that,” Mrs. Connor said tartly, “but people are worse where you are.”
About these strained family ties, Renn had given Elise what she thought was good advice: “Just wait it out. This is all as new for them as it is for you.” Later he added, “It can be rough when the people you’re close to become successful, especially if things stay the same for you.”
6.
It wasn’t a Freudian slip, at least she didn’t think it was, but she had acted careless in a way that she usually never did: she left Will’s poem on the desk in her room, only half covered by a folder of hotel stationery. She kept going back to read it and didn’t always take an extra few seconds to put it away. Most of the time she went to Renn’s room anyway, because it was bigger than hers. But four nights after Will had given her the poem, Renn stopped by unexpectedly while she was still getting dressed for dinner. Before she had any idea what he was doing, Renn had read the poem and set it back on the desk.
“My son wrote that, didn’t he,” he said. “I had no idea he was a poet.”
She was in the bathroom, applying mascara. Hearing his words, she froze.
He stood in the doorway now, looking at her, his expression carefully nonchalant. “I don’t want you to bother lying about it, Elise. I recognize the handwriting. If you’re interested in him, you can tell me. If he’s the one you prefer, okay, but I don’t want you seeing both of us.”
He was smiling, but she could see that he was upset. I’m going to screw this up, she thought, feeling guilty, even though she knew that she had done nothing wrong. It didn’t seem like she had, in any case.
“He’s not the one I prefer,” she said, putting the mascara wand back in its tube. She went to Renn and hugged him. “Not at all. You’re the one I want.”
Renn let her embrace him for a second but then pulled back to look into her face. “What does he think he’s doing, writing poems for you? He knows we’re together.”
She hesitated. “Have you told him that we are?”
“He knows.”
“If you didn’t tell him, maybe he didn’t.”
“But you told him after he gave you the poem?”
“Yes.” She paused. “Wait. Maybe he said that he knew you and I were dating, but he still wanted to give me the poem.”
Renn’s face colored.
“Did he.”
Fuck, she thought. I’m so fucking stupid.
“He might not have. I can’t remember,” she said.
“Try.”
She could feel herself start to sweat. “I really don’t remember, Renn. I know he said that he wasn’t much of a writer but he was going to give me the poem anyway. That must have been what he said.”
“He’s not in a very good place right now, Elise. He’s never had a real job, and he’s almost twenty-seven. I think he’s suffering from depression, but I doubt he’d acknowledge it if anyone asked him. The kid has been spoiled his whole life, and I can admit that some of this is his mother’s and my fault, but some of it is his. His sister is about to finish medical school at the top of her class, and the two of them couldn’t be more different if one of them had been raised by wolves, the other by nuns.”
“I’m not interested in him,” she said. “Really, I’m not.”
“You’re your own woman, and I won’t tell you what you should or shouldn’t do, but if you’re going to be with me, there can’t be any others.”
“There aren’t,” she said. “That’s the truth.”
He studied her for a long moment before pulling her to his chest.
“Good, because I won’t share you.
I’m not capable of it.” “I’m not either,” she said.
“You’re the only woman I’m seeing, Elise. If you weren’t, I wouldn’t have any right to tell you not to see someone else.”
She hoped he would never find out that she had gone to Will’s room two nights earlier to thank him for the poem and had allowed herself to be invited in, the door closed behind her. They had talked for a minute, Will blushing, she nervous and a little giddy, and then she had let him kiss her. She had let him put his arms around her and she had put hers around him, her body pressed against his, and she had felt his hardness while they kissed, and then she had pulled away, guilty with