“The Pierre.” He scowled. “But I told him I didn’t want to.”
“You did? What did he say?”
“Doesn’t matter. I’m not doing it.”
“Andrew, I think you ought to. He’s your father.”
“The Pierre?” Her dad, who’d been studying the menu even though he always got the same thing, tuned back in. “Your mother and I went dancing there once. They had a good piano player. I remember that.”
Andrew looked confused. “You and Mom?”
“Your grandmother.” Even with her worry over Andrew, Cassie couldn’t help smiling. “On your anniversary, right?” She’d heard the story before, only they’d gone to the Waldorf, not the Pierre. But she wasn’t going to correct him; at least he remembered the dancing. “I think it was your twentieth. Mom wore that fabulous blue dress.”
“I liked that dress.” Her father smiled mistily, then his smile faded. “Where is that dress? I haven’t seen it in a while.”
“I don’t know.” Likely donated years ago, but no point going there.
“I need to find it.”
“I tell you what, when we get home, I’ll help you look. Okay?”
He twisted his napkin. “That was her favorite.”
Cassie stroked his hand, which seemed to calm him. “I’m sure we’ll find it. It’s got to be in a closet somewhere.” Sometimes a memory sparked like this, briefly intense before it flamed out. He would likely forget about the dress by the time they got home.
She felt a twinge of apprehension. Her appointment with the genetic counselor was four weeks away. In a month she would know one way or the other. She hadn’t said anything to Andrew yet, too hard to have this conversation over the phone. But he was here now. They needed to talk.
She was relieved when the waitress arrived with her pad. “Let’s order,” she said.
Andrew and her father ordered hamburgers, and Cassie got a Caesar salad. “And two orders of fries,” her dad said. Thankfully, he’d already forgotten about the dress.
“So how’s school?” he asked Andrew once the food arrived. He’d divvied up the fries so each of them had the same amount, even though Cassie protested she’d never eat that many.
Andrew took a drink of soda. He looked worn out. That horrible accident and then the suspension and now whatever was going on with his father. It seemed like every word, every bite of burger was an effort. She would run him over to Dr. Milburn. That was what she’d do. She wouldn’t let him talk her out of it.
“School’s okay.” Andrew gave her a despairing glance, but her father, removing the pickle from his burger, didn’t notice.
“I don’t like these.” Her dad set the pickle aside. “Why do they put them on?”
“Some people like pickles, Dad.”
“What are you studying?” her father said.
“Um…just regular stuff, a philosophy class this semester…”
“Philosophy.” Her dad brightened. “That’s a good foundation for law school. Are you thinking of law?”
“Dad, he’s only a sophomore.”
“Never too early to think of the future. I got through college in three years.”
Andrew toyed unhappily with his fries.
“It was the fifties,” Cassie said. “Things were different in those days.” She hoped her dad wasn’t going to start on his “loop.” What he’d studied in college, where he’d worked after law school, how much money he’d made. All that stuff was buried deep.
“Andrew’s smarter than I was at his age.” He beamed at Andrew approvingly. “He could finish in three years.”
“I’m not that smart,” Andrew mumbled.
