, and the lan is somewhere between lon and lan .
She’s started introducing herself as Sharon to non-Mandarin speakers, and this is what my parents call her.
Xiaolan is Chinese, and is living with us while going to the local university.
I’ve been friends with her big brother for years, and I was in China when they discovered Xiaolan hadn’t been accepted into the Chinese universities she’d applied for.
There are enough seats in all the colleges in China for less than ten percent of the graduating high school population, so only the best of the best make it in.
I’ve been told it’s easier to get into Harvard than it is to get into an unknown college in China.
Anyway, the family was upset, as this would drastically limit the things Xiaolan could do with her life. It crushed her dreams.
She wants to be a chemical engineer so she can try to help rein in the pollution problem in China, and it just so happens our local university has undergraduate and graduate programs in her chosen field.
I looked into it, worked through some of my contacts in the adoption world who know how to handle the red tape of both countries’ various customs offices, and managed to navigate through both the American and Chinese bureaucracies to help make it happen.
She’s here on a student visa, and lives with us while going to school.
Xiaolan keeps her bicycle at my office, as it’s only a few miles from the university.
She rides to work with me, and then rides her bike to class in the mornings.
In the afternoon, she brings her bike back to my office and takes a bus to within six miles of our house, and my parents pick her up and bring her home.