“I was four!”
“And clearly, you made a great impression.” Her mom beamed. She’d been wafting around on a cloud of joy ever since Uncle Auggie (as he insisted they call him) had been in touch, thrilled by the thought of a dedicated studio and all that Southern Californian light. “Or maybe it was the portrait. I painted his dogs for Christmas last year,” she explained to Theo. “Matching shih tzus. So cute!” She sailed out.
Grace sighed.
“Maybe it won’t be so bad,” Theo offered. “A fresh start. Or it could just be temporary, until you figure something else out . . .” He trailed off with a guilty look. “I’m sorry. I know I keep saying this, and it doesn’t make a difference, but . . . I’m sorry. I never thought Portia would take it this far.”
So far, in fact, that Portia had already sold the house to one of those condo developers. The demolition was scheduled for next week; Grace was glad she wouldn’t be around to witness that, at least.
“I know,” Grace reassured him. “It’s not your fault. It’s just the way things are.”
She surveyed the half-packed room, full of crumpled newspaper and the objects that had, for so long, made up the background fabric of her life. Generous as Auggie’s offer was, there wouldn’t be room for the Westons plus all their worldly belongings; half the house was going into storage, and thanks to Hallie and her mom’s inability to part with so much as a used ticket stub, it was down to Grace to decide which half.
“Come on,” she said, trying for a brighter tone. “I’ve got a ton of old textbooks that need to go to Goodwill. You can break your back as penance for Portia’s sins.”
Theo laughed. “I don’t love her that much. A muscle strain, maybe.”
“I’ll take it.”
They spent the rest of the morning dismantling her bedroom; Grace trying to ignore the pangs of loss with every photo she peeled from the wall, and every book she stashed away in the “storage” pile. She should be grateful. Hallie’s fairy godmother had appeared in the form of a balding distant cousin with a mysterious sense of family loyalty. Without him, she knew, she’d still be wrangling her mom and Hallie into a fifth-floor walk-up on the other side of the bay. But Grace couldn’t help the apprehension that bubbled up every time she thought about leaving town. Beverly Hills may be only six hours away on the freeway, but it seemed like a world away from home, her school, her friends . . .
And Theo.
Not that he was staying, Grace reminded herself firmly. He was heading back to the East Coast next week, to start his summer job teaching sailing in the Hamptons.
“That sounds fun. Preppy, but fun,” Grace had teased when he’d told her about his plans.
“Tell that to my grandma. Coates men don’t soil the family name with manual labor.” Theo’s voice had been light, but Grace could tell there was tension there.
“Right,” she’d agreed. “Because yachting is up there with coal mining and lumberjacking. Oh, the shame!”
“Is lumberjacking even a word?” Theo had grinned, and just like that, the tension was broken.
“Here, catch,” Grace said, tossing a canvas bag down at Theo. He caught it deftly, peering inside.
“What is this stuff?” Theo pulled out a miniature blowtorch and a handful of metal pins.
“Design elective last year,” she explained. “I had to do an art project, so I picked the most scientific one I could.”
Theo pulled out one of her finished pieces: a pendant in the shape of a periodic element, pins welded together as electrons and neutrons. “You made this? It’s great.” He looked at it a moment, then laughed.
“What?”
“Nothing, it’s just . . . it’s the sign for gold, and you made it out of silver.” Theo turned it over in his hands. “That’s cool.”
“You’re the first person to get that.” Grace smiled. Their eyes met for a moment, and she turned away, awkward. “Science geeks, we be crazy!”
“So which box?” Theo asked. “Keep?”
Grace wavered. “Storage,” she decided. “No, wait, trash.”
Theo put the bag in the storage box. “Maybe you’ll want it one day,” he told her with a smile. Grace sighed. “At this rate, we’ll need ten lockers! And that’s not even counting Hallie’s collection of Vogues.”
“What are you saying about me now?” Hallie’s voice came from down the hall.
“Nothing!” Grace yelled back. “Be careful,” she whispered to Theo as footsteps came closer. “She’s been kind of . . . emotional, since Juilliard.”
He nodded, arranging his face into a cautiously sympathetic expression, but when the door swung wider, Hallie danced in. The black mourning garb was gone: in its place was a floaty vintage print dress and fifties starlet lipstick. She was humming an indie rock song, as carefree as if the past month of tantrums had never happened. “Hey, Theo!” Hallie held out her hand. “Up high.”
Theo slowly high-fived her, sending Grace a confused look. Hallie waltzed over to the storage pile. “Oh, our old teddy bears, cute!”
“Umm, Hallie,” Grace asked carefully. “How are you feeling?”
“Great!” She beamed.
“Did you take some of Mom’s pills?” Grace checked. “Because you know the doctor says to be careful —”
“Relax!” Hallie grinned. “I’m not high.”
“OK.” Grace was still suspicious. “Drunk?”
“Grace! I’m fine. Even better than fine.” Hallie beamed. “We’re moving to Hollywood!”
“Beverly Hills isn’t technically Hollywood,” Grace corrected, but Hallie just rolled her eyes.
“It’s close enough. Don’t you see?” she declared. “I wanted to be an actress, and now I will be! I don’t need stupid Juilliard, I can get all the experience and contacts I need in L.A. Train with the greats, go to auditions . . .” She struck a pose, knocking into Grace’s stack of old school reports. Theo leaped up to keep them from tumbling down. “It’s perfect.”
“Uh-huh,” Grace murmured. Hallie narrowed her eyes.
“It wouldn’t kill you to be more supportive. I thought you wanted me to move on, embrace the change. So I’m embracing it!”
“That’s great,” Grace said quickly. “I’m really happy for you. Have you started packing yet?”