He’d stared at the test results, expecting to feel cheated or devastated or any of the other ways he’d guessed he was supposed to feel, but instead he’d felt completely nonplussed. The results didn’t matter at all. Amanda was his daughter and he was her father. He loved her with all his heart. Biology was overrated.
“I’d never planned to be a parent,” he told Elizabeth. “But here I am, a devoted father. Life’s a mystery, isn’t it? People who try and plan it inevitably end up disappointed.”
She nodded. She was a planner. She was disappointed.
“Anyway,” he continued. “I believe we can make something with Supper at Six. But there are some things about TV that you’re just going to, well, have to put up with. In terms of the wardrobe, I’ll tell the tailor to ease the seams. But in quid pro quo, I’d like you to practice smiling.”
She frowned.
“Jack LaLanne smiles when he’s doing push-ups,” Walter said. “That’s the way he makes hard things look fun. Study Jack’s style—he’s a master.”
At the mention of Jack’s name, Elizabeth tensed. She hadn’t watched Jack LaLanne since Calvin died, and that was partly because she blamed him—yes, she knew it wasn’t fair—for Calvin’s death. The memory of Calvin coming into the kitchen after Jack’s show filled her with a sudden warmth.
“There you go,” Walter said.
Elizabeth glanced up at him.
“You were almost smiling.”
“Oh,” she said. “Well, it was unintentional.”
“That’s fine. Intentional, nonintentional. Anything will do. Most of mine are forced. Including those at Woody Elementary School, where I’m headed next. I’ve been summoned by Mrs. Mudford.”
“I have too,” Elizabeth said, surprised. “I have a conference tomorrow. Does yours concern Amanda’s reading list?”
“Reading?” he said, surprised. “They’re kindergartners, Elizabeth; they can’t read. Anyway, the issue isn’t Amanda. It’s me. She’s suspicious of me because I’m a father raising a daughter alone.”
“Why?”
He looked surprised. “Why do you think?”
“Oh,” she said, with sudden understanding. “She believes you’re sexually deviant.”
“I wouldn’t have put it so, so…blatantly,” Walter said, “but yes. It’s like wearing a badge that says ‘Hello! I’m a pedophile—and I babysit!’？”
“I guess we’re both suspect, then,” Elizabeth said. “Calvin and I had sex nearly every day—completely normal for our youth and activity level—but because we weren’t married…”
“Ah,” Walter said, paling. “Well—”
“As if marriage has anything to do with sexuality—”
“Ah—”
“There were times,” she explained matter-of-factly, “that I would wake up in the middle of the night filled with desire—I’m sure that’s happened to you—but Calvin was in the middle of a REM cycle, so I didn’t disturb him. But then I mentioned it later and he was practically apoplectic. ‘No, Elizabeth,’ he said, ‘always wake me up. REM cycle or no REM cycle. Do not hesitate.’ It wasn’t until I did more reading on testosterone that I better understood the male sex drive—”
“Speaking of drive,” Walter interrupted, his face scarlet. “I wanted to remind you to park in the north lot.”
“The north lot,” she said, her hands on her hips. “That’s the one off to the left as I pull in?”
“Exactly.”
“Anyway,” she continued. “I’m sorry that Mudford has implied you’re anything other than a loving father. I very much doubt she’s read the Kinsey Reports.”
“The Kinsey—”
“Because if she had, she’d actually understand that you and I are the opposite of sexual deviants. You and I are—”
“Normal parents?” he rushed.
“Loving role models.”
“Guardians.”
“Kin,” she finished.
It was that last word that cemented their odd, tell-all friendship, the kind that only arises when a wronged person meets someone who has been similarly wronged and discovers that while it may be the only thing they share, it is more than enough.
“Look,” Walter said, marveling that he’d never had such a frank discussion about sex or biology with anyone, including himself. “About the wardrobe. If the tailor can’t make those dresses more breathable, choose something from your closet for now.”