The smell is coming from upstairs… not the living room or kitchen, and not Cooper’s office. It’s coming from upstairs, where Cooper sleeps.
Then it hits me. Cooper must be home, and entertaining.
In his room.
With candles.
Which can only mean one thing: He’s got a date.
Of course. That’s why he couldn’t wait for me down at the precinct, and had to call Frank and Patty! He’s got a date.
I pause at the bottom of the stairs, trying to sort out why this realization has made me suddenly so upset. I mean, it’s not like Cooper KNOWS about the enormous crush I have on him. Why SHOULDN’T he see other people? Just because he HASN’T seen anyone (that I know of… he certainly hasn’t brought anybody back to the house) since I moved in doesn’t mean he SHOULDN’T or CAN’T. Now that I think of it, we never really did discuss the issue of overnight guests. It’s just not something that ever came up.
Until now.
Well, so what? He’s having a sleepover. It doesn’t have anything to do with me. I’ll just creep up to the third floor and go to bed. No reason to stop and knock and ask him how he’s doing. Even though I’m dying to see what she looks like. Cooper has a reputation in his family for always dating super-intelligent, incredibly beautiful, even exotic women. Like brain surgeons who are also former models. That kind of thing.
Even if I thought I ever had a chance with Cooper romantically, one look at his many exes would cure me. I mean, what guy would want a washed-up ex-pop star who now works as an assistant residence hall director and wears vanity size 8 jeans (or possibly 10s) when he could have a physicist who was once Miss Delaware?
Yeah. Right. No one. I mean, unless the physicist happens to be really boring. And maybe doesn’t like Ella Fitzgerald (I’ve got all her songs memorized, including the scat). And maybe isn’t the warm, funny human being I just happen to believe I am… .
Stop. STOP IT.
I’m creeping up the stairs to the second floor as quietly as I can—Lucy panting at my side—when I notice something strange. The door to Cooper’s bedroom is open… but there’s no light on. Whereas the door to the guest room down the hall from Cooper’s bedroom is open,and there’s a light on,and the light is flickering. Like a candle flame.
Who on earth would be in our guest room with a candle?
“Hello?” I say again. Because if Cooper’s entertaining lady friends in our guest room, well, that’s just his tough luck if I come busting in. His room is his inner sanctum—I’ve never dared venture into it… if only because he’s so rarely to be found in it. Also because thousand-dollar sheets scare me.
But the guest room?
The door is really only slightly ajar. Still, it’s technically open. Which is why I push on it to open it a little farther, and say, “Hello?” for a third time… .
… then shriek at the sight of my father doing the downward-facing dog.
16
Love is a line in a bad movie
Heartbreak an old song on the radio
And you, you’re nothing but trouble
But trouble knows the way to my heart.
Untitled
Written by Heather Wells
“I find yoga extremely relaxing,” Dad explains. “Back at camp, I did it every morning and every night. It’s really rejuvenated me.”
I stare at him from across the room. It’s strange to hear your father call jail camp. Especially while he’s doing yoga.
“Dad,” I say. “Could you quit that for a minute and talk to me?”
“Of course, sweetheart,” Dad says. And comes back to his feet.
I can’t believe this. He’s clearly moved in. His suitcase is open—and empty—on the window seat. His shoes sit by the dresser, lined up as neatly as if he were in the military. There’s a typewriter—a typewriter! — on the antique desk, along with a tidy stack of stationery. He’s wearing a set of blue pajamas with darker blue piping, and there’s a fat green tea candle burning on his nightstand, along with a copy of a Lincoln biography.
“My God,” I say, shaking my head. “How did you get in here? Did you break in?”
“Of course not,” Dad says, looking indignant. “I learned a lot of things at camp, but I didn’t acquire any tips on picking a Medeco lock. Your young man invited me to stay.”
“My—” I feel my eyes roll back into my head. “Dad. I told you. He is not my young man. You didn’t say anything to him about how I lo—”
“Heather.” Dad looks sad. “Of course not. I would never betray a confidence like that. I merely expressed a dislike in front of Mr. Cartwright for my current living situation, and he offered me accommodation here—”
“Dad!” I groan. “You didn’t!”
“Well, the Chelsea Hotel was hardly a suitable place for a man in my position,” he says patiently. “I don’t know if you’re aware of this, Heather, but many people with criminal records have resided in the Chelsea Hotel. Actual murderers. That’s not the kind of environment a person who is trying to rehabilitate himself should be in. Besides which, it was quite noisy. All that loud music and honking horns. No, this”—he looks around the pleasant white bedroom happily—“is much more me.”
“Dad.” I can’t help it. I can’t stand up anymore. I sink down onto the side of the queen-sized bed. “Did Cooper say how long you could stay?”
“In fact,” Dad says, reaching out to ruffle Lucy’s ears, since she’s followed me inside, “he did. He said I could stay as long as it took in order for me to get back on my feet.”
“Dad.” I want to scream. “Seriously. You can’t do that. It’s not that I don’t want to work on our relationship —yours and mine, I mean. It’s just that… you can’t take advantage of Cooper’s generosity this way.”
“I’m not,” Dad says matter-of-factly. “I’m going to be working for him, in exchange for rent.”
I blink. “You’re… what?”
“He’s taking me on as an employee of Cartwright Investigations,” Dad says… a little proudly, I think. “Just like you, I’m working for him. I’m going to help him tail people. He says I’ve got just the right looks for it… sort of unnoticeable. He says I blend.”
I blink some more. “You blend?”
“That’s right.” Dad opens up the drawer to his nightstand and takes out a small wooden flute. “I’m trying to take it as a compliment. The fact that I’m so unnoticeable, I mean. I know your mother often felt that way, but I wasn’t aware it was true of the world in general. Oh, well. Listen to this little tune I learned at camp. It’s quite restful. And after the night you’ve had, I’m sure you could use a little relaxation.” He proceeds to lift the flute to his lips and begins to play it.
I sit there for a minute more as the notes—plaintive and, as he’d mentioned, oddly restful—wash over me. Then I shake myself and say, “Dad.”
He immediately stops playing. “Yes, dear?”
It’s the endearments that are killing me. Or possibly making me want to kill HIM.
“I’m going to bed now. We’ll talk about this again in the morning.”
“Well, all right,” he says. “But I don’t see what there is to talk about. Cooper is obviously a man of good sense. If he wants to hire me, I don’t see why you should object.”
