Cloudburst (16 page)

“Why?”

He shrugged and then, smiling at me, said, “I ran out of notes.”

“What?” Jordan held her smile. She looked at me.

“He's kidding,” I said quickly. “You never mentioned you played the piano. Really, why did you stop, Ryder?” I asked pointedly. The expression on my face was clear.
Give her a serious answer, or else.

“I just lost interest,” he said. He shrugged. “I was never very good, and taking lessons wasn't going to change it.”

“That's a mistake.” We turned as Mr. March entered. He had changed into his black velvet smoking jacket and black slacks. His light brown hair looked as though he'd had it trimmed and styled an hour ago, but that was Mr. March, always looking impeccable. Sometimes I thought he saw himself as a modern-day prince living in a palace. I thought
he looked quite tanned and rested for someone who had gone on another business trip.

“Oh, this is my husband, Donald March,” Jordan said. “Donald, this is Ryder Garfield, the young man who just entered Sasha's school.”

From the way she widened her eyes when she mentioned Ryder's name, I understood that she had already discussed Ryder with him to make sure he knew who he was and who his parents were. Mr. March nodded, glanced at me, and then extended his hand.

“Pleased to meet you, Ryder,” he said when Ryder shook his hand. “But I couldn't help hearing your excuse for giving up piano. I find that most people give up on themselves before other people give up on them, especially young people today. Too often, your generation doesn't have the staying power necessary to find success. You've got to work on that,” he said, wagging his right forefinger.

“Thanks for the free advice,” Ryder said. “One thing your generation isn't stingy about,” he added, and Mr. March's cheeks took on a slight crimson glow.

“Well, I wish I had listened more to my parents,” Mr. March countered.

Ryder widened his smile as if he had won a point in a debate. “You mean you don't feel successful enough?”

Mr. March's spine seemed to petrify. For a moment, I thought he had turned to stone entirely, but then he smiled. It wasn't a smile with any warmth behind it.

“You can always improve. Once you stop thinking that, you might as well put yourself on a shelf. Perseverance,
determination, ambition . . . those are the building blocks for a successful life. And you don't sit on your laurels and soak in your own sunshine,” he continued, still in lecture mode. Even I was surprised at how insistent he was being. “You have to be like a man walking a tightrope.”

“How's that?” Ryder asked, with more of a smirk than a smile.

“You don't look down to see how high up you are. Once you do that, you fall. You just keep going forward.”

“It's got to end somewhere,” Ryder insisted. They were acting like two stubborn little boys.

“It ends when you're willing to give up, and I say, for those who do, failure's meant to be. I'm sure both your parents had many obstacles and overcame them with perseverance, determination, and ambition.”

Ryder was silent. Mentioning his parents was to him like someone hitting below the belt. I could see the conflict raging in his face. His eyes were like windows revealing the tension. Jordan might have sensed it, too, when she looked at the expression on my face.

“They're too young for such talk,” she said, hoping to take the heaviness out of the conversation quickly.

“You're never too young for such talk,” Mr. March insisted. “So what are your interests, if I may ask?” He sat and nodded toward the settee across from him. “Are you inclined toward some show-business career as well?”

Ryder looked at me with accusation in his eyes. Did he think I had led him into some sort of trap? Put him under a spotlight for a cross-examination and interrogation? I shook my head slightly.

“Doubt it. Right now, I'm into model planes and boats,” Ryder said without sitting.

“Pardon?”

“I find them interesting and relaxing. What do you do for relaxation, Mr. March?”

“That's a good question,” Jordan said. “What do you do, Donald? I'm afraid my husband is a workaholic,” she added before Mr. March could attempt a response.

“People always accuse other people who strive continually for excellence of being workaholics. It never occurs to them that maybe these people enjoy what they do. If I may be permitted to give you some additional free advice, it's that you should find something you enjoy. That way, it will never seem to be work to you, and you won't be so concerned about relaxation. My work actually relaxes me. Isn't it the same for your parents?”

“If it is, they've kept it a big secret,” Ryder said. Both Jordan and her husband looked taken aback. I couldn't help but smile. I'd known him long enough already to know that it was a typical Ryder Garfield reply.

“Ryder doesn't like talking about his famous parents very much,” I offered. “People are always trying to get information out of him about them.”

“Well, we're not exactly working for
Entertainment Tonight
,” Mr. March said sharply.

“I understand what Sasha means,” Jordan said, instantly coming to my defense. Mr. March shot a look at her that would have bowled over a bull. “Are you enjoying Pacifica?” she asked Ryder.

“It's all right,” he said with a small shrug.

“Just all right?” Mr. March pursued. “It's rated the top private school in the state. You're lucky to be there. Take advantage of all the opportunities it offers. Are you in any sport? The band?”

“Just navigating the rapids is sport enough for me right now,” Ryder said.

“What rapids?” Mr. March asked. He looked at me for help.

“Daily life among the rich and famous,” Ryder replied.

Mr. March just stared, but when he was agitated, he had a habit of moving his tongue against one cheek and then the other, making it look as if a small animal was trying to find the way out.

“Well, Sasha, why don't you show Ryder around the house and property?” Jordan suggested, the way a referee might to ease tension. “Did you want Mrs. Caro to prepare a snack for you two?”

“Ryder?” I said.

“No, thank you, Mrs. March. In our family, eating between meals, unless it's taking coffee with a producer, director, or agent, is a capital offense.”

Jordan looked to me to see if he was kidding. I knew he was and thought that Mr. March might at least smile, but he continued to glare at him and then looked at me before standing. His face was full of disapproval.

“Well, I have some matters to address. Enjoy yourselves, while you can,” he added.

“I thought your work was your enjoyment,” Ryder blurted before Mr. March could turn away and start out.

“Yes, but I still have to pay attention to it,” Mr. March retorted in a sharp, poorly disguised tone of annoyance. “You can neglect and be irresponsible even with the things you enjoy.”

He looked at Jordan and relaxed his shoulders. Then he offered a weak smile.

“You'll learn that the pleasure is in the journey. That's why practicing shouldn't seem like a burden, whether it's playing the piano or the clarinet, as Sasha plays, or something in sports, whatever.”

He left. None of us spoke for a moment, and then Jordan said she had to speak with Mrs. Caro about tonight's dinner.

“Will you be staying for dinner, Ryder?” she asked.

“No, thank you, Mrs. March.”

“Well, if you need anything, Sasha . . .”

“Thank you, Jordan,” I said.

She started out. Ryder looked at me.

“I'm sorry,” I said.

“I'm not really interested in seeing anything in the house at the moment. Let's get some fresh air,” Ryder said, and we walked out, him moving ahead of me almost as if he wanted to escape. We paused on the steps. “Now I know why you took a deep breath before entering the house. Is he always like that?”

“Actually, I don't remember him ever being that direct and confrontational. I was as surprised as you were, believe me. He should have been that way more with Kiera's boyfriends, the ones she brought home when I was here. He
never seemed to pay much attention to anyone I brought home.”

“I was about to say I wasn't here to ask for your hand in marriage or something, but I didn't want to be that impolite, even though he would have deserved it. You don't know why he jumped down my throat like that? Was it something else that put him into that mood?”

I didn't want to get into the possible tension between Mr. March and his wife. I shrugged. “I'm really sorry, Ryder.”

He nodded. “I'm not blaming you.”

We started toward the tennis courts.

“Maybe he's just being overprotective,” I suggested, and began to tell him about my first experiences with Kiera and her friends. I was sure that Gary had given him some of the highlights, but he seemed surprised to hear the nitty-gritty details concerning me and her boyfriends. I went into detail about the Virgins Anonymous club they had pretended to belong to and the initiation ceremony.

The expression on his face softened in sympathy. “You had to make love someplace where you might be discovered or seen?”

“The more chance of that, the bigger the respect the others gave you, supposedly. As I said, it was all a setup to hurt me.”

“So on top of their daughter when she was high on something hitting you and your mother and killing your mother, they also accused you of being the bad one, the one who told these perfect girls all about the nasty stuff and suggested they do these things?”

“Yes.”

“And they believed it?”

“Mr. March was especially gullible like that until Kiera overdosed on G and her house of cards came tumbling down.”

“They owe you a helluva lot. No wonder they bought you that car.”

“Nothing they can give me can make up for my mother,” I said. “And remember, legally, I'm still an orphan, and they are just foster parents. They don't have to do anything more than provide food and shelter.”

“They don't want to adopt you, or you don't want them to?”

“I suppose it's both. Jordan wants it.”

“But Mr. Know-it-all doesn't?”

“He's resisting.”

“Lucky for you. Right?”

“I don't know, Ryder. It's not easy dealing with all of this. Sometimes I feel like running away, and sometimes I think I'm very lucky “

“I'm the same way.”

“Really?”

“Yes, but obviously for different reasons. Okay. You showed me enough of yours,” he said.

We kept walking until we reached the lake. I watched as he looked at it all. Most of the kids my age whom I brought here weren't all that interested in sitting at the lake or rowing. They wanted to see the theater and watch some videos or just gossip.

“This is beautiful,” he said. “If I lived here, I'd be here every day. Good place to get away from it all.”

“Because?”

He was silent.

“So where's the quid pro quo?”

He smiled. “Excuse me?”

“You just said I showed you mine,” I said.

“Okay, okay.” He sat on the bench, and I sat beside him. Then he made a circle in the air. “We'll do this the way they pitch stories in Hollywood for directors, producers, and actors. Ryder Garfield's life story. Huck Finn meets
Rebel Without a Cause
.”

“Huh?”

“That's the pitch line. Hollywood people need it laid out simply in tags or slogans. First act. When Ryder Garfield was young,” he began, “before Summer was born, his glamorous, world-renowned mother was working a lot. Ryder had a nanny from England, an au pair.”

“That's why you have that slightly British accent?”

“Does he? Okay, we'll think about casting a young English actor. Please hold your questions until the end. Don't you know that most Hollywood producers have a five-minute attention span? Okay. Ryder's nanny was a bigger influence on him than his own mother, so he picks up some of her accent. He's a neat little boy, always well dressed and schooled in proper etiquette.”

“Like standing up when a woman comes to his table,” I said.

He shook his head. “If you're going to write this . . .”

“I'm listening, sorry.”

“As I said, Ryder is with his nanny more than he is with
his mother. His nanny is still with them when his sister, Summer, is born. She's raising the baby, really, because the first chance their mother gets to return to work, she's out and into the celebrity scene full blast, like someone who has been suffocated because of her pregnancy. Their father, acting all the time, chasing parts, is out as well. Both of their parents, in fact, miss their birthdays occasionally. When someone is young, that hurts, hurts deeply. Back then, Ryder feels sorrier for Summer than for himself. Eventually, he and his sister are old enough to take care of themselves, and their nanny is dismissed. It's a sad day, because to them, it's like losing their mother.”

He paused to look at my reaction. I just stared at him quietly, waiting.

“Act Two. Their mother vows to be more of a mother, of course, but things don't change all that much. There are maids taking up the slack. Even when they go on trips, there is always someone hired to care for both Summer and him, mostly Summer. Coming to their mother with a problem is usually like speaking to a translator. She sends them off to talk to their father or some therapist at the drop of a pin.”

“And their father?”

“Ah. He's always intent on being a big movie star, you see. There are long periods of time when he isn't home, and even when he is, he's out and busy so much. For a joke once, Ryder takes one of his father's eight-by-twelve head shots and puts it on a piece of wood that he then attaches to a short pole. Using his camera that has a timer, he has
Summer and him take pictures with it, making it look as if their father is with them at restaurants or when they go shopping. Their mother thinks it is funny until Ryder puts it on a chair at the dinner table. His father finds out and gives him one of his he-should-feel-sorry-for-him lectures.”