Family Ties

The next morning Trip and I loaded our models into the back of the Land Cruiser and drove to the A&A building. Trip had to rush off with his, but I had a couple of hours to kill before Joska’s class. I hung out in the atrium and watched art students come and go with their own projects, everything from mixed-media sculpture to one guy who had a bright future (pun intended) as a

When the time finally arrived for my own class, I took my model upstairs to Joska’s classroom. He was there already and nodded when I entered. He knew all about my design, although his eyebrows still rose at the sight of my model. He’d been skeptical about the roof, but I’d been coy about my visit to Jonas and his plexiglass studio.

Freddie showed up with his own project and set it on the desk next to mine. It wasn’t the best in the room, but it wasn’t the worst either, and we talked about our designs. The hubbub finally died when Joska went to the front of the room and said he was ready to begin.

We each had to give a three-minute presentation of our design. Then Joska and the class could ask questions. He went alphabetically through the roll. The first presentations were good but nothing special. Freddie’s went well, and he fielded Joska’s single question easily.

When Gracie’s turn came, she took her model to the front of the room.

She wasn’t a confident speaker, and I could tell how nervous she was. We hadn’t talked in months, but I silently wished her well.

“Miss Fisher?” Joska said.

“What was the inspiration for your sculptures?” she asked with a gotcha smirk.

“Inspiration? It’s a museum. It needs art. So a friend made them for me.”

“You mean”—melodramatic pause for manufactured surprise—“they aren’t your own work?”

“I just said they weren’t.”

“Whose are they?” Joska asked.

“She made them for me.”

“So,” Gracie accused, “you’re trying to pass off someone else’s work as your own?”

“I just told you, no.” I felt a rising tide of annoyance and outright hostility. “Weren’t you listening?”

“Did you make the cars on yours?” I shot back. “They look like Hot Wheels. Are you trying to pass off someone else’s work as your own?”

“That’s enough,” Joska said.

“Just so,” he agreed.

“Or are we just going to quibble over components?”

I felt guilty for downplaying Christy’s sculptures, but I was trying to make a point.

“Mr. DeFeo,” Joska scolded, “professional language, please.”

Wren had three exams on Friday and Trip had two. The University actually had a rule that students weren’t required to take more than two exams in a single day, but Wren hadn’t made a fuss about it.

By a quirk of scheduling, Christy and I didn’t have any, so we went to the grocery store and bought ingredients for dinner. I nearly freaked out when I saw how much fresh tuna steaks cost, but it made me appreciate how Wren turned the grocery money into so many gourmet meals.

Christy was in a good mood as we shopped. She danced through the aisles and filled our basket with more than we really needed. She didn’t seem to care how much things cost. For all her other talents—art, dance, music, languages—she didn’t pay attention to numbers at all, whether they were

money, time, or basic math.

Back at home we were chopping vegetables in the kitchen when we heard Wren at the front door. I looked at my watch: almost six o’clock. Trip had only been home about thirty minutes himself. Wren came through from the dining room and stopped in her tracks. She actually rubbed her eyes and blinked at us.

Christy brandished a stalk of broccoli. “Surprise! We’re cooking dinner.”

“Oh, thank God,” Wren said tiredly. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“You want some wine?” Christy said. “Will you pour her a glass, dear?”

I hid a grin and told myself not to compare her to her mother. Not to her face, at least. I filled a glass and handed it to Wren.

She sipped first before she took a longer drink. Then she set the glass on the table and sagged to a chair in exhaustion.

“Hey, at least you’re half-finished with exams,” I said to cheer her up.

“Christy and I still have all ours left.”

“That’s something, all right,” Wren said. She put a hand to her head. “I think my brain turned to mush sometime this afternoon.”

“Dinner won’t be for an hour or so,” I said. “You wanna go soak in the tub till it’s ready?”

“Why don’t you keep her company,” I said to Christy. “Take the wine and have a little girl-time.”

“What’re you doing?” Christy asked in a whisper.

“Telling you to take care of your friend.”

“It’s okay,” Wren said. “You don’t have to.”

“Of course I’m sure.”

“That’d be nice. Thanks.”

I went back to work on the vegetables. Trip appeared a few minutes later and grumbled about being kicked out of his own bedroom.

“Chill, dude. Have some wine.