Chapter Ten
On Sunday, Cassie and her father went to meet Andrew at the Stamford train station.
She hadn’t said anything about the suspension, and her dad hadn’t questioned the sudden visit near the end of the term—she doubted he had a sense of the school calendar—but he’d been in high spirits ever since Andrew called and said he would come up Wednesday morning.
When she came back from her run, her dad was already dressed and ready to go, even though the train didn’t get in for hours.
Now he was anxiously scanning the tracks. “You said he’d be here at eleven-fifty. It’s eleven fifty-four now.”
She smiled at his impatience. “Should be here any minute.” Shelly had two girls, who he dutifully loved, but Andrew held his heart.
Andrew, with his grandfather’s deliberate view of the world, who could discuss cars for hours on end or huddle with him over his workbench, painstakingly taking apart an old clock radio.
Even when Cassie couldn’t bring herself to come home, she would bundle Andrew on the train to Connecticut for summer camp with Grandpa.
Her father would take off a couple of weeks and the two of them played mini golf, went to the beach and tinkered in the garage.
Andrew was still good about calling her father but had confided lately that conversations with Grandpa had become difficult.
A lot of the same questions and last time he’d forgotten where Andrew went to school.
“I told him Tulane,” Andrew said, “but he asked me again five minutes later.”
When the train lumbered into the station her dad heaved himself out of the car. “There he is!” He waved heartily to Andrew, who was making his way down the platform with a clutch of other commuters.
Andrew raised a hand in greeting but even from a distance Cassie could tell he was down.
He stowed his bag in the trunk and gave them both a hug, but in the back seat he stared out the window with a tightness in his jaw.
He had Phil’s dark hair and fair skin, but looked peakier than usual, like all the sunshine had been drained out of him.
“Grandpa wanted to go to Bobby’s,” Cassie said. “Is that okay?”
“Bobby’s is fine,” he said without much enthusiasm.
Bobby’s was her father’s favorite place, a no-frills diner on Laurelton’s main street, where he used to take Andrew for hamburgers and orange soda.
It had been their go-to place for ages, long after nicer, trendier restaurants opened up.
Bobby’s was frozen in time, run by the same family for decades.
The name scrawled in neon, the blue awning faded.
No restaurant would be allowed a neon sign in Laurelton these days, but Bobby’s was a relic.
So out of date no one would hear of changing it.
The tables were Formica, the menus plastic, but people called ahead for the meatloaf and pies.
Her dad loved Bobby’s with an unwavering devotion, and whenever he took Andrew out for a treat, they always went there.
They settled into a vinyl booth and her dad ordered two orange sodas. “For me and my grandson,” he told the waitress.
Andrew hadn’t said much since he got off the train, which wasn’t like him.
He was usually a talker, at least when it came to friends and school and the latest car he found interesting.
He could talk up a storm about that kind of thing.
Not so much his feelings. But now he was quiet, which Cassie didn’t like.
And he had dark circles under his eyes too.
“How were things at Dad’s?” she ventured. She’d been a little surprised he’d only stayed three nights.
“Okay.” Andrew fiddled with the saltshaker like he used to do when he was little. “We went for sushi one night, then the next day he had to work late, so I just hung out. Last night we had dinner with Natalie and her kids.”
“Who’s Natalie?” her father said.
“Phil’s fiancée, Dad.” The word fiancée sounded ridiculously fluffy.
It conjured up bridesmaids and rehearsal dinners.
The man was fifty, for God’s sake. And honestly, with everything going on with Andrew, Phil could have spent a couple of nights alone with him without dragging Natalie and the kids along.
“How was that?” she said, hoping to sound noncommittal.
Andrew shrugged. “They’re kind of annoying. They’re like five and seven. The little one, Kyle, kept having to go to the bathroom.”
“Phil’s getting married?” her father said. “You didn’t tell me that.”
Cassie nodded wearily. “I did, Dad.”
“When?” He frowned at her like the whole thing was her fault.
Which maybe it was. She’d been inattentive to her marriage, she realized that now.
She and Phil had started out with such high hopes, newly minted lawyers ready to conquer New York.
It took two to do daily battle in Manhattan, and they were a well-oiled machine.
Even after she dialed back her career to work for the city, they still had it figured out.
He researched private schools; she remembered the doorman at Christmas.
They’d always been good partners, but somewhere along the way that’s what it became—a partnership.
Sure, they had sex every so often, but it had been years since they’d strolled along the river holding hands.
She should have carved out time, insisted they get off the treadmill once in a while.
Phil’s hours were impossible, at the beck and call of clients.
And even her job demanded she work late sometimes.
Maybe no one’s marriage could prosper in a place as ravenous as New York. Hers certainly hadn’t.
“The wedding’s in October,” she said.
Andrew twirled the salt, knocking it over this time. “I meant to tell you…Dad asked me to be his best man.”
Her heart, which she’d thought was immune at this point, cracked open just a little bit more.
Of course Andrew would be in the wedding.
It would have been unthinkable of Phil to leave him out.
But still. The thought of her son standing up in a tux, toasting Phil and his new bride made something wilt inside her.
She summoned a smile. “Where are they having it?”
“The Pierre.” He scowled. “But I told him I didn’t want to.”
“You did? What did he say?”
“Doesn’t matter. I’m not doing it.”
“Andrew, I think you ought to. He’s your father.”
“The Pierre?” Her dad, who’d been studying the menu even though he always got the same thing, tuned back in. “Your mother and I went dancing there once. They had a good piano player. I remember that.”
Andrew looked confused. “You and Mom?”
“Your grandmother.” Even with her worry over Andrew, Cassie couldn’t help smiling.
“On your anniversary, right?” She’d heard the story before, only they’d gone to the Waldorf, not the Pierre.
But she wasn’t going to correct him; at least he remembered the dancing.
“I think it was your twentieth. Mom wore that fabulous blue dress.”
“I liked that dress.” Her father smiled mistily, then his smile faded. “Where is that dress? I haven’t seen it in a while.”
“I don’t know.” Likely donated years ago, but no point going there.
“I need to find it.”
“I tell you what, when we get home, I’ll help you look. Okay?”
He twisted his napkin. “That was her favorite.”
Cassie stroked his hand, which seemed to calm him. “I’m sure we’ll find it. It’s got to be in a closet somewhere.” Sometimes a memory sparked like this, briefly intense before it flamed out. He would likely forget about the dress by the time they got home.
She felt a twinge of apprehension. Her appointment with the genetic counselor was four weeks away. In a month she would know one way or the other. She hadn’t said anything to Andrew yet, too hard to have this conversation over the phone. But he was here now. They needed to talk.
She was relieved when the waitress arrived with her pad. “Let’s order,” she said.
Andrew and her father ordered hamburgers, and Cassie got a Caesar salad. “And two orders of fries,” her dad said. Thankfully, he’d already forgotten about the dress.
“So how’s school?” he asked Andrew once the food arrived. He’d divvied up the fries so each of them had the same amount, even though Cassie protested she’d never eat that many.
Andrew took a drink of soda. He looked worn out.
That horrible accident and then the suspension and now whatever was going on with his father.
It seemed like every word, every bite of burger was an effort.
She would run him over to Dr. Milburn. That was what she’d do.
She wouldn’t let him talk her out of it.
“School’s okay.” Andrew gave her a despairing glance, but her father, removing the pickle from his burger, didn’t notice.
“I don’t like these.” Her dad set the pickle aside. “Why do they put them on?”
“Some people like pickles, Dad.”
“What are you studying?” her father said.
“Um…just regular stuff, a philosophy class this semester…”
“Philosophy.” Her dad brightened. “That’s a good foundation for law school. Are you thinking of law?”
“Dad, he’s only a sophomore.”
“Never too early to think of the future. I got through college in three years.”
Andrew toyed unhappily with his fries.
“It was the fifties,” Cassie said. “Things were different in those days.” She hoped her dad wasn’t going to start on his “loop.” What he’d studied in college, where he’d worked after law school, how much money he’d made. All that stuff was buried deep.
“Andrew’s smarter than I was at his age.” He beamed at Andrew approvingly. “He could finish in three years.”
“I’m not that smart,” Andrew mumbled.
“Sure, you are.”
“There’s no reason to rush through college,” Cassie said. Andrew looked like he wanted to crawl under the table. This definitely wasn’t the time to grill him about school.
“I need to urinate,” her dad announced.
“Do you want Andrew to show you where the restroom is?”