She nods, taking off her smock and dropping it where she stands. She runs over to the bookshelf I set up for her and starts looking through herbooks.
“Do I have time to change first?” Aubrey looks down at herself. She’s wearing cotton shorts and a T-shirt, both of which could pass as pajamas, but I happen to know she didn’t sleep in that last night. She wore nothing, and she slept in myarms.
We smile together, remembering the way our bodies melted into one another. Aubrey is everything I need. Everything Iwant.
When she leaves the room to change, I whip up a quick sandwich for Claire. I’ve recently learned that a full belly plus lots of morning activities equals anap.
My efforts are rewarded when we’re in the car less than ten minutes and Claire passes out with an open book on herlap.
Aubrey reaches back, taking the book and placing it beside her carseat.
“Was that your plan? For her to fallasleep?”
I laugh. “I ran her ragged this morning. Park, foot races, jumping races. I need her asleep for this. She doesn't need to know what I’m going to tell you. Not yet,anyway.”
Aubrey sobers when I say that. She straightens in her seat. “Should I beworried?”
“Not at all. It has nothing to do with you. Or me, really.” I frown. “Well, it does have to do with me, but…” I’m really butchering this. “Everything is fine, OK? Ipromise.”
My words do nothing to relieve the worried look on herface.
She’squiet.
“Sixty?”
She looks at me. Her hair falls in her face, and she brushes it back with herfingers.
“We’re good.” My assurance’s probably won’t help, but at least I cantry.
She nods, but stays quiet until wearrive.
The parking lot is empty, like I expected it would be. It’s Sunday, and this is an office building. I park in the middle of the lot, between tworows.
“Isaac, why are we here?” She looks around, first out my window, then hers, and finally infront.
The steering wheel supports my forearm as I gaze out the windshield. The building in front of us is impressive. Twisted steel beams, big glass windows, deep green ivy growing up one side. I once read it was ahead of its time. As was itscreator.
I get out of the car, leaving it running for Claire, and walk around to the front. Aubrey follows and stands beside me. I point up at the building. “My dad built this. He was thearchitect.”
Aubrey makes a sound, a disbelieving snort. “Your dad is ascientist.”
I shake my head.Heregoes.
“Not Paul. My realdad.”
I watch her face as I tell her. Her head moves slowly from side toside.
“Paul isn’t your realdad?”
“No. My real dad is a man named LeeMartin.”
“But… your parents. They’ve been married longer than you’ve been alive.” Her eyes grow wide after she saysit.
“My mom had an affair. Lee Martin was her college sweetheart. He moved away after they graduated and she met my dad. When Lee came back, he called her. And then”—I take Aubrey’s hand—“they had an affair. Which produced me. My mom told Lee everything, and he said he didn’t want a child.” Even old wounds can still bleed, and this one hurts. Aubrey needs to hear this, so I keep going. “My mom wanted me, and Paul wanted my mom. He forgave her, and Lee gave up all parental rights. Paul adopted me, and he’s never been anything but mydad.”
Aubrey lets out a heavy breath. “I don’t know what tosay.”
“That was why I was at the bar the night we met. That was the day my mom told me about Lee Martin.” I tear my gaze from Aubrey and look at the building in front of me. It’s a work of art, a masterpiece of clean lines, cold steel, and glass, all juxtaposed with the earthy warmth of the ivy. It makes me wonder about the person who designedit.
