Elementary, My Dear Watkins (17 page)

He might as well be on the moon.

The woman was nice enough, and she obviously knew who Jo was. She gave her the name and number of the hotel where Danny would be staying in Zurich, suggesting that Jo leave a message there. Jo thanked the woman and hung up, sitting there for a moment, feeling hurt that Danny hadn’t tried to call and tell her in person about his big trip, even if he had been pressed for time.

Of course, there was always a chance that he hadn’t been able to reach her and had simply left a message on her home phone. Jo dialed her house in Pennsylvania and accessed her machine remotely, pleased to find that he had done just that. Much to her surprise, the very sound of his voice made tears spring into her eyes.

“Jo,
hi
,” Danny’s voice said, “I can’t believe I can’t reach you in person! I’ve been racing around like crazy but right now I’m on a train, calling you from my friend Luc’s cell phone. I’ll try to talk fast. Listen, you won’t believe what’s going on. Have you ever heard me talk about the photographer Kalunga Bashiri? I actually got to meet him today, in person. Anyway, he was leaving tonight on a photo shoot and our guy who was supposed to go with him had to cancel because his wife went into labor a few weeks early. Jo, they let me take his place! And I’m a nobody! Just an intern!

“The best part is, according to Luc, Mr. Bashiri asked for me specifically. You can’t imagine what this means. Luc had to come too, to translate, but then he’ll be going back to Paris once we’re finished in Switzerland. The whole trip is supposed to take about seven days, three in Zurich, one in transit, and three down in the Congo, in Africa.
Africa
, Jo,
I’m going to take pictures in Africa with Kalunga Bashiri!
That’s, like, the biggest dream of my life come true! Okay, I guess my time is up and now I’m sounding stupid, I just wanted to tell you my big news and to let you know where I am in case you needed to reach me.”

He rattled off his friend’s cell phone number and said for the next few days, at least, she should feel free to reach him that way if she wanted him.

“Anyway,” he continued, “I wish you could be here with me right now. It’s a dream of a lifetime, and in the whole world you’re the only one who would understand that. I love you so much! I’ll talk to you soon. Love you. Bye.”

Jo pressed the button to save his message and disconnected the call.

Big news…dream of a lifetime…the only one who would understand…

She
did
understand. She was thrilled for him, really she was. In the part of her brain that was concerned with reasoning and commonsense, she knew this was a good thing, that all of his hard work was finally starting to pay off. Yay for him.

In the other part of her brain, the place where her mind intersected with her heart, all she knew was that she needed Danny and he wasn’t there. Just the way no one had ever been there for her, ever, in her whole life. Born alone, lived alone, would die alone. Right now, all Jo really wanted to do was bury her face in her hands and have a good cry.

But her father would be here any minute, and the last thing she wanted was to greet him with eyes red and puffy from tears.

Instead, she pulled herself together, resisting the tears by breathing deeply in and out and in and out until the frog was out of her throat and the tremor was gone from her lips.

Finally, the urge to cry under control, Jo put away her phone, retouched her makeup, and headed downstairs. Show no weakness. Keep the upper hand always.

Her grandmother had trained her well.

A
lexa hit the final chord of the piece and then held her hands still, the notes resonating around the room in a beautiful echo. Though she hadn’t really been in the mood for piano lessons, the music had managed to pull her in, as always. She wasn’t ready for Carnegie Hall, but everyone agreed that she had made astonishing progress in a very short time—yet more proof to herself that, these days, she was a true freak.

“Excellent,” Mrs. Gruber said in a soft German accent. “You have been practicing.”

“Like, forty-five minutes a day,” Alexa replied proudly. “It’s more fun now that we’re doing harder stuff.”

“What a perfect segue into science class.”

Alexa and her piano teacher looked up to see Mr. Preston, Alexa’s tutor, standing in the doorway.

“Did you feel the vibrations of the music, Alexa? Do you see it in that glass of water over there? That’s
resonance
.”

Alexa liked Mr. Preston. He was a dork, but he loved learning so much that she couldn’t help but be swept up by his enthusiasm. That was one of the good things about having private classes. If she wanted to get excited about education, there was no one to make fun of her. Around here, it was cool to learn. Where she came from, learning was the last thing anyone wanted to be caught doing.

No wonder she’d been so stupid all her life.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he added. He hesitated in the doorway, struggling to hold a big green plastic container. “Go ahead and finish.”

“No problem. We are done,” Mrs. Gruber said as she began gathering her papers. “By all means, come in and put that heavy thing down.”

He did as she suggested, lugging the bin over to the counter.

“Alexa,” her piano teacher continued, “let’s bring your practice time up to an hour a day. The Haydn and the Chopin sound good, but you have to do
all
the scales on your list, not just the fun ones.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“It was a good lesson. You are doing very well.”

“Thanks.”

As Mrs. Gruber prepared to go, Mr. Preston spoke again.

“Good is right,” he said as he unloaded the items from his container. “I was listening from outside the door. Thought it was a record I was hearing, not a live performance.”

Alexa glowed under his praise, as did, by extension, her piano teacher. They all knew that Alexa had never even touched a piano until six months ago, so her progress had, indeed, been nothing short of spectacular.

The two adults chatted for a moment as Alexa tucked the beautiful wooden bench up under the piano, scooped up her sheet music, and placed it in a nearby cabinet.

The large, sunny studio had different areas for music and art and regular classwork, but lately they had been having science class over in the art section because they were conducting experiments that tended to get a little messy. Alexa loved experiments. Prior to coming here, the only thing she’d done that even came close to conducting an experiment was watching her mom cut cocaine with her little pocket knife, or sitting by while the guys made speedballs for the crackheads at the Grave Cave.

Once Mrs. Gruber was gone, Alexa and her tutor got right down to business. They were almost to the end of the eighth grade textbook. Alexa was originally so behind in science that they’d had to start with the fourth grade textbook and work their way forward. Between the one-on-one tutoring and putting forth a huge effort after hours on her own, Alexa had managed to learn five years of science in six months. This was one of her last lessons in this book, and then she’d move on to the ninth grade stuff. She couldn’t wait, because then for the first time in her life she’d be ahead of where she ought to be and not behind.

It was a thought that grew more and more normal by the day. Sometimes when they were sitting there working, she’d look up at the long windows that faced the garden and picture her own self, the self from before, outside looking in. That kid wouldn’t have believed her eyes. She wouldn’t have understood any of it, nor would she have cared.

Or maybe she would have. Alexa was never quite sure.

“Do you know what this is?” Mr. Preston asked, pulling out a strange metal object that looked like a long, two-pronged eating utensil.

“A fork for an alligator?”

The tutor chuckled.

“Good guess. It is a fork, of sorts. It’s called a tuning fork, and we use it to measure frequency. Today we’ll be calculating the wavelengths of sound waves. We studied about this the other day, remember? We were dividing the speed of sound by the frequency and then multiplying that number by one hundred?”

“The speed of sound,” Alexa replied, trying to recall. “Three hundred forty-three millimeters per second at twenty degrees centigrade?”

“Correct. Put some water into the cylinder, and then I’ll show you a nifty way to measure frequency.”

Alexa carried the cylinder to the sink and filled it up, smiling to herself as she did. If the old Alexa were outside looking in, right now she’d be holding her sides, laughing at a man who wore a pocket protector and used words like nifty. That thought took the smile from her lips.

Even though Alexa wasn’t quite sure how she felt about herself these days, sometimes she really hated who she had been before.

Kent Tulip strode into Eleanor’s home office tall and handsome and crackling with energy. As a teenager, Jo had been the envy of all her friends as the one with the best-looking dad. Age had lined his face a bit, but otherwise Jo thought he was more striking than ever, especially now that there was a hint of gray at his temples. Today he was wearing a black suit with a crisp white shirt and a cerulean tie. Truly, he looked like a million bucks.

“Eleanor, I don’t understand why you think we need to go over the minutes of the board meeting again,” he said brusquely to his mother-in-law, who was sitting behind her massive antique desk. “What is it that you don’t understand?”

“Actually, Kent, you’re right. We don’t need to. I only said that to get you over here.”

Obviously, that gave the man pause. He stood in front of the desk for a moment, hesitating, and then he turned back and closed the door before speaking again, more softly this time.

“What do you mean? Is something wrong?”

“Yes, something is wrong. We have a question for you.”

With that, Mrs. Bosworth gestured toward Jo, who had been sitting quietly in the corner, wondering when she was supposed to jump in. Her grandmother had said to hit her father with the big guns the moment he arrived, with no pussyfooting around, just short, sweet, and to the point. Apparently, that moment was now.

“Why, Jo!” her father said, confusion mixed with pleasure on his face. He seemed genuinely glad to see her. “You should’ve said something. I didn’t see you over there. How are you?”

He stepped forward as if to give her a hug, but rather than stand and accept his embrace, she merely held up one hand to stop him, as she summoned her nerve.

“Daddy, why did you pay Bradford to marry me?”

He stopped short, looking for a brief moment as though he’d been hit by a truck.

“Why…what?”

Eleanor surprised Jo by groaning and rolling her eyes.

“Sit down, Kent. Your daughter asked you a direct question. She expects a direct answer.”

Jo studied her father’s face, a million emotions flashing across it all at once. Obviously, he wasn’t merely confused. He was also guilty, embarrassed, and stunned. As he took the chair closest to the door, Jo understood immediately that Bradford had, indeed, told her the truth—at least about this.

“I know all about it,” Jo said. “I know about the Jaguar and the condo and the raise and the promotions. I know you and Mother told him how to make me fall in love with him.” At that, her voice caught. “I just want to know why.”

She swallowed hard, forcing herself to remain calm and cool and not cry. Her father might be sweating, but she wasn’t going to show one speck of emotion other than a very controlled anger.

“How did you find out?” he asked finally.

Somehow, just hearing the question gave Jo a great sense of relief. At least he wasn’t going to try and deny it.

“We’ll get to that in a minute. Tell me why.”

Kent ran a hand over his face and looked directly at his mother-in-law.

“
You
know why, Eleanor,” he said. “Do you really want to have this discussion in front of her?”

Last night, Jo had felt sure that her grandmother knew more than she was saying. Now, the woman didn’t even squirm. She simply reached for a drawer, opened it, and pulled out a file.

“Obviously, you’ve given me no choice,” she said. “And do not for one moment take that self-righteous tone with me, Kent Tulip. In my wildest dreams I couldn’t have imagined that you and Helen would pull a stunt like this.”

“Eleanor,” Jo’s father said defensively, “you had a
stroke
. Your doctors were telling us at the time that you’d be lucky to survive through the end of the
year
. We felt that we had no choice. Fortunately for all of us, you rallied.”

Before Eleanor could reply, the telephone rang and she answered it.

“Send him in,” she said after a pause.

Jo wasn’t sure who else was going to join them, but a moment later the door opened and a man entered the room. A distinguished-looking fellow in his sixties, Eleanor introduced him as her lawyer, Sidney Shaw.

“Sid, we have a problem that needs your immediate attention. And I do mean immediate. Have a seat, please.”

Sidney shook hands with Jo and Kent and then took the middle chair between them.