What Remains True Read online

  Our teacher puts us in another line along the four-square lines and tells us to all sit down where we are. Then she tells us to count the eggs in our baskets. She tells us that if we have too many to count, we should put them in little groups of five. I can count to a hundred, so I don’t need to make little groups, but I know some of my classmates can’t count that high yet.

  I dump over my basket and a couple of my eggs go rolling over and one of them hits Cindy in the side of her leg. She grabs it and goes like she’s putting it with hers and I tell her it’s mine. She sticks her tongue out at me but hands it back, and I’m glad ’cause I don’t want to fight, I just want to count ’em all, and what if we had ’zactly the same number of eggs, but her taking that one of mine made her have one more than me? That would be stinky winky.

  I count my eggs, all the way up to forty-seven eggs. There’s lots of cookies-and-cream for Eden and lots of peanut butter for Daddy and lots of plain chocolate for Mommy. I want to eat one so bad right now, but I know I have to wait until everybody’s counted and the winner is picked.

  I look around to see what kind of piles my classmates have and whether they look bigger than mine, but I can’t tell. Finally, Mrs. Hartnett asks us to raise our hands when we’re done counting. Most of us put our hands up, but a few kids don’t, so she goes over and helps them count, then tells them how much they got.

  “Okay,” she says. “Moment of truth.” I’m not sure what that means, because you should always tell the truth every moment. “We’re going to go down the line and call out how many eggs we found. Ready?”

  And so we do. I’m sort of in the middle of the line, and every person up to me doesn’t have as many as me. Jody came real close with forty-five, and he’s all excited until I shout out, “Forty-seven.”

  Then I get all scared that someone after me is going to say forty-eight or fifty or something. A few kids have forty and forty-four, and then it’s Jesse at the very end of the line, and he looks at me with kind of a mad face and says, “Forty-six.”

  “Well, that means that Jonah Davenport is the winner!” Mrs. Hartnett says, and she’s giving a real big smile and I’m smiling real big right back at her because I won!

  “Okay, everyone,” she says. “It’s time to go back to class. Grab your eggs, and let’s go.”

  I pack mine up real fast and as I’m walking toward the kinder area, I see Eden. She’s talking to someone, but I’m so excited about winning Marco and finding all the eggs to share, I run over to where she is and give her a great big hug.

  “I won, I won, I won!” I yell at her. “Isn’t that great, Eden? I get to bring home Marco, and I got so many cookies-and-cream eggs you’re not going to believe it!”

  Eden isn’t hugging back, but that’s okay. I must have sort of scared her. She steps away from me, but she’s not looking at me, she’s looking at one of her friends, and her friends walk away.

  “I won,” I tell her again.

  “Good for you, Jonah,” she says, but she’s kind of got a mad face on. Then she runs to catch up with her friends, and I think how funny she is that she’s not even excited about the cookies-and-cream eggs.

  Then I remember that I won, and I race over to the rest of my classmates and we head for the classroom and I start to think about Marco and having him for a whole week.

  THIRTY-NINE

  EDEN

  I walk with my besties, Carlee and Ava. Mr. Libey leads all of us across the blacktop toward the jungle gym and the field to hide the dumb eggs. There’s like twenty of us fourth and fifth graders on the spring egg hunt committee. I didn’t even want to be on the committee, but Carlee talked Ava and me into it. She told us we get out of class and that we could, like, totally steal some eggs when we were hiding them for the kindergartners. And then Ryan raised his hand to be on the committee, and when I saw him, I kind of raised my hand, too. Not that I like him or anything. I mean, he’s kind of cute. He’s got blond hair and big blue eyes and he makes jokes that are really funny. Not like Matt. Matt’s funny, but he makes jokes that are really mean, like making fun of other kids. Ryan doesn’t make fun of anyone; he just says stuff that makes you laugh. But I don’t like him, you know, that way. Okay, maybe I like him a little.

  “I like the Butterfinger eggs best,” Carlee says.

  Ava shakes her head. “Not me. I like the peanut butter ones.”

  Corwin Kwe is walking right behind us, and when Ava accidentally drops her paper bag full of eggs, he picks it up really fast and hands it to her. I think maybe Corwin likes Ava, which is kind of funny because he’s really short and she’s like the tallest girl in fifth grade. She snatches the bag out of his hand and doesn’t even say thank you, just sniffs and turns away, which I think is rude, but I don’t say anything because Ava will say something mean to me, like, “Oh, aren’t you just Miss Goody Two-shoes, Eden?”

  Anyways—oops, anyway, the committee spends about ten minutes hiding all the eggs for the kindergartners. Ava and Carlee head to the grass. I’m following them, holding my paper bag full of eggs, but then I see Ryan go to the jungle gym and I sort of turn and head in the same direction. I grip the paper bag really tight, and my hand feels really sweaty all of a sudden and I’m not sure why. I switch the bag to my left hand and wipe my palm on my dress.

  Ryan puts a handful of eggs on the swinging bridge, then looks over at me. His bangs are a little bit long over his eyes, but I can see that his eyes are kind of crinkly at the corners like he’s grinning.

  “You eat any?” he asks.

  Mr. Libey told us we weren’t allowed to eat any of the eggs, that they were for the kindergartners, even though I know for a fact that Carlee and Ava both scarfed down like four each when nobody was looking.

  I think about telling Ryan a lie, ’cause I don’t want Ryan to think I’m a geek, or a Goody Two-shoes, or something. I pour some eggs onto the platform next to the slide and shake my head.

  “Nah. Me neither.” He shrugs. “They’re for the little kids. And I guess the committee gets to share whatever’s leftover, if there is any. At least, that’s what happened last year. Hey, we should hide some underneath, what do you think?”

  I look down at the ground under the jungle gym, then back up to Ryan. He’s smiling and nodding like he’s excited to be doing something no one else thought of. My dress will get totally dirty, and if I rip it Mom will be so mad, but I don’t care. I nod back at Ryan, and we both drop to our knees and start crawling along the blacktop, pouring out eggs as we go.

  “This is beast,” Ryan says, and I can’t help but giggle. It’s totally beast.

  “What’re you guys doing under there?” Ava’s voice. “Kissing?” I hear Carlee laugh, and then Matt joins in.

  “Ryan and Eden are under the jungle gym kissing?” Matt shouts. My cheeks go hot again, and when I look at Ryan, he’s frowning. And even though it’s dark under here, I can tell that his cheeks are red, too. He scrambles out from the other side of the jungle gym as fast as he can. I crawl out on my side, stand, and brush the dirt and pebbles from my dress. Ava and Carlee and Matt are still laughing. I glare at them.

  “Shut up,” Ryan says. “You guys are total losers.”

  “Okay, committee!” Mr. Libey calls from the four-square courts. “It’s time to bring out the kindergartners. Make a wide circle and keep an eye out for any shenanigans.”

  I walk over to the monkey bars and cross my arms over my chest, then look over to the kindergarten gate. I pretend I don’t see Carlee and Ava come up beside me.

  “God, we were just joking, Eden,” Ava says. She doesn’t sound sorry at all, and that makes me even madder.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Carlee nudge Ava’s arm. Then Ava takes a big deep breath. “I’m sorry, Eden. That was mean.”

  This time, she sounds like she means it. I turn to her and shrug. “Whatever.”

  Just then, the kindergartners race across the blacktop and start scrambling toward the eggs. I see Jonah running really
fast, a big smile on his face. He waves at me but I don’t wave back, because even though Ava apologized, I’m still a little angry and embarrassed. I take a quick peek over at Ryan, who’s standing in the circle by the field. He’s looking at me, but when he sees me, he turns away real fast like he doesn’t want to be caught. My cheeks do that stupid red thing again, and it takes the whole spring egg hunt for them to cool off.

  The hunt lasts, like, all of five minutes and then it’s over. The teachers take the kindergartners over to the four-square court to count their eggs, and the fourth and fifth graders start wandering back toward our classrooms, but because we got out of doing work for the egg hunt, none of us are in any hurry to go. Ava and Carlee and me are walking side by side, and Ryan and Matt are kind of a little bit behind us. I want to look back at Ryan, but I don’t let myself.

  Just then, Corwin Kwe runs up to Ava and holds out his hand. I see four peanut butter eggs on his palm. “I got these for you, Ava.”

  I’m thinking that was really nice of him and how would I feel if Ryan handed me my favorite eggs? I guess I would feel kind of warm and fuzzy. But Ava pulls her lip up in a sneer and looks at Corwin like he’s some kind of nasty bug.

  “Ew. Like I’d ever eat something that was in your dirty little hand.”

  Carlee and Matt start laughing. Corwin blinks real fast and looks like he’s going to cry.

  “I think Corwin likes you, Ava,” Matt teases. “I think he really likes you.”

  My stomach turns over, and I feel kind of how you feel before you throw up. I want to tell Matt to stop, that he’s not being nice, but everyone else is laughing, even Ryan, so I don’t know what to do. Then Corwin stamps his foot and throws the peanut butter eggs on the ground.

  “I—I—I would never like you. You’re like the w-w-worst person ever. You’re bad at math and you’re so stuck-up.”

  My stomach twists again. I can’t believe Corwin just said that. Nobody ever talks to Ava like that. I look at her, and her eyes are squinting down at him.

  “Why don’t you go play in the street, Corwin,” she says. Carlee and Matt laugh. Ryan and I look at each other, and this time I don’t look away and neither does he. Corwin wipes at his nose, then runs away from us and toward the classroom. I feel totally bad for him because I know what’s going to happen. Ava and Matt and Carlee are going to tell everyone what happened, and everyone is going to be laughing at him and making fun of him for the rest of the school year.

  We all start shuffling toward class again, and I kind of slow my steps so that Carlee and Matt and Ava can go ahead. Ryan and I are walking side by side.

  “What’s your favorite egg?” Ryan asks.

  “Cookies-and-cream,” I tell him.

  “Hey, mine, too. What’s your favorite kind of candy?” he asks, and now my stomach doesn’t feel bad—it just feels kind of fluttery because Ryan’s talking to me and asking me what I like.

  I think about my favorite kind of candy, and I wonder which candy is Ryan’s favorite, and whether he’ll think my favorite candy is good or bad, or whether he likes it, too—wouldn’t that be cool if my favorite is his favorite, too?—but before I can answer him, Jonah knocks into me and throws his arms around me and starts babbling at me.

  “I won, I won, I won!”

  My friends make sounds of surprise as Jonah squeezes me and jumps up and down.

  “How sweet,” I hear Ava say, but I can tell by the way she says it that she doesn’t think it’s sweet or nice or good at all. She starts to snicker while Jonah babbles on.

  “Isn’t that great, Eden?” he says. “I get to bring home Marco, and I got so many cookies-and-cream eggs you’re not going to believe it!”

  “Kindergartners are so lame,” Matt says.

  “I know, right?” Carlee says. “I hate my little brother.”

  I tear Jonah’s arms from my waist and step away from him. I look over at Ryan. He gives me a strange look, then trots to catch up with the others. I want to tell him what my favorite kind of candy is, Fun Dip, but now that Jonah interrupted us I won’t get to, probably not ever. Thanks a lot, Jonah! I glare down at my little brother. He looks so happy and excited, and I just want to smack him.

  “I won,” he says again.

  “That’s great, Jonah.” I turn away from his smiling face and follow my friends, hoping Ryan will slow down so we can finish our conversation.

  He doesn’t.

  FORTY

  SAMUEL

  I gather the blueprints and schematics from the conference table and roll them up, heaving an inward sigh of relief. The meeting with Greg Talbot and his partner, Bob Jacobs, went well. Better than expected. We have a few more details to iron out, but I’m fairly sure they’ll be signing contracts with us within the week. Carson will be elated. We’re a small, boutique firm—up till now, a two-architect operation with only a handful of employees—but recently we’ve discussed expanding, bringing in some twentysomethings to mentor. As soon as Talbot and Jacobs are a done deal, Carson and I will have to revisit that conversation.

  My prospective clients stride from the small conference room. From the doorway, Greta gives me a covert thumbs-up and a closed-lip grin. She crosses to the table to clear away the coffee tray, the cups, and the plates of half-eaten scones. I glance at her as I secure the blueprints with a paper clip.

  “Celebratory lunch?” she asks. Her hands are overfull, and I relieve her of three of the plates. “Thanks,” she says. She smiles warmly at me, causing a stirring that has become familiar, if not altogether comfortable, at the sight of her smile.

  We head to the kitchenette at the end of the floor. She lowers the coffee tray into the sink then takes the plates from me, her fingers brushing against mine. She tosses her head, and I smell peaches and vanilla. I don’t know what the fragrance is—Rachel would probably know—but it’s soft and subtle and sexy.

  “What do you think?” she asks as she turns on the faucet and rinses the dishes. “Orsini’s?”

  Orsini’s is an Italian restaurant about four blocks from here. Pricey, delicious, and public. I took Greta to Orsini’s six months ago, the day I gave her a raise. Carson was with us. Greta is my assistant exclusively, but our employee, and he felt he should be part of the celebration. There was nothing untoward going on between Greta and me. And there still isn’t, not really. But the idea of taking Greta to Orsini’s today doesn’t feel right.

  Things have shifted between us since that lunch. The occasional lingering stare, the accidental touch as we pass each other in the hall, the not-so-accidental neck rub at the end of a long day. I’m not certain what these things mean. I don’t want to assume or make too much out of what could merely be workplace-inspired flirting and faux intimacy. That happens all the time, right? But it doesn’t feel that way with Greta. And I need to find out. No. I want to find out. There’s a difference. The latter merely signifies curiosity, whereas the former suggests a foregone conclusion. I keep telling myself that, anyway.

  “How about sandwiches from Capellini’s?” I propose, and she nods.

  “Even better. I’ll order the usual.”

  She turns her attention to her task, and I take a last look at her before heading to my office. I carry her image with me as I go. Young. God, she’s young. Twenty-three or -four. Long legs; high, ample breasts; full lips; and a lovely pert nose. And her eyes. Green with flecks of gold. Beautiful in and of themselves, but beguiling mostly because of how they look at me. With adoration. No one has looked at me that way for a very long time.

  Not that Rachel doesn’t love me. But she doesn’t look at me the same way she once did. Marriage tears off the rose-colored glasses and forces us to look at each other for who we are rather than who we want each other to be. Rachel accepts me, warts and all. And I accept her for who she is. But I sometimes miss being adored. Which is why I can’t seem to stop thinking about Greta.

  I am self-aware enough to understand that as I careen toward my golden years, I reminisce more
often about my younger days, about the high school quarterback and cheerleader magnet I once was, when a forty-yard pass was all it took to fulfill me. I know it’s ridiculous and borderline pathetic, especially considering the life I have now. But despite the knowing, I find it impossible to bury my attraction—lust—for my assistant.

  I grab my cell phone from the inside pocket of my suit jacket, then remove my jacket and hang it on the hook of my office door. I glance at the screen and see the missed text from Rachel. Disappointed, but I understand. Drive safe. Want me to save dinner for you? I reread the earlier text asking if I fancied a date tonight and the response I’d sent just before my meeting. Was going to call, babe. Carson wants to take a run out to the Hewitt project. He’s worried about the deadline. You know the drive. I could be pretty late. Rain check?

  It’s not exactly a lie. Carson wants me to check on the project today because we’re a week behind schedule. However, my partner has a dinner event with some local muckety-mucks, so he will not be joining me.

  I sit at my desk and wake my computer. The machine whirs to life, and the familiar screen saver materializes on the monitor. A Davenport family selfie Rachel took during a trip to the mall over the holidays. Our faces are smashed together, and we’re laughing.

  Through my office window, I see Greta sashaying to her desk. She cocks her head to the side and peers at me, catching my stare. She winks, then shakes her mane flirtatiously and sits down. A moment later, Henry Beecham, our bookkeeper, approaches her with a file folder and sets it down on her desk. I watch them interact for a few seconds. Greta is completely professional, no winks or grins or coquettish mannerisms of any kind, and I am relieved that she reserves that behavior for me alone. Relieved and ashamed. Ashamed that I am relieved.