Page 55 of Having Henley
Twenty-eight
Henley
2009
April
This time I don’t hesitate. As soon as I’mplanted on his front porch, I raise my fist and knock loudly. After Conner left, I crawled back into bed, the piece of paper he gave me clutched in my hand, and stared out the window.
Ryan came home just before sunrise, unable to look me in the eye as he crawled through my window.
“Thanks, Hen,” he says, walking past me, heading straight for my bedroom door. He’ll go to his own room and sleep all day. If our father wakes up and needs to be dealt with, that’ll be my job.
I got dressed and sat on the end of my bed and watched the sunrise. As soon as it was light enough, I stuffed the paper Conner gave me into my pocket and left.
This time it’s Conner’s father who answers the door.
I can hear kitchen noises—the smell of bacon and coffee reminding that it’s early. Too early to be here.
Regardless, Mr. Gilroy looks glad to see me. “Henley,” he says, his voice deep and booming, face instantly split in two by a wide, genuine grin that quickly dies when he sees the bruise on my face. “Is everything okay?” This is a real father. I think it every time I see him. One who doesn’t smell like cheap liquor and sweat. One who works hard and loves his family. Takes care of his wife. Protects his children.
I don’t answer, I just reach into my pocket and pull out the envelope full of cash and hold it out to him.
He looks at it like he has no idea what it is.
“Mr. Gilroy,” I say, ignoring the slight tremor in my tone and what it means. “We both know Conner doesn’t need a calculus tutor.”
For a second, I’m sure he’s not going to take the money back, and I can feel my face tighten. My jaw setting itself at an odd angle. My eyes burn and tingle at their corners. Seeing I’m on the verge of tears, Mr. Gilroy snatches the money from me, like he’s hoping it’ll keep me from bursting into tears.
“I stand by what I said,” he tells me, feeding the money into his front pocket. “That boy of mine is as dumb as a box of doorknobs.”
I laugh. It’s a watery sound that will drown me if I let it. “Is he awake?” I say, carefully brushing my fingertips across my bruised cheek. “I’d like to talk to him.”
He opens the door wider, inviting me in. “He’s upstairs in his room,” he says, closing the door behind me. I’m halfway up the stairs when he calls my name.
“Henley.” I look down to find Mr. Gilroy standing at the foot of the stairs, looking up at me. “Do I need to have a talk with your father.”
His concern squeezes my throat, making it hard to answer. “No,” I tell him, shaking my head. “Please don’t.”
“Alright.” I can see his jaw muscles flex and tighten, but he agrees, giving me a stiff head nod. “This time.”
I don’t argue. “Thank you,” I say before turning and pushing myself up the stairs and down the hall.
His door is open. I can see his bare feet hanging over the side of the bed. When I reach the open doorway, I stop. Standing in it, I see Conner. He’s awake, sitting on his bed. Back against the wall, legs stretched out in front of him, book in his lap, head bent over the pages.
I suddenly don’t know what to do. Why I’m here.
“Can you come in and shut the door?” he says without looking up from his book. “Declan’s a nosy bitch, and I don’t want him hearing whatever it is you came to say.”
I force myself through the door, turning to shut it slowly. When I hear it click, I take a deep breath, my heart slamming against my ribcage, hard enough to hurt. When I turn around, Conner’s watching me.
Waiting for me to catch up.
Reaching into my back pocket, I pull out the piece of paper he gave me last night. “What does this mean?”
His gaze flickers away from my face for a moment, looking at what’s in my hand. “It’s Schrödinger’s Equation,” he says.
I remember the ease with which he wrote it last night. Not like he memorized it. Like he understood it.
