Love And Miss Communication Part 17

Chapter 14.

After two weeks at the framer's, the movie posters were ready for hanging in Tracy's cla.s.sroom. Tracy's doctor had ordered her to stop working the week before. Evie hoped it would be a nice treat when she returned from maternity leave, and hopefully sooner if she visited the school with the baby. After happily lugging them to school, Evie propped them up against one wall of her cubicle and stood back to admire her own creativity. Edward was correct in identifying a pa.s.sion of hers. His ability to pa.r.s.e the layers of her psyche and piece together clues about her interests was bittersweet. She needed this interest in her life to come from a man who wasn't off-limits. From someone whose wife Evie didn't imagine casting into a magician's box and disappearing.

"Those are lovely," a voice, faintly accented, startled her.

"Thank you," Evie said before she even turned around.

"What lovely frames. And the matting is an unusual choice. I'd love to see those hung up."

Evie looked back and came face-to-face with Julianne Holmes-Matthews. She was even more spectacular in person than she appeared in magazines and on the dust jackets of her books, each of which Evie owned: Paris at Home, Living with Style, Signature Holmes.

Julianne was a waif of a woman, delicate in her cream cashmere turtleneck and gray suede pants ingeniously belted with an Hermes scarf. Oversize sungla.s.ses covered much of her face, but her enviable bone structure was apparent. She carried a Celine bag in one hand and a tote bag bearing her company name in the other. Evie wondered if it would be too solicitous if she offered to carry them for her.

"Julianne," Headmaster Thane exclaimed, emerging from his office. "You're looking marvelous on this cold day. Thank you so much for coming up here. I'm really excited to show you the new building. Your team sent over some great ideas already."

"Always a pleasure to be of service, Thomas. I just want to see my darling son before we head off. He's coming to meet me here."

"Hi, Mom," Jamie called out. He bent down and gave her not one kiss on the cheek, but two. She really did bring Paris home!

"Jamie, sweetheart, are you keeping out of trouble?" Turning to Thane she said, "I've been all over the globe recently and haven't been able to keep as close an eye on this one as I'd like."

"He's been fine, Julianne. Our new employee, Evie Rosen, has been keeping him busy." He gestured to Evie and she blushed.

"Please continue to do so," Julianne said to Evie.

"I will," Evie responded, pleased they exchanged an actual bit of dialogue.

"Shall we?" Julianne said, looking at the thin gold watch on her tiny wrist.

"Let's," Thane said, holding the office door for Julianne. They were halfway out the door when Evie, without any forethought, grabbed Jamie's hand. He looked at her in surprise. She c.o.c.ked her head toward the doorway.

"Um, Mom. Can we come along too?"

"Well I don't see why not."

Evie giddily grabbed her coat, and the four of them set out together.

The future computer lab and student lounge was still set up as an art gallery. It was a three-story brownstone with large windows and a winding central staircase. They stood in the center of the top floor, a column-free expanse with an airy gla.s.s roof. The gallery used this s.p.a.ce as its office because the direct sunlight was too harmful for the paintings. Brighton was going to use this floor for the computers. The second floor would house the student lounge; the first floor was slated to have private study cubicles, like a college library.

Julianne closed her eyes and put her hands in prayer, as though she were summoning the design G.o.ds for inspiration. Everyone else was quiet, for fear of interfering with the divine spirit.

"Thomas," she said slowly, tucking her hands under her chin. "I am having a vision. This room. We can't let this light go to waste. Would Brighton consider a hydroponic greenhouse? How fabulous would that be for the students? These city children don't know a thing about gardening."

"I love it," Evie exclaimed, even though the question was directed to the headmaster. "We can showcase some of the plantings on the outdoor steps leading up to the front door. Also, take a look. The railing of the central staircase has a vine pattern. So it all ties thematically. The second floor could be a combination lounge and computer room because, honestly, socializing and going online are pretty much synonymous these days. And the glare from the gla.s.s roof would make it hard to work on computers up here anyway."

"Very good," Julianne said approvingly. "I hadn't even noticed the vine detail yet. And you factored in the light correctly. You've got a great eye. Who are you again?"

"I'm Evie Rosen. Acting general counsel for the school."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Evie. Thomas, you should bring her along when we have our first proper design meeting."

"Thank you," Evie said, looking over at Jamie excitedly to share the moment.

He flashed her a thumbs-up.

An hour later, after returning to the main office, she still should have been jumping for joy-having her talents recognized in front of the headmaster and making such a great impression on Jamie's mom. But instead, she found herself with a pounding headache and an uneasy feeling. Tracy kept a drugstore's supply of meds in her desk, and Evie headed to her room to filch some Advil.

She sat down in her friend's chair in the empty cla.s.sroom, swiveling around until she got dizzy. How had she gotten to this place? This postapocalyptic world in which Jack was married, she worked in a school, her grandmother had cancer, her aunt had a baby, Julianne Holmes-Matthews told her she had a great eye, and she hadn't used the Internet in five months. She never looked up Edward's old science articles, though she would have liked to see his byline in print. She missed his face terribly, from the three lines across his forehead to the connect-the-dot freckle map she had memorized on his nose, and especially his dimple. The old Evie would have found a picture of him on the hospital's website and m.a.s.o.c.h.i.s.tically stared at it late into the night.

With Bette's surgery over, she knew she would be seeing Edward less and less. Exactly seven tension-filled days after the lump was removed, she, Fran, and Bette had regathered in Edward's office to discuss the results. Evie almost felt guilty about the amount of effort she put into her appearance before heading to Sloan, wondering how she could possibly have the presence of mind to try on six outfits and choose between four lipsticks all while her grandmother's fate hung in the balance. Evie sat clenching her grandmother's hand, the rapid pulses in both of their wrists drumming against each other.

To Evie's surprise, Edward had greeted them in jeans and a hooded zip-up sweatshirt. He explained that after their meeting he was headed to chaperone Olivia's nursery school cla.s.s trip to the Bronx Zoo. Are you trying to destroy me? Evie wanted to ask him. Do you need to be so d.a.m.n perfect every time I see you?

Edward said Bette's nodes tested negative, which meant the cancer hadn't spread beyond the tumor. Evie, Fran, and Bette hugged each other tightly and Evie felt her shoulders melt back to their proper alignment for the first time in a month. It had been agonizing trying to remain calm around her grandmother following the surgery, and Evie found herself picking fights with Bette's deer-in-the-headlights home attendant over how much liquid her grandmother had had to drink or when her bandage was last changed. Edward reported that Bette would still need radiation for six weeks, and then hormone therapy for the next five years, but chemotherapy would not be necessary. The immediate threat was over, but even when Evie heard the news and squeezed Bette's liver-spotted hand in joy, she recognized their time together was still limited by life's natural cycle.

Evie vowed to make the most of having Bette in the city for the next few months and promised herself she would get to Boca at least twice a year for extended stays. Maybe she and Bette could hit Art Basel Miami together and return to their old tricks-this time pretending to scout Hirsts and Murakamis for billionaire clients. Edward concluded their meeting by saying he needed to help keep some four-year-olds' fingers away from the lion cage, and they all embraced in an awkward group hug. She missed his arms around her, even if Bette and Fran were squeezed in there too. All of this she thought about while she rotated herself around in Tracy's desk chair like she was meat on a spit, waiting for the pain reliever to kick in.

"h.e.l.lo?" a female voice sounded.

Evie looked up and found Eleanor standing in the doorway to the cla.s.sroom.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you. I was just wondering if you knew where Jamie was. We were supposed to meet in the cafeteria and he didn't show."

"I saw him a few minutes ago with his mother. Maybe they left together," Evie suggested. She actually knew that to be true, having seen the two of them step into a chauffeured town car parked outside the school.

"Oh," Eleanor said. "I didn't realize Jules was back. Thanks."

Jules? Eleanor's familiarity with the Holmes-Matthews clan made Evie feel spiteful for absolutely no good reason at all.

Life fell into a comfortable rhythm after Bette's surgery. The work at Brighton continued at a manageable clip, and Evie made acquaintances with some of the younger teachers. She continued to enjoy long walks to work and found her way over to Bette's at least once a week after school for a quality visit. Bette seemed eager to return to Florida, griping about the cold, but Evie wondered if her desire to go home had something to do with Sam. Fortunately Evie and Fran convinced her to stay local while she convalesced, though no exact time frame was agreed upon.

Edward kindly dropped in on Bette several times during her recovery, but it seemed like the timing was always off for them to catch up-he'd be leaving to do rounds just when Evie arrived. When Antiques Roadshow came on in the evenings, she daydreamed about calling him to watch it together. Sometimes she thought of fict.i.tious questions to ask about Bette's treatment but worried that Edward would see through them. What would she do if Mrs. Gold picked up his cell phone? Of course she would never act on anything with Edward. She just missed hearing his voice. And listening to him rattle off medical jargon on a phone call. And seeing him in scrubs. She missed the way she felt in his presence-noticed, special, worth a.n.a.lyzing. In his presence, her memories of Jack vaporized; only Edward could morph Jack from lifelike zombie to translucent ghost.

Jack.

Sans the web, she never did find a photo of his wife, whose name, Zeynup Kayatani, Stasia had triumphantly discovered through means Evie wasn't quite clear about (the Turkish Records Bureau came to mind). She also didn't look at the photos of Wyatt that Aunt Susan said she had sent her, even as Evie found herself missing the sweet little baby and wondering what new milestone he'd reached in New Mexico. He'd only stayed with her for two days before Susan whisked him back to Santa Fe (days before Bette's results were even known), but it was enough time for the adorable infant to settle himself into Evie's heart. She even missed the way his baby accoutrements filled every inch of her apartment. Looking at the pictures of Wyatt Susan had e-mailed was truly tempting, but that would mean logging into her e-mail, where she'd inevitably comb her inbox for word from Luke Gla.s.sc.o.c.k, or the orthodontist she'd botched the date with, or even a message from Jack confessing his marriage to Zeynup was a huge mistake. If she had to guess which of those messages was likely to be there, she'd have to choose (D): None of the above.

Which is why she was fortified in her decision to keep her distance from e-mail until she reached the looming finish line of her birthday in May. And it wasn't just Gmail that she was better off for cleansing. She no longer patrolled eHarmony, JDate, or Match for hours. She didn't self-flagellate by combing Facebook for enviable photos and posts. Nor did she creep around the Internet looking for news of divorces or scandals, the sort of searches she used to do in secret when she was feeling particularly bad about herself. She hadn't been on BigLawSux since her own humiliation, though she would have relished the comment threads about the grueling hours and abuse from power-trippy partners. Abandoning the web had undoubtedly started with painful withdrawal, and while she sometimes got the urge for a fix, it was proving to be a positive adjustment in her life. She was definitely less obsessed with what everyone else was doing when she didn't have the virtual yardstick to measure herself against.

But still, she wasn't happy. Something was missing. It wasn't the web. But it was something.

After autumn took its leave, winter showed its face quickly with a snowfall that dusted the city canopies like confectioners' sugar. The old radiator in the Brighton main office started pumping heat into the air, and Evie started to suspect that Jamie had a crush on her. He volunteered to help out in the office twice a day and would often pa.s.s by to give her an ironic salute en route to cla.s.s. She used it to her full advantage, often prodding him for details of his mother's projects while she had him look up phone numbers, e-mail signature pages, and Google contract terms. How did his mother get her start in interior design? Where did she source her antiques? What was Bono like? These were just a few of her nagging questions, but Jamie didn't seem to mind.

This week her task had been to mark up the contract from the construction team that would be renovating Brighton's new building and circulate a draft to the board members. The legal work wasn't particularly challenging, and Evie found she did most of it on autopilot. Up the penalties on the contractor. Stretch out Brighton's payment schedule. It wasn't rocket science. She was grateful for the paycheck and to have her days occupied, but lawyering in this capacity wasn't any more exciting or suited to her interests than M&A had been.

"Evie," Headmaster Thane said, surprising her from behind one morning. "I need to speak to you about an important matter." He motioned for her to get up.

Her stomach flip-flopped. Had he noticed that she never used the computer? That she delegated all Internet work to a high school senior on probation? That she interrogated the poor kid about his mother, a Brighton trustee, every chance she got? She followed him into his office, anxiously reliving the moment the partnership committee announced she was caput.

"Have a seat," he said, and she settled into a leather armchair opposite his desk.

"Evie, what can I say? Your work has been exceptional. We are all very impressed with the way you have handled the contract negotiations and dealt with the sometimes difficult members of our board. I know Julianne was very impressed with you. We're hoping you will consider accepting our offer of full-time employment. Initially, we were looking for someone with experience in the education sector, but I just don't think it's necessary. You've been fantastic."

Evie exhaled deeply. She wasn't being reprimanded. Thane had no idea she was lawyering like a Luddite or that she was using her "intern" (as she'd taken to thinking of Jamie) inappropriately. On the contrary, she was being commended. It felt so nice to have her hard work and skills appreciated that it took a moment to sink in that she had a decision to make.

"So what do you say? I know we can't pay you like your firm did, but your hours would be a heck of a lot better and you'd have a great deal of autonomy."

And I'd get to work for someone who wears bow ties and elbow patches every day, Evie thought, looking at the professorial-looking Thane. Brighton, and especially Thane, had her pining for her college days-a happier time, and definitely a calmer period in her life, when she didn't feel like the clock was running out on her to GET THINGS DONE. A period of her life when dating was for fun, not for marriage, and friends were drinking partners-not life coaches. The offer was certainly worth consideration.

"I'm very flattered. But I need time to think it over."

"Of course. Take a week or two. We'd love to have you on board."

Back at her desk, Evie found Jamie in his cube listening to his iPod. He pulled out his earbuds when he saw her.

"In trouble with Headmaster Tame?" he teased.

"No, quite the opposite. He offered me a full-time job."

"Congrats. You gonna take it?"

"I'm not sure. Lots to think about."

"This place is pretty cool. I mean, they let me work here instead of-"

"Jamie," she interrupted. "I need help hanging these posters in Mrs. Loo's cla.s.sroom. I can't leave them lying around the office anymore."

"Sure, let me get those for you," he said, lifting up two of the frames and trotting alongside her up the stairwell.

"I guess a hammer and nails would have been useful," Evie said, a touch out of breath. "Not sure why I didn't think of that."

After an unsuccessful stop in Tracy's cla.s.sroom, she and Jamie were cramped into the supply closet, located in the school's subcellar. He was on a stepladder fishing through a toolbox.

"It's cool," Jamie said. "I was planning to skip Spanish anyway."

"Sorry about the trek up and down the three flights. I know these posters are heavy."

"I don't mind at all. But you look like you're freezing down here."

She was. There was no heat in the bas.e.m.e.nt, and Evie was wearing a thin blouse.

"Take my sweatshirt," he said, offering her a generously sized zip-up.

She slipped it on gratefully.

"Hey! I found something," he said, producing hooks and a bag of nails. "Now we just need a hammer."

He climbed off the ladder and started opening random boxes. Evie did the same, and together they combed the four-by-six storage shed, b.u.mping into each other apologetically.

"I think I see one," he said, reaching for the box behind Evie's back.

"Great, because I'd love to get this done today. Tracy, I mean Mrs. Loo, is going to have the baby any day and I'd really love it if-hey, what are you doing?" she shrieked.

Jamie had snaked his hand up the back of her shirt. He was fumbling with her bra clasp. Before she could say another word, his mouth was on hers.

His lips felt plump, the skin around them baby smooth. She almost did it. She almost kissed back. Jamie, after all, was not your average hormonal, acne-laden teen. How easy it would have been to meet his tongue with hers. To have a victory over Eleanor, and a symbolic win over Cameron Canon. But no. It wasn't okay, no matter how fabulous his mother was. She was not going to make out with a student. That was sick.

"Jamie, stop it. This can't happen." She pushed him off of her.

"Don't worry, I'm eighteen," he said, lunging back at her.

"That is not the issue," she said.

"Then why not?" he whined, like a little boy used to getting whatever he wanted. "You've been leading me on for months."

"I've what? No I haven't!"

"You ask me to send e-mails for you. Seriously? That's clearly just a way to have us work together. And the other day you asked me to describe my bedroom to you."

"That's because of your mom! I worship Julianne Holmes-Matthews. I was curious how your room was decorated."

He looked so hurt and confused, Evie actually felt sorry for him. What had she done?

"What about all the touching in the office?"

That part was true. Their flimsy excuses to touch each other ("You dropped something . . . There's a thread on your pants . . . Here let me help you with that") were as transparent as they come.

She had just wanted to feel another human. Was that a crime? Jamie represented something she felt she'd no longer be able to attain at her age-a partner without baggage. If Edward was an open book, then Jamie was a blank book. The way she was at that age. Before her father died, before she gave nearly a decade to a thankless job, before Jack shredded her heart to smithereens, and before technology fast-tracked the pace of everything around her. Back when her world was still whole and complication-free.

"I don't know what you're talking about. I mean, we do work six inches apart, so of course we knock into each other."

"Well, what about the computer stuff? Why are you always asking me to Google things?"

"Because I don't use the Internet. I haven't for six months already."

She might as well have been a one-eyed Martian the way Jamie looked at her in that moment.

"That's weird. It just really seemed like you were into me. You gave Eleanor the stink eye every time she came to visit. C'mon, Evie. I think you're just holding back because I'm a student. I won't tell a soul, I promise."