He tapped on his phone. “Right, what else?”
“They make longer pads for overnight—”
Holly returned with Alice’s bag. “Here you are.”
“Thanks.” Alice pulled out a makeup bag decorated with Monet’s water lilies.
“That’s so pretty.”
For the first time in a long time, Alice really looked at the little bag. She’d bought it at the Musée de l’Orangerie when she and Lawrence had spent two idyllic weeks in Paris visiting galleries big and small, famous and unknown. Back then, she thought she needed Lawrence to live a full and rounded life. She’d since realized he’d stifled her creativity and trampled her self-confidence. Now, she was proud of not only surviving without him, but of creating her own job opportunities in art, like winning the artist-in-residence gig. That she didn’t need Lawrence hurt a lot less than no longer needing this little water lily bag.
She handed it to Holly. “This is yours now, unless you’d prefer something sparkly for your pads?”
“No, I love it. Thank you!” Holly unzipped the bag and pulled out a liner, turning the small rectangle over in her hand. “So, I put this in my panties?”
“You peel off the wrapper and press the sticky side down. When your dad buys you your proper pads, the heart goes at the top and the wings—”
“Can you buy them?” Holly asked at the same time Harry said, “I could do with some help.” Both sounded equally desperate.
“I bet if you help, Dad will buy you the satay chicken for dinner,” Holly added.
“And I won’t make you share it either,” Harry said, laughter reaching his eyes.
The heady delight of being valued filled Alice, but her mother’s comment about being convenient rose unbidden into her mind. She banished it. Over many months, she’d eaten with the Waxmans, played with them and done art with them. Hell, today she’d admitted to Harry she was menopausal—something she was yet to tell her own family. No, this request had nothing to do with convenience and everything to do with friendship.
Even so, she thought she better lay down some ground rules. “Tell you what. I’ll come and help as long as I’m teaching you to fish.”
Holly glanced up at Harry, clearly confused.
“She means she’ll come shopping with us and explain stuff, but next time we shop on our own.”
“You better listen, Dad.”
Alice laughed. “You too, Holly.”
“I’m not buying them! That’s Dad’s job.”
It was classic teen horror, but Harry didn’t bat an eye. “How about you go and get yourself sorted and then we’ll head out.”
“Okay.” Holly stopped at the doorway. “You’re coming to dinner too, right, Alice?”
“You bet I am. I’ve been promised satay.”
The moment Holly left the room, Harry said, “I can’t thank you enough.”
“Happy to help,” she said lightly, trying to counter his serious tone.
“You help in more ways than you realize,” he said softly.
Something deep inside Alice stirred, tingling faintly. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry that her body was so hormonally screwed up it couldn’t manage to mature an ova, but it suddenly thought Harry Waxman was attractive. She remembered Harry when she’d first met him: grumpy, disheveled and monosyllabic. The errant and deluded tingle vanished.
“It’s easy. Holly and Hunter are great kids.”
“Yeah.” Harry pulled out his wallet, peeled off some bills and pressed them into her hand. “Thanks again, Alice.”
She stared at the money. It was more than he’d ever paid her for tutoring Holly. “What’s this for?”
“Your time. You shouldn’t be disadvantaged just because Holly’s period came and changed our plans.”
“But I didn’t earn it.” Alice pushed the bills back at him, anger and offense dueling inside her.
Harry folded her fingers over the money. “You’ve earned it ten times over.”
Alice didn’t know whether to feel happy that her mother was completely wrong about Harry expecting something for nothing, or unhappy that she’d misinterpreted her role in today’s family drama and upcoming celebration. It appeared that she wasn’t attending dinner as a family friend, but as a valued employee.
That she felt the distinction keenly made it worse.
Chapter Nineteen
Karen walked into the staff room for a quick cup of tea before her next student arrived. She was back at school for the next few days, helping the Advanced French class students prepare for their oral exams.
“G’day, Karen.” Dan van den Berg was sitting at one of the tables with a stack of papers in front of him.
“Hello, Dan. Grading papers? That’s an unusual sight.”
He laughed good-naturedly, used to the humanities teachers giving him a hard time. “The boss talked me into one seventh grade math class. How are things?”
“Good, thanks.” It was a lie but Karen wasn’t prepared to talk about the big black brick sitting permanently in her chest—the culmination of her worries about Libby and Alice and, more recently, Jess.
“You must be stoked about Alice getting that artist-in-residence gig.”
“Artist in residence?” Karen had no idea what Dan was talking about. “I’m afraid you’ve got an advantage over me.”
Surprise and embarrassment flickered on his face. “I’m sure I read about it in the Gazette.”
These days, Karen read the Gazette every Friday afternoon going directly to the Dear Alice column to try and work out what on earth was going on with her younger daughter and her life. Since their argument when she’d told Karen to butt out, Alice had told her less and less. She came and went from Pelican House giving few details, although always politely letting her know if she’d be home for dinner and continuing with her share of household tasks. Karen was depending on Peter, and to a lesser degree, Libby, for information, but neither of them had mentioned an art project. So how did Dan know?
“I think I would have remembered reading that, Dan. Better yet, I’d have remembered if Alice had told me. Exactly how do you know?”
He shifted in his chair, squirming like a student put on the spot. “Alice mentioned it.”
Something about the way he said the words told her the
