“I know, but I will. Emma, Ipromisethat I will support you on this.”
“Uh-huh,” she said with a roll of her eyes.
Jesse flinched. Arthur snapped the book shut.
“Listen, I know that I haven’t given you a reason to trust me, but I still wish that youwouldtrust me. Or at least try to,” he said. “And the only reason that I haven’t told them yet is because... well, because I’m a coward. Or,have beena coward, rather, but I’m trying not to be one anymore. And so, Ipromiseyou that I will tell them about your plans for the future as well asmyplans to support you.”
“We’ll see,” she said with a sigh, pushing herself to stand.
Emma started toward the hall. Arthur caught her arm when she tried to pass them.
“Can I read what you’ve written so far?” he asked.
“No,” Emma said simply, ripping away.
Groaning wearily, Arthur fell back against the cushion. Jesse snuggled closer to him and took one of his hands.
“Well, that was painful to watch,” he said, trying for a bit of levity as he massaged Arthur’s hand with his thumb.
“It was painful to be part of,” Arthur confirmed. “Do you think she’ll always hate me?”
“She doesn’thateyou. You’re her father.”
“Yes, one whom she clearly still sees as an adversary. I’m not even sure whether or not she’ll trust it when I finallydotell myparents about her future plans. She’ll probably think that I’ll let them talk me out of supporting her before she leaves for school. And that means I’ll have to contend withthat”—Arthur pointed out into the hall—“for the next year. Until I can prove her wrong.”
Charlotte’s voice floated in from the hallway. “You’ll survive,” she teased, coming into the room.
“No one in this house values privacy,” Arthur lamented.
“I’m simply picking up the eavesdropping habit fromyouroffspring,” she retorted, sitting on the chair where Emma had been sitting before. She smoothed out her skirts. “And I mean what I said. You’ll survive. Once it’s time for her to find a suitable school, she’ll realize that you were serious about supporting her.”
“I’d rather my daughter not hate me over the next year and change, thank you. Besides, what if she’s right? What if I tell my parents about her plans only to let them poison my mind? What if I let them shame me into reconsidering?”
“Do youreallythink that will happen?” Charlotte asked, throwing Arthur a look of what looked like playful exasperation.
“It might.”
Her eyes flickered to the ceiling, and she shook her head. “It won’t. BecauseIwon’t let it.”
Arthur sighed again. “Thank you. Still, I wish there was a way for me to convince her—and me—that I amcommittedto letting her pursue her dreams.”
Just then, Giuseppe came into the room balancing a tray of overly browned buttermilk biscuits, with Claire following closely behind, pushing a serving cart holding a pot of tea.
“I know it took me longer than expected, but I burned the first batch,” he said. “Which isn’t even my fault because your oven runs hot.”
“That’s not possible,” Jesse said.
“Keep your mouth shut, college man,” Giuseppe said, holding out the tray.
Arthur and Jesse plucked two biscuits from it. Arthur bit into his right away, immediately causing a bunch of crumbs to fall onto both his lap and the cushion. Jesse shook his head.
Chewing, Arthur said, through a mouthful of food, “What? I’m simply keeping my word to Mr. Caputo here. I told him I’d make him earn his money. Now he’ll have crumbs to clean.”
Jesse continued to shake his head some more in mock chastisement while Charlotte laughed. Claire handed Charlotte a cup of tea, and then the two women shared a brief kiss.
“Thank you for helping Gertrude,” Charlotte said softly.
“Anytime. I’m simply happy to be able to spend some time here while Lizzie and her parents visit the fair.”
