Matthew opened the door before she could knock.
“Hey.” He stepped aside and motioned her into the house. “C’mon in.”
“Thanks,” Claire said.
“My dad made popcorn.” Matthew rolled his eyes. “Why don’t we go grab the bowl and some sodas? Then we can escape to the basement.”
“Sure,” Claire said, tugging her sleeves as far down over her hands as they would go. She could see the kitchen from the front hall, and it was bright enough to do surgery in there.
Matthew’s dad was leaning against a counter in the kitchen, drying his hands on a paper towel. He looked just like he did on the news, only he wasn’t wearing a tie, and the sleeves of his dress shirt had been rolled up.
“You must be Claire.” He extended a damp hand in her direction. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Claire shook his hand as quickly as she could, then tucked her itching fingers behind her back.
“Your mother is a remarkable photographer,” Dr. Engle said.
“Yeah, that’s right,” Claire said. Something about the look in his eyes—and her mother’s warning: mouth closed, eyes open— kept her from saying anything else. It was like he was saying one thing but meant another, and Claire couldn’t figure out what he was actually thinking.
“Marie Benoit … such a fascinating woman. Unique. And very outspoken, as I recall.”
“Uh, I guess.” Claire looked over at Matthew. He yanked open the fridge and grabbed two cans of soda. With the bowl of popcorn balanced on top of one of the icy cans, he jerked his head toward the stairs.
“If we don’t start the movie, we won’t have time to watch it before dark,” Matthew said. “Thanks for the popcorn, Dad. I’ll, um, let you know if we need anything.”
“You do that.”
Dr. Engle didn’t take his eyes off Claire. She quivered under his unblinking gaze and followed Matthew down the carpeted stairs.
“Don’t pay any attention to my dad. He’s just weird like that.”
“It’s no big deal,” Claire said, looking at the shelves of books that lined the basement walls. The thick spines were covered with gilded letters. Titles like Vivisection and the Human Condition and Lunar Phase Sensitivity glimmered at her in the dim light. Spending all your time reading that kind of stuff would make anyone weird.
“Your dad’s really into his job, huh?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
Claire looked over at Matthew and raised her eyebrows. He’d gotten touchy when the topic of his dad had come up at her party, too. “Touchy subject?”
“Kind of.” Matthew sat back on the couch and cracked open one of the sodas. “It just gets old. Everyone else only sees one side of him. They get so excited because he’s on TV so much. But he can’t talk about anything except his ‘cure.’ He didn’t even make it to a single one of my soccer games last season, you know?”
“Really? That sucks.” Matthew was an incredible midfielder. Claire had heard someone saying he’d already been offered a bunch of college scholarships because of it. “Sometimes I think it’s better, for me at least, when my mom’s not noticing me—like when she’s gone.”
Matthew looked at her, surprised.
Claire shrugged. “I mean, that’s when things seem normal. Lisbeth and I just—are. But when Mom’s home, everything’s all about her and when she needs to work or what she wants to eat, and Lisbeth tiptoes around the house like she’s hiding from a burglar or something.”
“Huh. Actually, that makes sense. My mom and I are the same way—when Dad’s home, everything’s about not bothering him. We practically can’t breathe without it interrupting his thought process or whatever. I never thought about it that way, but you’re totally right.”
The intrigued look in his eyes made Claire’s palms damp. She shrugged.
“Of course, my dad’s not out-of-town gone like your mom is. I mean, he deals with werewolf attacks all over the world, but mostly he just does that over the phone from his lab, like consulting with other governments and scientists and stuff, trying to get them to try his cure. He’s having an easier time talking people into things, now that he’s on the FHPA. Anyway, enough about my dad. He’s not half as interesting as you are.” Matthew dragged the popcorn closer to the couch and put one of the sodas on Claire’s side of the bowl.
His words sent a sudden rush of heat through her that made it hard to talk. Claire sank onto the couch, leaving a half-cushion length between her and Matthew. Close enough that he can reach me but not close enough to look desperate.
Matthew held up a DVD case.