Dr. Dad by Judith Arnold Page A

her retreating form, her long legs and sleek curves and her glorious, silky-looking hair. He smiled down at Lindsey. “So, you had fun?” he asked.
    Indeed she had. He heard about it nonstop as they entered the house, as he tossed his blazer over a chair and flipped through the mail, as he seasoned the chicken breasts and Lindsey gathered the ingredients for a salad. He heard about how cool Susannah was, how big the waves were off the coast of California, where she used to live, and how tall the palm trees grew there. He heard about how everyone drove everywhere there, and lots of people had convertibles that they drove in January because it was always so warm, and about how all the coffee bars had outdoor tables year-round. He heard about how Susannah had turned Cathy’s bedroom into an office, and she was writing scripts or something, and Lindsey had wanted to do her homework at Susannah’s desk, but Susannah said no because she had all these papers laid out in a certain order and didn’t want them to get messed up, so Lindsey did her math at the kitchen table, instead. Susannah had a seriously cool kitchen table, according to Lindsey. It was varnished wood with ceramic tiles in thecenter of it, and she had a lamp with a stained-glass shade hanging from the ceiling directly above the table.
    Toby listened, perhaps more closely than he should have. What scripts was Susannah writing? Had she and Lindsey discussed her acting career at all? Had she explained to Lindsey why she didn’t want to talk about her work on the TV show—and if so, would Lindsey tell him? Not because he wanted to pry but because he wanted to know Susannah better.
    He couldn’t count on Lindsey to help him get to know Susannah. She’d done enough by inviting Susannah to dinner last Friday—and by offering his services as a mirror hanger. If he wanted to get to know Susannah better, he ought to thank Lindsey for creating an opening for him—and then walk through that opening himself.
    â€œI’m meeting with Ms. Hathaway tomorrow morning,” he reminded Lindsey. “Is there anything in particular you want me to talk about with her?”
    Lindsey let out a long, weary breath. “Tell her to give me higher grades,” she said. Then hastily added, “Joke, Dad.”
    â€œI figured.”
    â€œI don’t care what you talk to her about,” Lindsey said. “I told you I’d do better and I will. Susannah said I was a real math whiz. She was doing stuff in the kitchen while I did my homework. Rearranging cabinets, she said. She decided she didn’t like the way she set them up when she unpacked, so she was moving stuff around while I did my math, and she looked over my shoulder and thought I was doing a real good job with it….”
    And on Lindsey went, through dinner, through dessert, during the time it took to clear the table and wrapthe leftovers. Toby tried to recall the last time he’d seen her so pumped up about anything. It might have been at a soccer game last summer. Once she’d started fifth grade, she’d gone flat, all the fizz seeping out of her. Even at her birthday party—an outing with a group of her friends to see a movie, followed by take-out pizza from Luigi’s and a decorated cake from the bakery—Lindsey had been reserved and blasé.
    She wasn’t blasé now. Susannah Dawson had gotten her adrenaline flowing. Toby was delighted, but also wary. He knew that adrenaline highs didn’t last forever, and once they ended a person could crash hard.
    â€œSo, are we going back to Susannah’s house to hang the mirror?” Lindsey asked as she draped the dish towel over the handle on the oven door.
    â€œYou’re not,” he said. “You’ve been at her house all afternoon. Maybe she could use a break.”
    â€œShe said she wanted the mirror hung.”
    â€œThat doesn’t mean she wants it hung this