The excuse sounded weak, even to her. “You sure you don’t need anything?” Theo kept pulling items from the bag. “Juice box? Pacifier? Mr. Wiggums?” He waved a stuffed elephant. Grace took the juice with a faint smile.
“Thanks.”
She sipped through the tiny straw, focusing on taking one deep breath, and then another. The park around them was shady and green; kids playing on a distant set of monkey bars. The comforting hum of the city surrounded them, a world away from the icy silence of Portia’s apartment. Slowly, she felt herself calm.
Grace could feel Theo studying her, so she turned to the stroller — which was less a stroller than an off-road vehicle, swathed with sun-netting protection and safety straps. “How’s Dash?” she asked brightly. “Have you guys been having fun?”
“If by ‘fun’ you mean intellectually stimulating structured playtime, then yes.” Theo grinned. He reached into the stroller, lifted Dash out, and before she could protest, gently placed him in Grace’s arms.
“Hey, you.” Grace held him awkwardly. “What’s up?” He had blue eyes, and tufts of dark hair, like her dad — their dad — and was swathed in a tiny white sailor’s suit. He blinked at her, gurgling. Grace blinked back. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so calm,” she told Theo, surprised. “He’s always . . . you know.”
“A brat?” Theo laughed. “It’s all the fussing Portia does, it gets him wound up. I tell her that he just wants to eat and sleep, but she’s convinced he needs all those classes.” He shrugged. “But what do I know? I just get to be the cool uncle, I’m not the one getting up in the middle of the night.”
Nor, Grace suspected, was Portia, but she didn’t say so. That awful sympathetic look was gone from Theo’s face, and she felt less like a wretched mess. “What about you?” she asked, slurping her juice. “How have you been?”
“OK. I mean . . .” Theo paused. “I heard, about the will.” He looked awkward. “I wanted to say something before, but —”
“It’s fine!” Grace interrupted. “I mean, it’s out of our hands. There’s nothing we can do about it.”
“I tried to reason with her,” Theo offered, looking miserable. “I mean, you’re family. Sort of. But she wouldn’t —”
“Can we not talk about it?” Grace cut him off again. “Please. I can’t . . .” She swallowed. “I just want to forget about it, OK?”
“OK.” Theo nodded. He opened his mouth to speak, and Grace was afraid he’d ask something more about her father — about the grief, or the money, or any one of the things she knew would prompt a whole new wave of “hay fever” tears. But instead, he offered a grin. “Want to go show Dash the ducks?”
“Sure.” Grace exhaled in relief. “That sounds perfect.”
They found a dry spot near the pond. Theo produced a blanket from the depths of the stroller and spread it on the grass. They settled on either side, letting Dash crawl around between them.
“So what’s Hallie up to?” Theo asked, leaning back on his elbows. “I think I heard something about a street-drama project . . . ?”
“Oh, God.” Grace rolled her eyes. “That was last month. She and some of her theater friends decided to perform scenes out on the street, like a flash mob, but with theater? Anyway, it would have been fine, except they decided to do the murder scenes from Macbeth. In downtown Oakland. With fake blood and prop swords.”
Theo laughed.
“It wasn’t so funny trying to get her home from the police precinct,” Grace told him. “She nearly got charged with public disturbance, ranting about freedom of creative expression and the fascist police state.”
“She’s certainly . . . interesting,” Theo said, lips twisting as he tried not to grin.
“That’s one way of putting it.” Grace watched Dash pick up a leaf and start chewing. “Should we . . . ?”
Theo shrugged. “It’s organic, right?”
Grace laughed, the last of her tension draining away. “What about you? How come you’re done with school already?”
“I had enough credits to graduate early.” Theo pulled his jacket sleeves over his hands. “I was at boarding school,” he explained, “so I didn’t really feel like sticking around. And then when Portia called . . . I figured she could use the help.”
“That’s really nice of you.” Grace frowned. He caught the expression.
“What?”
“Nothing. I just . . . You’re not at all alike.” As soon as the words were out, Grace realized how that sounded. “I didn’t mean, you know . . . Just . . .” She sighed, defeated. “You’re different, that’s all.”
“Too different,” Theo murmured. Dash tried to crawl off into the pond, but Theo caught him by the suspenders on his sailor suit and yanked him back. “Not so fast, kid.”
“What do you mean, ‘too different’?” Grace shifted so she was sitting cross-legged.
“I’m kind of the black sheep of the family.”
“You?” Grace laughed. Theo was kind, polite, and didn’t seem to mind toting his baby nephew around for the day. In her book, that made him some kind of saint among teen boys. “What, are you hiding some secret addiction, or criminal record or something?”
“Ha, that would be fine,” Theo told her. “Uncle Emmett is doing two years for tax evasion, and my grandma . . . Let’s just say, she likes her brandy.” He gave a rueful grin. “Nope, I’m the real scandal. Chronic lack of ambition.”
Grace blinked. “You’re eighteen. Are you even supposed to have ambition yet?”
“Oh, yes.” Theo nodded. “I’m supposed to be on track for law school, or finance. I wanted to take time off before college, you know, travel. Volunteer, maybe, but the way they flipped out . . .” He exhaled in a long sigh. “I don’t know what they’ll say when I declare my major.”
“Fashion,” Grace guessed, teasing. “Modern dance. Nineteenth-century Romantic poetry.”
“Close,” he said, laughing. “No, I want to study philosophy.”
“How is that weird?” Grace exclaimed, baffled.
“I know, it’s crazy,” Theo agreed. “To hear them go on about it, you’d think I was going to wind up stripping in some dive bar in Pensacola.”