The Garden of Betrayal by Lee Vance Page A

to kick his skinny ass.
    “A lunch I can’t get out of, but that’s not for half an hour yet. You want to talk?”
    She fidgeted with my mouse, dragging files from the iPod to a new folder on my computer. I waited, giving her time.
    “I got an e-mail from Sophie Reyes this morning.”
    I struggled with the shift of context for a second. Sophie was the daughter of an old work acquaintance of Claire’s. She and Kate had gone to preschool together, before Sophie and her parents had moved to San Francisco. They still visited New York regularly, though, and the mothers and daughters had lunch together once or twice a year.
    “Is everything okay?”
    She shook her head, her lower lip quivering.
    “What is it?” I asked gently. “What happened?”
    Kate cleared her throat and touched a hand to her face. I got to my feet and gathered her into my arms just as the tears began flowing.
    “Shh,” I whispered. I waited for Kate to calm down a bit and then guided her back to one of the chairs in front of my desk, handing her a box of tissues and sitting down next to her. She blew her nose and dabbed at her eyes.
    “I spent the whole morning trying to decide how to tell you,” she choked. “I don’t want to make things worse.”
    “Just say whatever you feel like saying. You’re not going to make anything worse by telling me. I promise.”
    She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, damp tissues bunched in her fist.
    “Sophie’s mother got a new job, as the artistic director of the San Francisco Ballet. Sophie wrote to say how excited she was to learn that Mom was going to audition for the orchestra.”
    “The ballet’s coming to New York on tour?” I asked, confused.
    “No. I checked. But their resident pianist is retiring at the end of this season. They’re looking for someone new to start in September.”
    An old joke came to mind for some reason, about a woman who won the lottery and rushed home to tell her husband to pack his bags. “What should I pack? Warm stuff or cold stuff?” he asked excitedly. “Who cares?” the woman replied. “Just get the hell out.”
    “I don’t know what to say,” I stammered. “You’re telling me that your mother’s planning to leave me.”
    Kate shook her head forcefully, seeming more composed with her secret out.
    “No. That’s why I was worried about telling you, because I knewyou’d jump to the wrong conclusion. I’m betting Sophie’s mother asked Mom if she was interested, and Mom said yes without really giving it much thought. It’s a good thing, in a way. It means Mom’s interested in her career again. You always told me how important her career was to her, when you first met.”
    Kate was trying to twist the facts, to make the blow less painful. A surge of anger gave way to a feeling of panic. I’d told Claire the truth the previous evening. I was scared, too. And the thing I was most scared of was another loss. Kate or Claire. They were all I had.
    “She said yes to an audition for a job in San Francisco, and she hasn’t mentioned it to me. That has to mean something.”
    “But not that she wants to leave you. I think she’s scared.”
    “Of what?”
    “Of spending so much time alone in our apartment next year, after I go to college.” Kate reached out for my hand. “Everything there reminds her of Kyle. She needs to let go. To really let go. To leave New York and put all the bad associations behind her.”
    “She told you that?”
    “Not in so many words. Sophie’s note was what pulled it together for me.” Kate squeezed my hand. “You need to talk to her, Dad.”
    “And say what? That I have a sudden urge to move to San Francisco?”
    “Maybe.” Kate ventured a smile. “There’s less snow.”
    I disentangled myself gently and stood up, moving to the window.
    “What was the line from that eighties flick we watched a few weekends ago?
Buckaroo Banzai
? ‘No matter where you go, there you are.’ Moving to San Francisco isn’t going