I feel a happy burn at the center of my chest. It means so much to me that he thinks I’m a good person, because he actually knows me.
He puts down the glass and watches me with folded arms. The air is suddenly charged with tension. It’s a complicated situation: he’s my only emotional support right now, and he’s on the payroll. The power dynamic is screwy in both directions. I know he thinks getting involved with me is a bad idea, I can see that there could be terrible fallout. And yet...
Playing with a loose thread on my skirt I say, “Sometimes I wonder why you took this job. You must have hated the thought of protecting the editor of the Herald’s bratty daughter.”
“I didn’t think anything. People are rarely black and white, so I don’t make assumptions.” He gives me a long look, his forefinger tapping on the sleeve of his shirt. “Will you do something?”
My curiosity is instantly piqued. I raise an eyebrow and ask, “For you?”
He shakes his head. “No, for you. I want to take you to see your mother.”
Disappointment lashes me. That’s not what I was hoping he’d say. “My mother? Why?”
“Because she’s your mother. You need each other, especially at a time like this.”
“If my mother needed me she’d be here,” I say, glowering. “She’s been gone for weeks and I’ve had, like, two phone calls from her.”
“She’s in rehab, isn’t she?”
“Oh, Dieter,” I mock, “we mustn’t use the R-word in this house.”
His eyes turn very hard and black. “Drop the attitude, Adrienne. I’m trying to help you.”
“I’m not the one who refuses to own up to what the Lyle Wellness and Harmony Sanctuary really is. Three thousand pounds a week for yoga lessons and wheatgrass juices for addicts to pretend they’re not addicts.”
“Expensive clinics might look like luxury hotels but they serve the same purpose as the cheap ones: helping people who have problems. Have you asked your mother about her problems?”
I feel an uncomfortable prickle down my spine. “I don’t know. She drinks too much vodka. She should just, I don’t know, not drink so much vodka.”
“Do you think it’s as easy as that?”
“I don’t think anything about it. I don’t want to think about it.” I drop my head onto my arms again and mutter into my sweater sleeves, “I’ve changed my mind—I don’t want to be a better person. I just want to paint pictures.”
I hear Dieter sit down on the stool next to me. He rests his folded arms on the countertop and I feel his shoulder press against mine.
“Adrienne. Look at me.”
I turn my head toward him and pillow my cheek on the back of my hand.
“I know it’s hard being the bigger person. I’m asking you to try because I know you have the strength, and I think you and your mother need each other right now.”
His voice is so rich and warm that I just want to curl up and listen to him murmur things to me.
“It’s hard enough being a big person, let alone being the bigger person,” I whisper.
He strokes the back of his finger against my cheek. “True. And if this was something I could do for you, I would. But I can do it with you, if you like?”
I think about this for a moment. Just a few moments ago I had bold ambitions to change the whole world’s opinion of me. Maybe I can talk to my mother.
“When would we go?”
“How about tomorrow? You don’t have class, do you?”
I shake my head. “No, but...”
Dieter waits, one eyebrow raised.
“If we go can we have another blow-off day the day after, just to do silly things?”