Chapter 42…Played…

I need to find Bea. I'm not two steps out the salon door before my purposeful stride falters. Perhaps I should think about this first, so I can play it right.

Bea's teasing lately has been boy-related, more specifically Leif-related, especially when she gets together with Pat, who will be here tonight, of course. Bea promised she wouldn't tease me on my birthday. But if she wasn't thinking that it's not my birthday when she said it, I'd be alerting her to that fact.

I'm no good at this, but best go find out so I can shut it down. I'm not above begging.

At Bea's kitchen, I find her shooing the twins out. Or trying to, as they open the various chafing dishes, peering inside.

"Get a move on, dudes! Have I not pressed on you enough the importance of promptness?" This she says over the loud R&B music playing—she's definitely on an old soul music kick.

J and Heid start, "To quote the Rolling Stones…"

"Time is…"

"…on our side. Besides, we've been…

"…moving boxes all..." Heid kicks J in the shin, gesturing to me.

"Working all day. Hi Elle!"

"We're hungry. And it's not even…

"…five o'clock yet."

J stuffs a small pastry in his mouth. "But in the words of Alan Jackson…

"and Jimmy Buffett…"

"'It's five o'clock somewhere.'" They both sing-say together.

I turn to Bea. "Where are Le…Vince and James?"

"Didn't Vince come find you? I sent him to walk Petal and then pick up the dumplings from the Lui's restaurant and he was going to see if you wanted to go with." I flush with embarrassment at the implication. I heard Petal outside his…the Sea God room right as I was shaking his gift, trying to discern its contents. Did he see that? "And James got another call from Miss Magnolia and ran off somewhere to talk," says a frazzled Bea, who then turns to the twins. "You know, you two could take a page from Elle's book. She's responsible. She plans ahead and is never late anywhere, any time." I really hate when she does this, when anyone does it; holds me up as some standard-bearer of responsibility. "Elle, will you please tell the twins how necessary it is to be on time for their gig?"

I shake off the embarrassment of Leif potentially seeing me with the gift—nothing to be done about that now. "They've gotten to all their jobs this week without your badgering."

"And how would you know, missy?" Because I've been at several of them, I think to myself as the twins smile at me and resume eating.

"I'm sure they're fine," I wave it away, stepping closer to Bea. I start to say to her that tonight counts as part of my birthday and she cannot tease, but I am suddenly aware of something else entirely and instead I blurt out, "Bea, what did you mean? Before. When you said to Vince that he probably hasn't gotten to that story yet."

"Huh?" I repeat the question as she walks around me to pick up a canvas bag on the counter. "Did I say that? I don't think so," she says distractedly as she shoves the bag at Heid. "I packed you snacks and you said there's going to be food there anyways."

She knows she said it; she's playing me. I start to press it further, but Bea seems so strangely frantic about getting the twins out.

And that's when it hits me— she hasn't told them about Henry yet; they still assume he's coming in from some trip abroad in time for my birthday. They've been scarce around the building this week with all their late nights working and then sleeping during the day, so no one else has clued them in to Henry's status. She's trying to get them out of here before anyone shows up, knowing that half the building will probably come early to help with the preparations.

I sidle up to Bea, who has moved to the sink. "We can rectify this is in two seconds," I say quietly under the R&B music playing. She knows instantly what I mean.

"Not right before their last gig," she whispers back in a concerned rush. "We're having breakfast whenever they're done—even if it's three a.m.—and I'm telling them then. We'll visit Henry on Monday."

"No way." I turn to the twins. "J, Heid, there's something I want to tell you." They look up blithely with stuffed mouths and sweet expectant smiles. The twins will turn twenty within days of each other next month, but seem so much younger. I think of the way I've seen them in their element several times this week—whirling dervishes of joy. Do I want to hamper that? But then I think of how I hated being kept in the dark. "I just want to say…" I glance at Bea's imploring face, and that does it. I cave. Like I always do. I whisper out of the side of my mouth, "This is on you," before walking around the island to where the twins are, saying, "For your gig tonight, toi toi."

"That's European for 'break a leg,' right?" Heid asks.

"More or less," I smile at them.

"And toi toi for your party tonight!" J says. He adds in a stage whisper, "And don't worry, we won't say anything about..." He punctuates this with a broad wink.

I mouth, "Thank you," and start to beat a hasty retreat before they can say anything else that Bea could catch on to.

I'm halfway out the kitchen door when I realize I didn't get my own question answered about what Bea's statement to Leif meant, nor did I exact any promises about no teasing tonight. I turn in the doorway to tell Bea she owes me—so I can collect later—but it dies on my lips. Maybe it's because of the song playing—I recognize Sly and the Family Stone's "Family Affair," yep, she's definitely on a soul/R&B kick—or maybe it's the love shining out of Bea's eyes as she looks unguarded at J and Heid before saying, "Tell me what you've been doing all day, before you give me a hug and then get the hell out of here." I leave them to it, heading back to The Rambler.

Bea met the twins through her radio show; they were her biggest fans and wrote to her constantly. When she found out they were just blocks away at NYU, she invited them to come over for one of her live broadcasts—something she's never done before or since—and they were drawn together by their shared love of music. Just a few weeks later, when Pat changed apartments, the twins moved in to his old place.

All this happened while I was in Japan, first traveling by myself, then with Ito. After the earthquake and resulting tsunami hit, Granddad joined us, too, as soon as he could, as did Professor Gardner and her family, assisting with relief efforts. Being in Japan helping others through this trauma helped us heal from the devastating loss of my grandmother. G and I talked about it—we felt her there with us, in a place my grandmother never did visit, but always wanted to. It was as if we took all that love we had for Rosamunde and channeled it into action helping others, just as she would've done.

For Bea, it was the twins who accelerated that healing; made her come alive again. And it wasn't just music that created that bond between them, it was that they three had rocky starts in life, although Bea won't talk about her early years much.

Except she did today, for a moment. With Leif.

J and Heid both struggled through the foster care system, landing in the same foster homes at the same time, two different times in their lives. That's when they cemented their own bond, but each time losing touch in the tumult of being bounced around to multiple homes and sent back to live with their toxic families and it not working out. Their last time together in a home was when they were fourteen and it was then they fantasized about going to college after high school. They met up again their first day at NYU, neither knowing the other was there, that they had each made it to a top school against all the odds.

And that's one of the reasons it bothers me when Bea uses me as a paragon of responsibility to the twins. Because they've made it out of hell all on their own. But most importantly, they did so with their utter joy in life intact. I've seen it at the gigs they've DJ'd this week; it's not just the music blaring out of the speakers that makes a good party, it's that they invite—almost demand—that everyone present lets go and just plays.

I might have a little trouble letting go and just…playing.

It's not as if I don't have any joy in life, I do, it's just more subdued. It's normally more like a kind of quiet satisfaction in a job well done, and also, mostly, I guess, found in the knowledge that the people I love are happy. I may always be on time, I may never shirk any duty and always work hard, but still, I'm the one who's lacking here. I'm the one who has something to learn from the twins. And I have, or at least, have begun to.

I don't like being compared to anyone, but especially not in some favorable way. At some point tonight, I'm going to make sure to tell Bea that, although she's not the only one who does it.

While I'm thinking about telling, I wonder if I did the right thing in not telling the twins about Henry. Either way, I'm not thrilled about being complicit in playing the two most guileless human beings on the planet, but it is only for a few more hours. And besides, I've involved them in another form of guile, haven't I? I'd asked them not to mention to Adam it was my birthday party. I'd told him only that I had a "family thing," tonight—not a lie—and wouldn't be available. I don't even know why I didn't want him there, but as soon as I think it, I know at least part of it.

Leif.

The very thought of those two in the same room is just all kinds of Ugh. I never want them side-by-side.

I don't particularly want to think further into the why of that, though. Instead, I redirect myself to what my subconscious mind was really trying to alert me to. What was giving me that played feeling.

Leif knew a lot about me, about my family. Things I know I never told him. Odd things, little facts. Like my favorite color, my nicknames over time, my grandmother's favorite tree, for heaven's sake.

And what else? I'm sure there were other clues.

Maybe he found out these things in trying to determine a gift for me.

No, that doesn't signify. Because of what Bea said—You probably haven't gotten to that story yet.

Translation: someone is telling stories about me, about my family. To Leif. In a concerted way. You probably haven't gotten to that story yet. And it's not Bea, although she's in on it. Bea and Leif were playing me together. They redirected me and I let them. But Granddad won't and I'll ask him about it first thing when he gets here.

Really, it can only be Henry telling stories anyway. That makes sense. Leif used Henry's word, signposts. He used a common Frost quote that Henry uses a lot, especially when he was about to embark on a trip. I might've caught all that, put it together, if I hadn't been so caught up in the force field that is one Leif Vincent.

Leif, Leif, Leif. Why do my thoughts always return to Leif.

I'm spared of delving into that further when the possibly third most guileless human being accosts me as I round the corner to the hallway toward my room to get ready. James is coming out of Em's room, two champagne glasses in hand, and brightens when he sees me.

"Ellawyn, might I borrow you for a moment?" Suspicion blooms when I notice he sports an incongruently crafty smile on his face as he motions with a hand back toward Em's room. I let him usher me inside and narrow my eyes at him when I spot the wrapped gift on the bed.

"Let me guess. Em didn't tell you about the rules regarding gifts."

"Rules?" he asks innocently. "She said that I might want to give them to you away from everyone else. Before the party." Of course she didn't tell him. And now that I think about it, I didn't tell Leif either. Yet another thing he knew. "Which is what I'm doing now. Oops. She also said to give you this first because you'd be more pliable." His smile turns sheepish as he thrusts one of the glasses out to me.

I take it only to set it on the nightstand. I'm too pliable by half already.

I sink onto the bed to open it as James sits near me, beginning a litany of anxious explanations.

"I couldn't think what to get you and of course I asked Em and she told me exactly where to go and when I got there, this was waiting for me behind the counter of the store and I bought it and when I went to the apartment to shower and change I realized I didn't have any wrapping paper or even knew where any scissors were but Em said not to worry there was everything I'd need hidden under her bed here and so I came back here and wrapped it and called Em because I was worried that it was too personal a gift to get you clothes but Em assured me that it wasn't and that they were the right sizes and you would love it and not be upset with me you're not are you?" He draws in a deep breath before gulping most of the contents of his glass.

In the box is another one of those outfits from the store Em and I went to yesterday—a beautiful gossamer silk, dark blue pleated blouse and a khaki-colored leather skirt with suede inserts. The blouse, while absolutely gorgeous, I'd deemed too fancy—and sheer!—for Falk. The skirt, too expensive.

"Well played, Em," I mutter, before looking over at him fidgeting next to me. "So that's the errand you ran off to do this morning?" He nods. "James, these are lovely, and no, not too personal at all—I think we're past that—but you did spend too much."

"She said you would say that, but trust me, it's okay. She also said," James pulls out his phone, swiping a few buttons. "I don't know what it means, exactly, so I'll just read it. 'After Elle opens it, tell her the black lace Free People bralette and those gold strappies would be perfect for tonight.' I assume you know what this means."

She's referring to some high-heeled sandals of mine that would work with the skirt and a sort of decorative mini-bra meant to show under the blouse. Bralettes—which James pronounced humorously incorrectly—can really only be worn by those with little to no breasts. Like me. I'm not about to explain that to James. Instead I say, "Yes. Creatively translated, it means we both got played. Masterfully."

Gosh, am I so easy to play? Does everyone in my life do it? With a wry laugh, I fill James in on the gift rule and how it came to be that we exchanged stories as gifts. And how Em suggested that he give it to me privately, without telling him the why of it.

"Well, that all makes sense now," James mutters.

"Does it ever bother you? Getting played by people?" I ask. Honestly, I'm not sure it ever really bothered me before, but something is different now. Maybe I'm just starting to notice it.

James doesn't pause before answering. "No. Not at all. It makes me feel loved. Included. A part of something."

"That's certainly one way to look at it." I chuckle at James, loving his positive nature. Maybe he responds to Em playing him because he's so used to it with Leif. And if he's used to it, then he won't mind my playing him. A little.

"Thank you, James. These are lovely. But the way I see it now, I think you owe me a story." Yes, I'm hoping he'll tell one that involves Leif. In fact, I should mandate the subject.

But before I can, James says, "How about I tell you the story of how Leif and I met."

Leif shut this story down at that dinner here two weeks ago tonight. "That sounds perfect." I kick my sandals off, draw my legs up and get comfortable on the bed, facing him.

"Okay, so. My family and I were staying with some friends in Hyannis Port, Massachusetts. It was my first time in America. This was June. We were at some dinner dance thing at a yacht club and I was bored out of my gourd, so I took a walk on the beach instead.

"I was quite a ways from the club and came upon these aled up boys around my age, some a little older, sitting around a little bonfire."

Ha! Leif was one of those boys, I'd bet.

"And I said good evening to them as I passed by and they must've noticed my accent because they got up from around their fire and surrounded me and I knew how this was going to go as I'd had a couple run-ins at home with what we call lager louts. I mean, I was always small, sniffly with allergies and asthmatic and seemed to have a sign on my head that said Mess With Me.

"They started pushing me between them, saying, 'We thought we got rid of your kind two hundred years ago,' and 'We should have another tea party.'" James does a funny and really bad New England accent. "Stuff like that. Honestly, one thought I'd had was at least they knew their early American history." He chuckles ruefully. "And then, just when I was resigned to getting pummeled by this gang of boys, or thrown in the sea, behind them, I see this one tall skinny boy come out of the ocean, like a little Poseidon…"

Oh, that's Leif. This is how I pictured him at first; water dripping off him, rising out of the waves, although he was certainly not a boy.

"…with the most furious expression on his face. He was holding a rope, attached to a little skiff, and he dragged it up on the beach. And it was strange because in that moment of first seeing him—I remember this perfectly—I knew everything was going to be alright and I wasn't going to be beaten into oblivion or drowned in the Atlantic.

"So this one boy marches over to stand beside me and the others back away immediately. Then he starts in on them in Portuguese, although I didn't know what language it was at the time. But it was clear that he was scolding them. One of them says, 'We're just joking around, LP,' like he was scared of him. I almost laughed.

"So the others disperse and this boy, whom I thought was named like the initials, L and P rows me back to the club. In the boat, we start talking. He said, 'Those pentelhos won't bother you anymore.' And I learned my first Portuguese curse word. He said, 'They're good guys, usually, when they're not drinking. Or just have too much idle time on their hands.'"

That word, "pentelho" seems close to my go-to Spanish curse word for "ass"—pendejo, which literally translates to "pubic hair."

"So that night I happened to make friends with the Reizinho of the ruffians."

"Reizinho?"

"Little king," James answers. "You and your grandfather have talked about nicknames. That was one of Leif's among his Cape Verdean friends—Reizinho, but I didn't know that one until later in the summer. When we got to the dock at the club, I introduced myself and said, 'Pleased to meet you, LP.' And he replied, 'That's not my name. It's Leif Vincent.' And I asked why they called him that. He told me that LP was really El P and that was short for El Protector. Come to find out, several of those boys were from his hometown of New Bedford, about an hour away, and like him, were in Hyannis for the summer. That nickname goes way back." James draws in a long breath as I sit, enraptured. "Before I tell the next part, I should give you some back story.

"My father wanted me at the Gordonstoun School in Scotland come September to start senior school because that's where he went and also he was quite sure that I needed a bit of toughening up. But, over the years, I'd heard enough about his time there as well as my grandfather's to know that I would be absolutely miserable. They've both described it quite delightedly as cold and cruel and there is entirely too much emphasis on sport, although maybe it had changed since their time. But I wasn't chancing it. My father had agreed to check out Groton in Massachusetts only because he had an American friend from his Cambridge days who went there. That's who we were staying with in Hyannis Port—Mr. Ainsley and his family—and who drove us up to Groton to show us around earlier that week.

"After touring the school, though, my father wasn't convinced it was rough and tumble enough and this is where Leif saved me again. We went sailing on some massive boat the next afternoon, after the beach incident. Leif was one of the hired crew and I introduced them. My father and his friend, Mr. Ainsley, took to my new friend immediately—you've never seen a more capable sailor, even at that age—I think my father would've liked Leif better as a son."

James says this without any rancor. His openness is so disarming, but heartbreaking, too.

"So after we anchored off some island, my father and his friend both asked Leif to come with us when we rowed ashore for a clambake. That was a bit surprising for my father because he was, is, a classist to his core—he enjoys the distinction of rank and title. Mr. Ainsley, who is a boat nut, just respected a good sailor and turns out, he'd heard of Leif, vaguely, from the yacht club. Anyway, after the sun set, while we were sitting around a fire, my father asked Leif what he knew about Groton and Leif started telling stories, filling his head with such tales of that school." James laughs. "I mean brawls and piracy and World War flying aces that came from Groton and marches at dawn during New England blizzards and beatings and canings. At first, I was even frightened, wondering if Groton wasn't worse than Gordonstoun, but then Leif gave me one look, just one, and I realized what he was doing and could barely keep a straight face."

"He played your father?" I ask.

"Quite handily. And sold him on the school. To this day, I'll never know why my father's friend didn't disabuse him of those untruths about Groton. Sometimes I think it was Leif's sheer force of will—those stories were so good, you could believe them even if you knew otherwise—or maybe it was because my father's friend was a bit drunk, or just wanted to impress my father by getting me admitted to his alma mater, I don't know. And my father even let me stay in Hyannis Port with Leif for the remainder of the summer, after my family returned home, probably figuring he would be a good influence on me. I moved Leif from his dreadful little attic flat above some garage that didn't even have hot water to the Ainsley summer house on the ocean, just down from the famed Kennedy compound. We had the run of the place because the family were away virtually the entire summer. They actually lived in Boston anyway. The housekeeper was supposed to be watching us, but she just wanted to go home to be with her own family. She was Cape Verdean, too, and our little Reizinho convinced her we would be fine. She checked in a couple times a week and brought us food. When Leif wasn't working, during the day we went sailing, snorkeling, waveboarding, running around Hyannis, we even hung out with those boys from the beach sometimes. And at night, a lot of the time, we read and did lessons. Leif had me order my textbooks for Groton early and he read all of those, too.

"He joined me at Groton not that year, but the following one for third form, or I guess, ninth grade, as you call it. He got a full scholarship! He came up to visit me during my first school year there. And he bought the text books we used throughout the year and had me email him the lessons and handouts from school so he was ready. And we've sort of been together ever since. Groton, then Penn, then our MBAs from Wharton."

James takes a deep breath. I stare at him, enthralled, picturing those two boys growing up together, a million questions roiling around in my brain, but all I can get out is, "That is the best story ever!" I reach over to hug him tightly. When I pull back James is grinning.

"It is rather!"

James drains his glass. "That's as far as I've ever told the story, but there really is so much more."

That's my cue if ever I've heard one. I reach over to the nightstand and grab the glass of champagne that James had for me and deftly switch out his empty one for my full one and place it in his hand. He's so lost in thought that he doesn't really notice. He does, however, take a sip.

While I'm thinking of a perfect way to prompt him, I express one very heartfelt truism. "I'm so glad you didn't go to Gordonstoun. I might never know you now, eleven years hence." Either my playing him—yes, I admit it—or the champagne he's had must've worked because he continues without my having to beg.

"That's a funny thing, because I did go, in a way. I forgot to say that nearing the end of that first summer, Leif had declared that he didn't want me ever to have any fear I couldn't do something and that we should do what scares us. He had somehow found out that Gordonstoun has a summer program, and suggested we go the following summer. I agreed even though I was uneasy that my father would want to keep me there and not let me go back to Massachusetts, but Leif said he wouldn't let that happen and I believed him. So the next summer, we spent about a month in Scotland at Gordonstoun and it was wonderful; I suspect that had a lot to do with Leif being there with me, though. But going for that summer program did erase that fear of mine and gave me confidence. Leif did confide that going to the summer program did the same for him."

"What…what was he afraid of?"

"I don't think he was out and out afraid, as I was, but more like he wanted a trial run. He didn't tell me until later, after we had finished with the summer program and were at my family home in Exeter—I've long accepted that he opens up and expresses himself in his own time, when he's ready—that he needed to prove to himself that he could do it, academically and even socially. As it was, he claimed only one social misstep at Gordonstoun. He was coming from a lackadaisical education in a public school in a depressed neighborhood of New Bedford to one of the top schools in the world; young princes and kids of the titans of industry who have had every advantage go to both Groton and Gordonstoun, and he thought he would always be a bumpkin, a Massachusetts yokel, always behind. And as you probably already understand, that is not a place that is palatable to him."

"Is he ashamed of his roots? Where he comes from?" The thought of that physically pains me.

"Oh no, I didn't at all mean to imply that. As much as he's not forthcoming about, well…anything…except to me, he doesn't hide his roots and I suspect, although he's never said the actual words, that he's proud of it all, he holds it dear. He did say he's so proud of his grandparents, admires them. They emigrated by themselves to the U.S. for a better life when they were young with absolutely nothing and toiled their whole lives; they were some of the last to come through Ellis Island before it closed. He felt as if he was continuing that same…betterment, although in his own way. He wanted to represent his roots—his heritage, his grandparents, his neighborhood and even his boys, as he called them—well.

"To that end, some of the lessons we did that first summer in Hyannis were on things such as table manners. It started when we would have dinner and I noticed him watching me like a hawk. He would wait until I picked up my knife and fork and he would mimic me. When I figured out what he was trying to learn, I just made it official. I would set the table formally, like for a dinner party, and explain to him what all the utensils were for. And he worked on his speech, his accent too, and other social graces. By the end of that summer, his manners were impeccable."

"Should I nickname you Professor Higgins? You know Em loves My Fair Lady," I laugh. "So Leif went from a cold-water flat straight to the James Ransdell Finishing School in what I assume was a mansion on the beach. All because of a chance meeting with you."

"I got the better end of that deal in meeting him, for certain."

"James, I know you have a generosity of spirit, maybe to a fault, especially where your best friend is concerned, but don't you think you might be taking your English self-deprecation a little too far?"

"Not at all! I had to talk Leif into moving into the house, which indeed was a shingled mansion on the beach. He told me the reason he ended up doing it was that he didn't think I would be allowed to stay unless he did." James sees my skeptical face and says, "Yes! He always tells the truth, although I think he's often a little too kind to me."

I ponder this for a moment. Maybe Leif does tell the truth when he actually says something—how would I know, really?—but not the whole truth, as evidenced by his stop-start half stories today. It's like I have to follow the clues and try to put things together myself. But still, what disadvantaged twelve-year-old boy could pass up all that. And I say exactly that to James.

"Leif could. Let me explain better." He pauses for a moment. "Before I met him that summer, he was staying with a family in Hyannis, a relative of one of the boys from the beach, whom he knew from New Bedford. But that family kicked him out for fighting with one of their own kids. A sailing instructor from the yacht club who had a heap of roommates had said he could crash on their couch for the summer, but Leif asked instead to stay in the attic flat above their detached garage that I mentioned earlier. No one wanted it because it was dilapidated and hot as hell with just a cot and a sink and a toilet. He figured they'd be less likely to kick him out if he stayed out of the way, but mostly, all the roommates were in their twenties, and were bartenders and swim instructors and dining staff and lifeguards and that little rental house was party central and Leif didn't want to be distracted, he didn't want any part of that. Even then he didn't play."

I remember right now that he was twelve. Twelve! "He was there alone? Without supervision?"

"He's been looking after himself and really, everyone around him for a long time, so it wasn't new to him. He was there to work."

"How did he work that young? What did he do? I mean, there are laws about that stuff!" My voice rises to an outraged squeak.

"Well, that's the thing. He found a way around it. He had to hustle. When he first got to Hyannis, he quite purposefully hung around the club, which is centered around sailing, yachting, swimming. No one paid him any mind, because of his youth. He watched and learned. He identified some of the kids who were just learning to sail or swim and he would make suggestions. The instructors, the parents, noticed that he eased the fear the kids had by being so young himself and so knowledgeable and at home on the water or any kind of watercraft, and they started asking for him to assist with their kids' lessons. Pretty soon, like within days, the sailing instructors were using him to supplement their lessons. They didn't mind because Leif never corrected them when the instructors took credit for his own expertise. Plus, their tips were bigger and that's how Leif was paid, at first. It really accelerated for him when he—don't ask me how because I couldn't tell you, but he got this one water-phobic boy into the water and actually taught him to swim. Then some of the families from the club started hiring Leif privately. For swim or sailing lessons for their children. It became—he became, rather—a status symbol to have hired him. That's how my father's friend had heard of him, as that miracle kid, although he never knew Leif's name until I introduced them.

"But my whole point in telling that part of Leif's story is to underscore that even then he valued control over his environment far above any opulence or comfort, and that's why he hesitated moving in. He wouldn't let me pick him up in the chauffeured car because he didn't want anyone at the rental house to know he was moving out in case he got kicked out of the Ainsley's house and needed to come back—that was one of his fears, I think, being kicked out, displaced. He sailed to the house on that little skiff of his with one small rubbish bag of clothes in it. He went back at least once a week to clean his garage flat and show his face around. So he was doing just fine before I got there." James smiles at my incredulous expression. "Yes. He had control over his environment, his living situation, he was making money. So for him, yes. Fine."

I think James still has a young boy's perspective on this since he was a young boy during that time. Because no caring adult would call that fine.

James has made no mention at all of Leif's mother in any of this, as if she wasn't even a factor in this story, in his life, at least during that summer. "I know his father was long out of the picture, but what about his mother? Where was she?"

For the first time in telling this story, James' face clouds a little. "Well, his mother was…away. She…it's complicated. I didn't even meet her until the end of the following year." He stops, perplexed. "How did you know? About his parents?"

"He told me when we were in Philly. That he didn't know his father." I bring up the actual words in my mind: I never knew him and my mother never talked about him…

"And he'd said his mother was a little…different, I guess." Actual words: She's not the graduation ceremony type, but it translates out to that.

"Oh yeah, and he talked about being poor." Actual words: We never had any money.

Okay, I know I'm billing it as more than the few begrudgingly terse sentences it actually was, but I just want James to keep talking, going deeper into the story.

James smiles so widely at this. "I do believe our boy is opening up a little. I've never heard of him talking about his family to anyone aside from myself."

"It's probably Henry's influence."

"Hmm…possibly." James gives me an inquisitive stare. "But he told you that before spending any time with your grandfather, other than that Sunday lunch at his rehabilitation center when we were all there. Honestly, I used to be good at analysis, but I've been so distracted what with…everything so new."

Entiendo.

I look down, suddenly feeling a little flicker of guilt for prying and playing James and for a multitude of other unnamed reasons. I've also become cognizant of the fact that as he's told this story, I've only really asked James questions about Leif, so I say, "You never did explain why you got the better end of the deal in meeting him and becoming his friend."

"Hmm…how do I put this best?" He thinks for a moment. "I was asthmatic and allergic to virtually everything and ridiculously awkward before. But I wasn't the same scared kid by the end of that summer: I opened up, I guess, from my new friend's gentle prodding. Leif never acted like I couldn't do something, so neither did I. I got no sun rashes, which I used to get all the time, even when I first got to Massachusetts. I was tan and strong…well, you know, strong for me, at least." He shrugs sheepishly. "At one point, weeks or months later, I realized that my allergies were just…gone. As was my asthma. I didn't use my inhaler once and eventually threw it away. I became the person I was always meant to be. I looked forward to every single day as some great new adventure because of him. That was the time of my life and stands as my best summer ever." An impish grin overtakes James' face. "Well, maybe…until now. I have high hopes for this one, too. Really high hopes."

My heart breaks a little. James glances down at his phone on the bed next to him, blushing, which gives me a moment to school my expression into a more placid one. I don't even want to think about when Em tells him she's going back to Cali.

James looks up from his phone. "I admit that I've been watching your reaction, gauging how Emory might react if I were to tell her this story. Since you're her closest friend."

"Why is that even a question? Of course you should tell her! " He looks at me with doubt. "You were going to tell it at that dinner here, before Leif shut you down. Yes, I saw that and what I don't understand is why. I mean, I get that he wouldn't want any of his more personal stuff relayed, because he's…like he is, but if you've only ever told it up to the point of Leif saving you twice, it makes him seem like a charming little raconteur or something, not to mention protective, and a loyal, loving friend. It makes him look good!"

"Yes, but…well, Em and I had only gone on a couple dates by that time. And…uh…it's been suggested that it doesn't make me look good." James shrugs a little.

"By Leif! That's ridiculous!"

"No. He would never! He was just being…" James pauses for a moment before saying, "Ellawyn, I fear you have the wrong impression of him, but it's understandable. I've told him that's the problem, one of the many problems, with his being so taciturn, not explaining himself. He has said numerous times that if anyone cares to judge him, he'll let his actions speak for him when he doesn't. But sometimes those actions can seem, how shall I say this?…arsehole-ish, I guess." We both laugh at this. Right now, I almost want to tell James just how arsehole-ish he's been, but just the thought of relaying what I overheard Leif say about me makes the humiliation wash over me again. Besides, that's not what this is about. And really, does it matter anyway? "And it's easy to misinterpret his actions, and just project whatever onto him. But in this case, with his stopping the story, Leif was just being…well…let me say that his motivations, underneath it all, are always pure."

"Look who's projecting now!" I tease, but I think it's true; James is projecting his own purity of spirit onto his friend. "But regardless, I'm honored you chose to share this story now. However eyeroll-inducing this may sound, it shows your journey, your map, to the charming and open and sweet person that you are now. It shows you're capable of great change, transformation, acceptance. And adventure—you're the one who crossed the sea to go to a new school in a new country, you know! But mostly it shows you're capable of great love." James smiles at this. "You give Leif a lot of credit, but give yourself some, too, okay? And if Leif doesn't like it, he can suck it!" James is chuckling now and I lean in, whispering, "But still, I won't tell him you told any of this. I can keep secrets."

"Oh. I must not have finished my thought earlier after you explained about the gift rule. That it made sense to me then why Leif said that stories are often told during birthday parties. And he suggested I tell the story of when we met. Tonight."

Of course he did.

I chuckle ruefully as James continues. "Although I've sort of preempted it by telling it to you now. Privately. But I would've told this tale anyway, even without your plying me with champagne." His accompanying grin is beyond cheeky.

"You caught that, huh?" I wince. "Sorry."

"Don't be. I added in the details and backstories very consciously. For a reason."

"To test it out for Em?"

"No, actually, that was just a residual benefit, but not my motivation. It is purely for Leif. Remember how I said that first summer I met him that I opened up, transformed, because he never played into my fears or perceived weaknesses? He never acted like I couldn't do something?" I nod. "Leif has heretofore not expressed any real desire to be known; to the point that I wondered if he even possessed that gene. But seeing him with you, and your family, Bea, perhaps I can return the favor, in telling some stories about him, prod him a little to open up—to become the person he was always meant to be—as he did me so many years ago. To very good effect."

"I'll admit to being frustrated with him. He didn't even tell me his birthday when I asked." That was one of the redirects.

"November 21st," James says immediately. "What else?"

"His middle name?" Okay, I actually didn't ask Leif this earlier, but I want to know now.

"Praia. It means beach in Portuguese." It's also the capital city of the Cape Verde Islands. I saw that when I looked up the country online. "You should know that virtually no one knows his first name—not even the boys from his hometown, with whom he still keeps in touch—and he refuses to let me introduce him as anything other than Vince."

"But you did when you first introduced him to Em and me."

"I did? Hmm. That was an aberration on my part, possibly due to nervousness and drink, although that is not the norm."

"And then he introduced himself to Pat the next night as Leif. I remember because Pat made mention of his name. In fact, he only corrected it to Vince when we went over to Bea's and there were more people there, the twins and…such," I say. But I really mean Adam.

"Huh. Interesting. Let's watch to see how he introduces himself tonight."

"Why is he like that, do you suppose?" While not exactly a font of prattling self-expression, I'm not that bad.

"I can't lay claim to knowing the whole of it, and I suspect, neither does he. What I do know is that he views sharing himself as one might look at a cost-benefit analysis. He normally does not find much benefit, value, if you will, in anyone knowing him, versus any potential cost."

I contemplate this for a moment. "Except with you. Immediately, when you first met, right?"

James nods. "He said, much later mind you, that…that…" I watch James choose his words carefully. "I reminded him of someone from his past, so it was easier for him." He looks as if he wants to say more, but stops himself. I want to ask who, but stop myself, too. "But even then he has trouble finding the right words to explain himself sometimes because he doesn't know the answer. So I may ask him something and get a reply days or even weeks later, after he's ruminated on it. And I think his ways have settled more fully into habit over time." Translation: he's worse now.

"Today he started to share a few things. And then it was like he locked up."

"Such as?"

"Going camping with you in the Berkshires."

At this, James closes his eyes for a moment. When he opens them again he looks positively awestruck. He swallows hard before saying softly, "I would rather he filled you in on the rest of that when…when he can." He looks at me imploringly. "But please, in the meantime, try not to be frustrated with him. Because contrary to what you said about these changes in him being because of your grandfather, I think it's you. I may not have all the information as he and I have barely seen each other, but it would seem that you're the common denominator in all these new and curious developments with him—at work and today, being so droll, playful… Well, whatever it may be, it's a good sign. He's trying."

"You're right. He's very trying." We both laugh at my word play. "I still think it's my grandfather. Believe me when I say that the Henry effect is far-reaching and expansive."

"So I've heard." It pains me that I didn't go to one of his lectures while in school."

"Has Leif gone to see Henry this week? I mean, aside from last Tuesday night when we were there together?"

"I don't know, but I would doubt it. Leif is always the first one to go in to work and the last to leave. Always. I can't imagine he could find the time."

We sit quietly for a moment, both of us lost in thought.

"James," I start. "I really think you should tell some more stories. You know, purely for Leif's benefit. To, uh, push and prod him some more."

"Are you playing me again?" James laughs as I nod eagerly, grinning.

"Uh huh."

"You're quite crap at it, I must say. Very see-through."

"And here I've had such a good teacher these last four years," I jokingly huff. "I'm a slow learner."

Something about my words makes James' face scrunch up in deep concentration before I see a mental lightbulb blink on. "Apparently I am, too. I cannot believe that I'm just putting this together now. It was at the first of your grandfather's lectures that Leif attended that made him truly understand his one claimed misstep at Gordonstoun. And it has ramifications at Falk, too. Do you want me to tell you that story?"

Duh.

Chapter 43…Clues…

Coming soon…(really!)

Also coming soon…(really! I promise)…the very late replies to all previous reviews and to those who have sent a note to me.