Nicholas Sparks - Two by Two

“Amazingly, it went off without a hitch. Walter was thrilled. The video presentations were great and so was the music. People went crazy for it.”

“I’m glad it worked out.”

“It did. We raised a lot of money. Turns out Walter isn’t the only one who’s frustrated with the current administration and Congress when it comes to development. The regulations are getting ridiculous. Developers are really getting squeezed, and it’s almost impossible to turn a profit anymore.”

As evidenced by Walter’s private jet, I thought. “What time will you be home?”

“I’m hoping around one. But we may be having lunch with a developer from Mississippi. If that happens, it’ll probably be closer to three.”

“Hold on for a second,” I said. I moved from the kitchen to the living room. “What about the blueberry farm?”

“I don’t know if we’ll be able to make it.”

“But you promised London you’d go.”

“I didn’t promise.”

“I was right there, Viv. I heard you. And I backed you up last night.”

“What does that mean?”

I recounted what had happened the night before.

“Well, that’s just great,” she said. “You shouldn’t have reminded her.”

“You’re saying this is my fault?”

“She’s going to be even more upset.”

“Because you said you’d take her.”

“Just stop, Russ, okay? I was on the go for almost twenty hours straight and I’ve had almost no sleep. Just talk to her, okay? Explain it to her.”

“What do you want me to tell her?”

“Please don’t use that tone with me. I’m not the one who set up the lunch. I’m at Walter’s mercy here, and there’s a lot of money at stake.”

“Spannerman already has a lot of money. He’s a billionaire.”

I heard her let out a long exhale. “Like I told you,” she said, her voice taut. “I still might make it. If the lunch doesn’t work out, I’ll be home by one. I should know more in an hour or two.”

“All right,” I said, thinking about London. “Let me know.”

I decided not to tell London anything until I knew more and she followed me outside, watching as I got things ready. Because the bike was covered in dust, I brought out the hose and rinsed it, then toweled it dry. I pumped the tires and made sure there were no major leaks. After that, I had to hunt for a wrench-why do tools always seem to vanish?-and removed the training wheels. Because London had grown, I raised the seat and handlebars, and when it was finally ready, London followed me out to the street and hopped on.

“Do you remember what to do?” I said, adjusting her helmet.

“I’m supposed to pedal,” she said. “But you’re not going to let go, right?”

“I won’t let go until you’re ready.”

“What if I’m not ready?”

“Then I won’t let go.”

London began to pedal and wobbled to the left and right as I held the seat, jogging while bent at the waist. Soon I was breathing hard and sweat began to drip. Then pour. We went back and forth countless times and just when it felt like I was going to have to tell her that I needed a break, her balance began to improve, at least on the straightaways. Little by little, I was able to lessen my grip on the seat. After that, I was able to use only my fingers, just enough to be able to grab her if she tilted.

And then, I was able to let go.

Not long at first-only a few seconds-and the next time was about the same. Then, when I thought she was ready, I said the magic words.

“I’m going to let go for a second,” I gasped.

“No, Daddy!”

“You can do it! Just try! I’ll be right here to catch you!” I let go of the seat and sped up, jogging beside the bike for no more than a second or two. London saw me, her face a picture of wonder, and then I resumed my original position and took hold of her seat again.

“I was riding, Daddy!” she shouted. “Without your help!”

I held the seat as we turned around at the end of the cul-de-sac, and when she was balanced, I let go again, that time for five or six seconds. Then a span of ten seconds. Then she cruised the entire straightaway.

“I’m riding, Daddy! I’m riding a bike!” she squealed, and though I was sweating hard and out of breath and felt like I was dying, I was somehow able to shout back, “I know, sweetheart! You’re riding a bike!”

By the time London was ready to quit, my entire body hurt and my shirt was soaked through. I rolled the bike into the garage and followed London inside; the blast of air-conditioning was the very proof of God’s existence.

“Daddy needs a break,” I said, still trying to catch my breath.

“Okay, Daddy,” she said. I went to the bathroom and hopped in a shower with the water somewhere between cool and cold. I stayed beneath the spray until I finally felt halfway human, then dressed again and went to the kitchen.

There was a text from Vivian.

Lunch was canceled. I’m heading to the airport now. Tell London I’ll be home soon.

I found London in the living room, playing with her Barbies.

“Your mom’s on her way home,” I said. “She should be here in a little while.”

“Okay,” London said, sounding strangely unmoved.

I put together a salad and grilled the salmon for Vivian while I made sandwiches for London and me. By the time Vivian walked in the door, the table was set and the food was on the table.

After a round of hugs and kisses for London, she came to the kitchen and kissed me as well.

“Wow,” she remarked. “That’s a pretty fancy meal for lunch.”

“I had the food here, so I figured why not? How was the flight?”

“Amazing. It’s so nice not having to deal with parking or security or shoving suitcases into the overhead bins. Private jets are definitely the way to travel.”

“I’ll keep that in mind when I begin making millions.”

“What did you and London do this morning?”

“I got the bike out of the garage.”

“Yeah?” she asked. “How was she?”

“She was getting pretty good by the end.”

“Better you than me,” she said. “It’s hot out there today.”

“It wasn’t so bad this morning,” I lied.

“Did you remember to put sunscreen on her?”

“No,” I said. “I forgot.”

“You have to try to remember these things. You know how much the sun can damage her skin.”

“I’ll remember that next time.”

She kissed me again and as we had lunch, she told me about her weekend and talked to London about her activities the previous week. Afterward Vivian and London went to the car while I tidied up the kitchen.

For the first time since Tuesday, London wasn’t with me. I would have worked but there wasn’t anything to do, and while I thought I would enjoy my quiet afternoon, I found myself puttering around the house and thinking about London, surprised by how much I missed her.

Vivian and London got back home around five, carrying department store bags. There wasn’t a smudge of dirt on my daughter’s hands or face.

“Did you go to the farm?” I asked.

“No,” Vivian answered, setting the bags on the table. “It was way too hot out there this afternoon. We ended up going to the mall. London needed some school clothes.”

Of course she did.

Before we could speak more about it, Vivian breezed past me to the kitchen. I followed and tried to engage in conversation, but it was clear that Vivian was edgy and in no mood to mumble more than one-word answers. In the end, she made pasta and sautéed vegetables for London and me, along with a salad for herself, and dinner was eaten quickly. It wasn’t until we were loading the dishes into the dishwasher that I finally asked her what was wrong.