Текст книги "This is What Happy Looks Like"

Автор книги: Jennifer E. Smith

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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

Ellie was trying to remember the last time they’d eaten, and when she realized it was the melted chocolate back on the boat, her stomach growled too.

Graham stopped when they reached the first checkered table. “It’s like a mirage,” he joked. “Exactly how long were we lost at sea?”

The blue checkered tablecloths were almost completely hidden by trays of food: clams and oysters and shrimp, but also hot dogs and hamburgers and chips, potato salad and corn on the cob and chocolate cupcakes. Graham walked straight down to an enormous tray of lobster rolls, and the man behind the table—who wore a lobster apron they carried back at the shop—raised a pair of tongs and looked at Graham inquiringly.

“Want one?” he asked, and Graham gave Ellie a pleading look.

“Go ahead,” she said. “But let’s take it to go.”

“Don’t worry, I can walk and eat at the same time,” he told her, then added, “I’m very talented.”

“I’m sure you are,” she said, but she was distracted by a swell of murmurs that rippled through the knot of people to her left. She stood on her tiptoes to see what was causing the crowd to part, and when she did, her heart began to drill against her chest. She cast a frenzied glance back at Graham, but he was still talking to the guy in the lobster apron as he tried to separate two paper plates.

Ellie whirled back around, her mouth dry. There, not ten feet away, was her father. He smiled as he shook hands, looking more relaxed than usual in a red polo shirt and khakis, his salt-and-pepper hair ruffled by the breeze. He was tall and thin, towering over the crowd as he made his way through, and there was a photographer just behind him, snapping the occasional photo as he paused to admire a baby or pump someone’s hand with a sincere smile. But otherwise he was alone: no aides or reporters, no wife or kids.

Ellie’s knees locked as the number of people between them dwindled. It was clearly nothing more than a meet and greet, a casual public appearance, and he kept each conversation short, just a quick exchange of pleasantries while he worked his way through the crowd. As he drew closer, her mind whirred frantically, trying to find traction. But suddenly, she found she couldn’t remember anything: why she’d come, what to say, how she was supposed to act.

He was only a few feet away now, and the nearness of him was startling; until this moment, he’d seemed almost like a figment of her imagination, perhaps because of the number of times she’d pictured a scenario exactly like this one. But in those daydreams, she always walked right up to him, and they would look at each other with two pairs of identical green eyes, and he would know exactly who she was.

That, she realized, was why she’d come.

Not for the money. Not even just to see him.

It was so that he could see her.

There was only one person between them now, a man in a Red Sox cap who looked bewildered as the handsome senator clapped him on the shoulder. “What a day, huh?” he said with what seemed to be genuine enthusiasm, and the man raised a drumstick in an awkward salute, his mouth too full of chicken to respond.

The senator laughed, and his eyes shifted to Ellie. She found herself stiffening, bracing herself for—what? She didn’t know. Those matching eyes of his, green as sea glass, landed on her with a look of benign interest, and she could see that there was a little fan of wrinkles at the corner of each one, so small you didn’t notice them in the photos.

“Happy Fourth,” he said, extending a hand, and Ellie stared at it. She waited a beat too long before reaching out, half expecting to feel some kind of jolt. But there was nothing, only the warmth of his hand, which was a little sweaty as he shook hers.

The words died like bubbles inside her, one after another, all the many things she wanted to say. For a moment, she forgot about Mom and she forgot about Harvard; she forgot about his beautiful wife and the two boys he took hunting and fishing; she forgot about politics, his job, the very reasons they were wrenched apart in the first place.

The only thing she was thinking was, Can’t you see?

But on his face, there was nothing but a polite smile, utterly professional and almost entirely blank. When he pulled his hand back, Ellie’s stomach plummeted, and she looked down, vaguely surprised to find herself on solid ground. Out of nowhere, it seemed, Graham was at her side, balancing a paper plate in one hand. The lobster roll rocked like a small boat as he reached out to accept the senator’s hand.

“Happy Fourth to you too,” he said, and Graham smiled uncertainly, glancing at Ellie. But she was still watching her father. The look he gave Graham could hardly be called recognition—it was more like how you’d consider an old classmate you hadn’t seen in years and weren’t quite able to place—but even so, it was still something.

It was still more than the way he’d looked at Ellie.

She blinked, feeling dazed, but he only flashed a too-bright smile, looking beyond them to the next people in the endless series of handshakes and greetings. “Enjoy the day,” he said, but he was already moving past them. His photographer, a few steps behind, raised his camera to take a picture of them—not just Ellie and Graham, but the man in the Red Sox cap and the chef with his lobster apron and a few others who were standing nearby—but Graham’s whole body stiffened, and he threw a hand out in front of him. The photographer shrugged—confused but unbothered—then trotted after the senator into a sea of potential voters.

“Sorry,” Graham said, turning to Ellie. “I guess I’m still a little gun-shy after last night.”

But she didn’t answer. She just stood there, staring after her father, watching as he was swallowed up by a crowd of admirers. She glanced down at her empty hand, which prickled with the memory of his palm, and when she raised her eyes again, he was gone.

–Would it help if I told you another joke?

–Probably not.

–Okay.

–But… thank you.

They decided to leave the boat behind.

It was no doubt ready to be picked up by now, but neither of them felt quite up to the job of sailing all the way back to Henley, and though it had been a while since Graham had spent so much time on a bus, it seemed the far preferable option at the moment. It wasn’t that he was seasick exactly—if such a thing was even possible on solid ground—but the feel of the ocean was still with him, even after all these hours, a rolling sensation that made him feel shaky and slightly off balance. Even as they walked back toward the bus stop, the noise from the clambake growing distant, the road felt untrustworthy beneath his feet.

“It’ll be fine,” he was telling Ellie, who kept her eyes straight ahead. “I’m sure the production guys can pick it up tomorrow morning, and besides, they said they wanted it back in one piece, and I think there’s a much better chance of that happening if we’re not in it.”

She nodded in the same blank way she’d been nodding at him for the past ten minutes, with glassy and unfocused eyes that she refused to turn his way.

Not sure what else to do, he kept up a steady line of chatter that sounded nervous even to his own ears. “And anyway, I’m not sure how that lobster roll would feel about being back at sea,” he said, patting his stomach. “I mean, it was good, definitely. But you just never know with those waves—”

“Graham,” she said, and he looked over.

“Yeah?”

“Can we not talk about the lobster roll?” she said, though not unkindly.

He laughed. “Sure.”

At the bus stop, they sat on the wooden bench on the opposite side of the street from where they’d been dropped off earlier. It seemed like it had been hours ago, but Graham knew it couldn’t have been more than an hour, and probably even less. They were still weary and sunburned, but where before the journey had been urged along by a sense of gritty determination, they were now on their way back to Henley, where nothing good could await them.

Graham dreaded having to face Harry, who had been so patient with him last night, and who would surely have been told about the boat by now. He knew he should have stayed in Henley today. He should have faced the consequences and helped deal with the situation himself. But instead, he’d done what he always did: he ran away.

In his real life, it was admittedly more like hiding away, this specialty of his. It had become the worst kind of habit. He’d started to avoid everything, parties and press events and people in general, tucking himself away with only a pig for company. When his life had changed, the world rushed in and he’d responded in the only way he knew how: by creating a cushion between himself and everyone else, a distance that extended even to his parents.

It was easy to blame them. But the truth was, it was Graham’s fault too. He’d told himself they didn’t understand his new life, and then, instead of letting them in, he’d shut himself away. He’d mistaken loneliness for independence, and had become so good at closing himself off from the world that it took an e-mail from Ellie to remind him what it was like to have a real conversation.

She’d been so much braver than he ever was, marching into an unknown town to confront a father she didn’t remember, and who obviously didn’t remember her either. Graham’s parents lived only a short drive away, but it wasn’t until he’d made it all the way to the other side of the country that he’d finally done something about it, and now, it seemed, it was too late. The geography of the thing wasn’t the point; it didn’t matter where they were: there was still too much space between them.

But watching Ellie with her father this afternoon had struck at something deep inside him, something hollow and expansive that he hadn’t even known was there. Her face had been etched with such undisguised hope that he wished he could have done something to protect her, to shield her from what had unfolded. To look at one of your parents and have them look back at you with complete and utter blankness was unimaginable to Graham. He knew it wasn’t the senator’s fault—how could he possibly have guessed that this random girl in the crowd was his daughter, of all things?—but still, he’d burned with a quick and sudden anger. No matter how long it’s been or how far you’ve drifted, no matter how unknowable you might be, there were at least two people in the world whose job it was to see you, to find you, to recognize you and reel you back in. No matter what.

Now he inched closer to her on the bench. The silence between them—usually so full—felt empty and brittle, and he wasn’t sure exactly how to fix it. Up the street, the bus came into view, and there was a long hiss as it pulled to a stop in front of them. Ellie and Graham were the only two people waiting, and they climbed the steps slowly, weary travelers nearing the end of a long journey.

“Maybe it’s for the best,” he said once they were in their seats and the bus had lurched forward again. The ocean was on their left now as they headed back south, and Ellie leaned her forehead against the window. Graham wished he were sitting on the other side, wished that she would lean against his shoulder instead, but he knew she needed space right now. He could understand that better than anyone.

“You’re probably right,” she said, though it was clear her heart wasn’t in it. “It’s just kind of weird, you know? Ever since I was little, I’ve always dreamed about what it would be like to be a senator’s daughter. But I guess I never really thought about being his daughter.” She paused and shook her head. “That probably doesn’t make any sense.”

“Are you kidding?” Graham asked. “Do you know how many girls dream about me—” He hesitated when Ellie rolled her eyes. “I’m serious,” he said with a half smile. “But the thing is, it’s not me they’re actually dreaming about, you know? It’s the idea of it. And so the real thing is always a big disappointment.”

“In the case of my dad, yes,” she said. “But in the case of you…”

“Only a little bit?” he said with a hopeful grin, and she smiled.

“Only a little bit,” she agreed. “But you’re probably right. It’s for the best. Besides, if my mom ever found out I’d asked him for money without even coming to her…”

“You know,” Graham said, “I’d be happy to—”

“No,” she said, a bit harshly, then caught herself, realizing how it had sounded. “But thank you,” she said, her voice softer, and she gave him a rueful smile. “It wasn’t really about the money anyway.”

“It was about seeing him,” he said, and she nodded.

“I’ve been picturing that moment my whole life,” she said. “That wasn’t exactly how I thought it would go.”

“Really?” Graham said. “You never imagined shaking hands with him at a Fourth of July clambake?”

Ellie laughed, and then—because he couldn’t wait any longer—Graham lifted an arm and drew her into it, pulling her against him so that her head was on his shoulder, and they were both angled to the window, the ocean rushing by, a wavering ribbon of blue against the paler sky.

“Do you think I should have asked him anyway?” she said, and Graham shook his head, his chin brushing against her hair. “Or even just told him who I am?”

“It wasn’t the right moment,” he said. “You did what anyone would do.”

“Which was nothing.”

“You went there in the first place,” he said. “That’s something.”

“Doesn’t feel like it,” she said, then let out a hoarse laugh. “I actually believed this time too.”

“Believed in what?”

“The quest,” she said. “My dad.”

Graham’s eyes moved to the window, the sun flashing through the trees. He thought again of the way her father had looked at her, the empty greeting and absent smile, and then he pictured his own dad, flipping burgers on a barbeque in someone’s backyard in California. Would it have been different if Graham were applying to colleges right now, worrying about the SATs instead of memorizing lines? Or was this just what happened when you got older? Maybe growing up was really nothing more than growing away: from your old life, from your old self, from all those things that kept you tethered to your past.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and he felt Ellie go still against his chest.

“About what?”

“About everything,” he said. “And about Harvard.”

“It’s okay,” she said with a forced lightness. “I didn’t want to go that badly anyway.”

“I’m sure your mom would help.”

“I’m sure she would,” Ellie agreed, “but I can’t ask her.”

Out the window, the trees opened up so that all they could see was the water, still dotted with boats. “You’re lucky,” he told her. “You have a great mom.”

“I’m sure you do too.”

“How do you know?”

“Because she has such a great son,” she said, and Graham smiled. “Aside from the whole beating-up-a-photographer thing, of course. Not to mention that one little boat-theft incident.”

“You know,” he said, “before I left school my friends always joked I’d be voted ‘Least Likely to Get Arrested,’ and now I’ve almost done it twice in twenty-four hours.”

“Really?” Ellie teased. “I’d have pegged you for ‘Most Popular’ or ‘Best Smile’ or something cheesy like that.”

He laughed. “What would you be? ‘Most Likely to Rebel Against the System by Stealing a Boat One Day’?”

She considered this for a moment. “ ‘Least Likely to Fall for a Movie Star.’ ”

“Boy,” Graham said, pulling her closer, “would they ever be wrong about that.”

They rode in silence for a while, the bus stopping every now and then to let someone off. They could feel the vibrations of the tires beneath their feet, and the sway of the bus—a gentle motion that reminded Graham of the boat—made his eyelids heavy. He was halfway to sleep when Ellie’s voice broke into his thoughts.

“So what now?” she asked, and he wasn’t sure what she meant. The question could have a thousand different meanings. It could mean What do we do when we get back to Henley? or Should I try again with my dad? It could mean What happens when you leave in two days? or How will this all turn out? It could mean Here we are, the two of us wedged together on a bus in the middle of Maine, and even after the worst day ever, which came right on the heels of the worst night ever, there’s nowhere else we’d rather be, so can we stay forever?

“What do you mean?” he asked, his voice hoarse, and she sat up, turning to face him with a serious look. Her green eyes were large and her red hair was tangled from the wind, but she looked beautiful, the kind of beautiful that makes your heart fill like a balloon, so light you worry it might carry you away.

“With us,” she said, and Graham felt the words one at a time, each a sharp jab, because he didn’t know; he didn’t know what would happen, and even more than that, he didn’t know what he could offer her. In two days, he’d be leaving Henley. In two weeks, he’d finish filming this movie. And in three weeks, the last installment of the trilogy would be out in the theaters. Graham would be shuttled around the world with a smile pasted on his face to talk into a thousand different microphones about what it all meant, traveling from L.A. to Tokyo to Sydney to London, and back around again. There would be late nights and big crowds, endless talk shows and press junkets.

There would be no more fishing boats or walks along the rocky beach.

There would be no more Ellie.

“I don’t know,” he said truthfully, because he didn’t. It seemed too big a question for a simple answer. Right now, sitting so close, he couldn’t imagine being without her. But including her in his real life didn’t seem logical either. It was like there were two different Graham Larkins, and even if one of them was truer, more substantial—even if one of them was happier—the other one still took up more space, and it wasn’t going away.

He looked at her helplessly. “I don’t know,” he said again, afraid to meet her eyes. But when he finally did, he saw that she was nodding. She didn’t seem to be hurt or offended or even surprised at this. There was a thoughtful expression on her face, maybe even expectant, and his stomach churned with doubt. She nodded again.

“Well, we have a couple more days,” she said eventually, and it was Graham’s turn to nod. “So what should we do?”

He smiled. “We’ll go stick our toes in the water.”

“I love doing that.”

“I know.”

“What else?”

“Eat ice cream on a hot day,” he said quietly, closing his eyes. “Listen to the waves. Take an evening stroll. Go swimming. Read poetry. Hang out with Bagel.”

Ellie was watching him in wonder. “That’s my e-mail,” she said, shaking her head. “How did you remember all that?”

“How could I not?”

She was smiling now, her eyes bright. “There’s too much,” she said. “We’ll never have time to do all that.”

“We’ll figure it out,” he promised her, and he was certain then that they would.

But as they neared Henley, Graham felt a deep sadness wash over him. Each time someone got off the bus, he found himself growing tenser, their departure a preview to his own. The seats smelled like mold and the windows were streaked with salt and the glare of the sun felt like a furnace, and if you’d asked him what he’d like to be doing on the Fourth of July, this would have been pretty far down on his list. But still, he hated to think of stepping off and back into the real world.

When the bus turned off the main highway that had carried them down the coast, the engine slowing beneath their feet, Ellie sat up and stretched.

“We still have a little while till the fireworks,” she said. “I told Quinn I’d meet her at the party.” Graham could tell she was weighing something as she bit her lip. She gave him a long look, then seemed to come to a decision. “Do you…”

“What?”

“Do you want to come with me?”

“I love that you’re asking,” he said, knowing what it meant, what it could cost her. They both understood that it was more than just a simple invitation. It was a choice she was making. She’d chosen him.

He leaned down and kissed her on the forehead. “But it’s probably not such a good idea.”

She smiled ruefully. “Photographers?”

“Among other things,” he said. “We’ve gotten this far. No sense ruining your life now.”

She nodded. “So I’ll just stay ‘unidentified girl.’ ”

“With any luck,” he said, then he smiled. “It has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

The bus turned onto the harbor road, and they could see the crowd up on the green, which spilled out onto the streets in front of the shops. Graham couldn’t believe how many people there were; they were everywhere, milling around with hot dogs and hamburgers and lobster rolls, drinking beers and dancing to the band and setting up firecrackers that leaped from the grass and twirled in the air before dying with a whistle. It wasn’t all that much different from the clambake just an hour north, only this party held Ellie’s mom instead of her dad. And it probably also held Harry.

“I wish you could come with me,” Ellie said as the bus slowed to a stop just before the harbor, where there was a green bench and a little sign with the schedule.

“I need to deal with the boat thing anyway, and I should probably see what’s going on with the photographer too,” he said. “But maybe we’ll see each other later?”

Ellie grinned. “Under the cloak of darkness.”

They stepped outside, shielded from the party by the broad expanse of the bus, but in a moment, it would pull away, leaving them exposed.

“I’ll see you soon,” Ellie said, leaning in to kiss his cheek, and then she began to walk up toward the party, her chin high as she scanned the crowd.

Graham knew he should be moving too, skirting the back streets to avoid the festival on his way to the hotel, but it took a moment to stir himself into action. He was too busy watching her go, and it wasn’t until the door of the bus closed with a pop that he blinked, looking around, and then began to walk.

As he neared the hotel, he could see the balloons that decorated the entrance, huge bunches of red, white, and blue that burst from the front of the building like fireworks. A short distance away, the party carried on, and Graham pulled up the hood of his sweatshirt and then slipped into the quiet lobby without being seen.

He moved straight past the empty chairs and the watercolor paintings that decorated the sitting area, hurrying toward the elevator. Behind him, he heard the concierge call out, but he pretended he hadn’t, tugging at his hood and punching at the button impatiently. There was nothing he wanted to hear about right now, not a message from Harry or his lawyer or anyone else. But the voice was insistent.

“Mr. Larkin?”

Finally, Graham spun around to look at him with obvious annoyance. It was a kid about his own age, skinny and nervous, leaning over the front desk and waving a small piece of paper. Graham pulled off his sunglasses with a sigh, raising his eyebrows.

“I’m sorry, sir,” the guy said. “But I’ve got some messages for you.” He glanced down at the paper and cleared his throat. “Forty-three, actually.”

Graham let out a groan. “All from Harry?”

“Twenty-seven of them, Mr. Larkin.”

“Call me Graham,” he said, walking over to the desk. “What about the others?”

“Someone named Rachel who wouldn’t give me her last name…”

“My publicist.”

“A lawyer named—”

“Brian Ascher.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Graham.”

He nodded, holding out the slip of paper, which had a list of names and then a collection of tally marks beside them. Graham scanned it, then looked up again with a frown.

“No calls from my parents?” he asked, and the boy shook his head.

“Sorry, sir.”

“That’s okay,” Graham said, tapping a fist against the desk. “They probably tried my cell. I don’t think they even know where I’m staying.”

“I can’t wait till I can go away without my parents knowing where I am,” the boy said with a rueful grin. “That sounds awesome.” He coughed, his cheeks reddening, and then added, “Sir.”

“Yeah,” Graham said, slipping the list of messages into his pocket and turning back toward the elevator. “It’s pretty awesome.”