"Haley," Claire said, her voice dangerously calm. "Did you ruin your sister's poster?"
Haley didn't answer, but her eyes filled with tears, and that was answer enough.
"Haley, go to your room. Now."
"But she read my diary!"
"We'll discuss that later. Now go."
Haley clenched her jaw but obeyed. Alex stayed where she was, the ruined poster in her hands, an expression mixing fury and sadness.
"And me? Who's going to give me back my poster?" she asked.
"I'm going to talk to your sister," Claire said. "I'm going to make sure she understands what she did and that she gets you another poster."
"How is she going to get another poster? The poet is dead."
"Then she can get you one of... of another poet. Or write you a poem herself. I don't know. But she's going to do something."
Alex clenched her jaw but nodded. Then she looked at me, and in her eyes was a sadness I hadn't seen before.
"It wasn't just a poster," she said quietly. "It was... it was something I cared about. Someone who understood me. And Haley ruined it for revenge. For something I didn't even do."
"I know," I said.
"Why do people do that? Why do they hurt others for things that didn't happen?"
"Because sometimes people are so sure they're right that they don't stop to think if they are."
Alex looked at me, and then, without a word, she sat beside me on the couch, the ruined poster on her lap, her head down.
"Do you want me to help you find another poster?" I asked.
"Do you know anything about poetry?"
"I know what you taught me. And what I read in your poems."
"It's not the same."
"I know. But it's a start."
She didn't say anything, but her hand found mine on the couch and stayed there without moving, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"And you?" Claire asked, looking at Alex. "Are you going upstairs too?"
"I didn't do anything wrong."
"I know. But still, go to your room. I need a moment of silence."
Alex sighed but stood up. Before going upstairs, she shot me a look that said, "This isn't over."
I stayed in the living room with Claire, who had let herself fall onto the couch with her eyes closed and her hands on her forehead.
"Are you okay, Mrs. Dunphy?" I asked.
"I'm perfectly fine. I just... I just need the world to stop spinning for five minutes."
"Do you want more cookies?"
Claire opened her eyes, looked at me, and then, with a slight smile, said: "Leo, don't you have a chaotic family?"
"My family is... calm. My parents work a lot. They're hardly ever home."
"And that doesn't bother you?"
"It gives me time to read, to draw, and to be with Alex."
Claire nodded, as if that explained everything.
"Take care of her," she said. "Not because Alex can't take care of herself. But because... sometimes being accompanied makes the chaos more bearable."
"I know," I replied. "That's why I stay."
Claire's phone rang as we were finishing tidying the living room. It was Gloria.
"Claire, I need you to come over. Jay brought home a horrible statue, and I don't know how to make him get rid of it."
"A statue?"
"Of a dog dressed as a butler. He named it Barkley. It's the ugliest thing I've ever seen, and I've seen very ugly things in Colombia."
Claire sighed. "Gloria, I've already had enough family drama today. Can't you call Mitchell?"
"Mitchell is at home with Cam. And Cam is crying because the gardener is getting married and he wasn't invited to the wedding."
"What?"
"It's a long story. Just come. Bring cookies."
Claire hung up and looked at me with an expression mixing resignation with desperation.
"Leo, do you want to come to Jay's house? Gloria is in crisis. And it seems like Mitchell and Cam are too."
"And what would I do there?"
"The same thing you do here. Be there. Sometimes that's enough."
I didn't say anything. I picked up the cookie tray (there were still a few left) and followed Claire to the door. Alex stayed on the couch with the ruined poster on her lap and an expression that said, "This isn't over."
"Will you be okay?" I asked.
"I'll be fine. Haley isn't coming back down for hours, and Luke is punished. I have the house to myself."
"And the rat?"
"The rat can wait."
I smiled. She did too. And then I left with Claire.
Jay's House
Jay Pritchett's house was in its usual state of contained chaos, but this time, the chaos had the shape of a dog.
Barkley was exactly as Gloria had described him: a life-sized dog, dressed in a butler's suit, with a tray on one paw and an expression that seemed to say, "I will serve your food, but I will judge you while I do it."
"Is that...?" I started.
"That's Barkley," Gloria said, arms crossed, an expression of contained fury on her face. "And I want him gone."
Jay was on the couch, arms crossed, with an expression of pure stubbornness.
"Barkley stays. I bought him in Las Vegas with my winnings. He has sentimental value."
"Sentimental value? It's a plastic dog with a mustache!"
"He's a butler dog. And it's art."
"This isn't art. This is an abomination."
Claire stood in the middle of the room, looking at the statue with an expression of fascinated horror.
"Where are you going to put it?" she asked.
"In the entrance. To greet the guests."
"No!" Gloria shouted. "I don't want him greeting the guests. I want him greeting the garbage truck."
Jay sighed with the patience of someone who has had this argument a hundred times.
"Gloria, you have twenty-four throw pillows on the bed. I don't complain."
"The pillows are pretty. This is ugly."
"It's art."
"It's not art."
"It is art."
Claire stepped in before the argument could escalate.
"What if you put it in the guest room? That way you don't see it every time you come in."
Gloria thought about it. "That could work. But only if you hide it behind something. A curtain, a plant, or a stuffed elephant."
"We don't have a stuffed elephant," Jay said.
"Then get one."
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