by Thérèse
No. I cannot possibly be thinking like this. I am not going to die. Get a grip girl, she told herself, but during the endless night it was impossible to control the waves of nausea that kept flooding over her and the constriction in her chest that made it difficult to breathe. She had never felt so utterly alone or vulnerable.
≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈
Lizzie climbed out of bed and struggled into a pink cashmere robe. She looked out of the window. Stan emerged from his silver Mercedes looking worn and tired. She waited until she heard him dash upstairs and slam the bathroom door before heading down to the kitchen. He appeared a short while later, buttoning up his shirt as he walked toward the counter.
“There’s coffee,” Lizzie offered. “Have you eaten? Do you want breakfast?”
“Eggs would be good,” he said. “Sophie’s gone home with Joan… I had no idea…” He let the thought trail off.
“No. I know,” Lizzie answered quietly. “I don’t think Amy’s mother was too delighted, either. They’d been at Fred’s birthday party. Perfect timing, hey?” she added, flicking the whisk and pouring truffle oil into the mixture.
“Shit,” he muttered, fastening his tie and checking the clock. “I was supposed to be at Nate ’n Al an hour ago.” Fishing around for his BlackBerry, he speed-dialed his office.
“Tell him something urgent came up. See if he can do lunch … get a table at Toscana… Yes, rebook them for three o’clock. Put back the CAA meeting to four thirty…”
Your daughter almost died and it’s business as usual, Lizzie thought bitterly, as Stan rattled off more instructions.
“Reschedule Peterson for tomorrow. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
“Sorry,” he said, draining the last of the coffee and gesturing to the untouched plate. Then, hesitating for a second, “Let’s talk later.”
Yanking his briefcase from under the table, he lifted his key fob. He had pressed the remote for his car before even reaching the front door.
PROFOUND THOUGHTS NOTE – Check in with self
India woke to the squawk of blue jays and the irritating whine of a leaf blower. The afternoon sunshine was streaming through the painted wooden shutters as she lay in bed watching the dappled patterns on the walls and replaying scenes from the previous night: the arrival at Chateau Marmont, the emergency room, Adam leaping up for news of Max, and Stan, sitting there helplessly with Joan. How terrifying it must be to think you might lose someone you love, she thought. To sit hour after hour waiting like that for news. It was bad enough for me and I hardly know the guy.
And Adam. She couldn’t believe how long it had been since she’d been in a man’s arms, since she’d felt so desired. How easy it had been to tune in to him at the hospital, how they had talked in shorthand like old friends, as if they had known each other always.
Speaking of talk… This was another of those times when she missed Sarah. Thank goodness it wasn’t too late to call London. When Sarah picked up, India found herself talking so fast she was out of breath. Then she paused for dramatic effect.
“Okay. Are you sitting down? Okay. Guess who offered to get me a drink? Ready for it … Michael Mulholland.”
There was a high-pitched scream. India held the phone away from her ear.
“O my God. I hate you. Did you tell him you had a friend?”
India laughed. “I didn’t get the chance. Adam was over like a shot when he saw him talking to me.”
“Okay, this is all just too much. I am seriously jealous, Indie. Go on … I’m assuming… Am I assuming? Was it amazing?”
“Sarah, we are talking hot. I mean, it was off the Richter scale,” she whispered. “I think I used some muscles I’ve not used in some time. In fact, I think I used some muscles I never knew I had!”
“Okay, India, I get the idea. You can stop right there; show a little pity please. As you know I have not managed to get laid for some considerable time… But I do want daily reports, please, and if you see our friend Michael again, I will not be speaking to you if you don’t give him my number and tell him how fabulous I am.”
“Promise. I promise, Sarah. Cross my heart.”
India took a long, leisurely shower. The water felt prickly against her newly awakened skin. It was as if all her senses were suddenly raw and alive. Drying herself with a thick white towel, she picked out a bikini and an oversize cotton shirt and waltzed off toward the kitchen. Pure contentment, she thought, drinking in the smell of freshly mown grass.
Closing the picket gate behind her, she noticed an unfamiliar car in the driveway. The doors to the main house were closed over, too. When Annabelle caught sight of her through the French windows, she waved for her to come in. India went cold. It was obvious from Annabelle’s expression that something was terribly wrong.
“What is it?” she asked immediately. “Is everyone okay?”
“Yes, everybody’s fine.” Annabelle said, quickly. “Darling, meet Rand, he’s an old family friend and my doctor. Randy, I don’t think you’ve met my sister, India?”
A tall slim man in his late fifties with graying hair and a deep tan stood up to greet her.
“Lovely to meet you,” he said warmly, shaking her hand. “I can see the resemblance.”
“Good to meet you as well … shall I leave you two alone?” India asked politely, keen not to intrude on what seemed like a very intense conversation.
“I hadn’t planned on worrying you or Joss. I wasn’t going to say anything until I had some definite news, but as you’re here, darling, sit down for a minute.”
India perched on a stool, holding her stomach. It felt as if she’d swallowed a stone.
“What is it, Annie? Tell me.”
Annabelle hesitated and looked over at Rand, who picked up her cue.
“I’m going to send Annabelle for a scan later this afternoon. I suspect she has a benign growth on her thyroid gland that can be treated easily, but it’s important we check it out to make sure. She’s had a shock, but as I’ve been telling her, the lump doesn’t feel solid. In ninety-five percent of cases these growths are noncancerous.”
India was listening intently.
“How long will it take to know for certain?” she asked, desperately trying to get a fix on what she was hearing.
“I’ve put in a call. She’s having a UFA later today.”
“A what?” India was not thinking straight. Her head was spinning. “UFO?”
Rand smiled.
“UF-A,” he emphasized, “an ultrasound fine-needle aspiration. It’s a painless procedure and I’ll have the lab results back within twenty-four hours.”
“What will this involve?” India asked. “I mean if it’s…” India avoided the word “malignant.” “If it’s what you just said, benign?”
“Well, we’ll move forward when we have all the information. It’s soft to the touch, which is a good sign.”
“What do you mean?” Annabelle asked, tentatively.
“I mean, I really wouldn’t get too alarmed at this point. Thyroid cysts are very common and treatable.”
Rand stayed for another half hour or so, reassuring them patiently and answering question after question.
After he left, India rushed over and hugged her sister.
“How long have you had this? It’s going to be okay;. you know that. You heard what he said.”
“I found it yesterday,” Annabelle lied, stretching her neck up and letting her sister touch her throat, lightly. “But God! I’m glad you’re here. Can you imagine how I’d cope if you were five thousand miles away?”
“Don’t be ridiculous; I’d have been on the first plane over,” India choked out. She clung to her for a moment before reaching over the countertop to grab a paper napkin.
“You always said the thought of me being so far away brought a lump to your throat,” she joked, blowing her nose noisily.
Annabelle laughed out loud.
“I’m going to stay as long as you need me, Annie. I can help
look after you and Joss and the girls. You are going to be just fine; I know it. But I’m not going anywhere until you’re completely well and over this. And I’ll come with you for the test, of course. Just let me go and put some clothes on.”
“We need to leave in about an hour,” Annabelle shouted after her.
India raced across the garden. What the hell was happening here? One minute life was one big party, the next it was unraveling before her eyes. Annie would be all right. She had to be. Flying into the suite, she opened her laptop and began scanning the Internet for information about the thyroid gland.
A little while later, Robert held open the doors of the Town Car and the two of them climbed into the cream leather interior.
“Miss Butler, you seem to have attracted quite a crowd out there today,” he told her.
“Sorry, Robert?” Annabelle was too preoccupied to catch his remark.
“There are a lot of photographers out there today, Miss Butler,” Robert said as he began smoothly easing down the driveway.
“Really?” Annabelle was genuinely alarmed. Had word already gotten out she was sick? That was impossible. Nobody except India knew, not even Joss.
As the Lincoln approached the electronic gates, the inside of the car went dark and a frenzied mob swarmed around the car, pressing tight up against the tinted gray windows. Robert kept up a steady crawl then picked up speed, forcing them to scatter. As they reached Sunset Boulevard, Annabelle turned to India, who had gone pale.
“Did you hear that? They were shouting your name, India. What’s going on? If the media finds out I’m headed for the hospital, there’ll be photographs of me picking out a memorial stone by the morning.”
“A memorial stone? What do you mean?” India looked at her terrified.
“I mean that they’ll trail around after me and whip up some story that I’m dying, or, at the very least, having work done. I’m a name, India. I have to be careful. There are major privacy issues here.”
India began to fill her in on the previous night’s events, about Sophie and Max. As she spoke, she could see Annabelle was fighting to control her temper. Is she angry with me? she thought. Does she understand the way it all happened, that it was out of my control?
“This is all I need right now,” Annabelle snapped. “It couldn’t be worse timing. They’ll be camped out for days until they get something they can sell, and while they’re stalking you, someone will work out where I’m going and…”
Annabelle didn’t even get to the end of the sentence. She couldn’t face it, the thought of what might happen if Rand was wrong. What if I need chemotherapy? she thought, panicking. What if I’m one of the five percent?
Annabelle stared fixedly ahead of her, fighting back tears. India clutched her sister’s hand until the car pulled underneath the parking lot of the black glass medical building, where a nursing assistant led them into a private elevator and then into the imaging department.
≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈
“You answer it,” Annabelle said.
Joss, jaw clenched, and wrenched the handset from the kitchen wall. The pulse in his temple was palpitating. Listening intently, he nodded and mumbled affirmatives.
“Thanks, Rand,” he said, smiling reassuringly at Annabelle as he handed her the phone.
India was keeping busy, making Annabelle’s favorite pasta: Farfalle Alfredo. “Shit,” she muttered as boiling water spilled over the saucepan and scalded her hand. Turning down the heat, she stood perfectly still and held her breath.
“Okay,” she heard Annabelle say eventually. “In the morning. Thanks, Rand. Thanks.”
Throwing down the tea cloth, India rushed over to the couch and grabbed Annabelle’s hand. “So, she said gently, “what did he say?”
“The results are good from what he can see,” Annabelle said quietly. “And he sounded very calm,” she added, almost as an afterthought. “But I still have to have surgery to remove the lump and be a hundred percent sure it is benign.”
India gave Annabelle a hug. “Right,” she said. “This is very good news. I think we could all do with a drink.” Swallowing hard, she was walking across to the refrigerator in search of wine when her cell phone rang. It was Adam.
“Hey. How are you?” he said. “Did you get some sleep? I tried to reach you yesterday but you didn’t pick up.”
India glanced down at her screen. There was a string of missed calls.
“I’m so sorry, Adam. But can I call you back? This isn’t a great moment.”
“Sure,” he said, uncertainly. “No problem, I’m here.”
Shoving a pile of newspapers to one side of the coffee table, she poured three large glasses of Sancerre.
“So what else did he say?” she asked, conscious that her hands were shaking.
“He wants us to call him in the morning, so he can explain the practicalities.”
“He told me it would explain why you’ve been losing weight, Annie,” Joss added.
“Yes, he said it’s a common thing, something that often happens after you’ve had kids … hormones going insane,” she murmured.
“You’re going to be absolutely fine, Annie,” India said. “We’ll get through this together. Whatever you need, it’s yours. In the meantime, I’ll have dinner ready in about twenty minutes. So why don’t you two go into the den and we can eat in there by the fire?”
“Good idea. Thanks, Indie. I’m glad the girls are at a sleepover,” Joss said, gesturing to the empty beanbags and scattered backpacks. They’ll be at summer camp soon, too. Which means I can focus all my attention on you, Annie.”
India watched as Joss steered Annabelle out of the room. He’s so solid, she thought. He loves her so much.
Back in the kitchen, she drained the pasta and piled it into a giant serving dish, whisking some Dijon mustard into a vinaigrette before tossing the salad and throwing French bread into a basket. Then piling it all onto a large tray, she carried it into the den.
“Here, you must both be starving,” she said, setting it down on the salvaged-oak table.
“This looks amazing,” Annie said, sitting up. “I’m feeling quite lightheaded now. I’ve not eaten properly in twenty-four hours.”
“Awesome, Indie,” Joss said appreciatively. “Where’s your plate?”
“I need to make a quick call,” she said, topping up their wineglasses. “You get started,; I’ll catch up in a minute.”
Leaning up against the countertop, India stretched her neck muscles and then foraged in her purse for her cell. Adam picked up immediately. His tone had changed. He sounded distant and strained.
“I’m sorry, Adam,” she said. “Family stuff. I didn’t mean to cut you off. How’s Max?”
“He’s doing okay,” he said, the warmth returning to his voice. “Depressed, embarrassed, ashamed, I guess. He was drunk, you know. He nearly killed himself and somebody else.”
“Max had been drinking? So the accident WAS his fault?”
“Yeah, and I suppose I should have seen this one coming. All the signs were there,” he said. “He’s going straight from UCLA to rehab again next week and then – ”
“I’m so sorry, Adam,” she interrupted. “I really am, and I want to hear the full story, but I’m about to have dinner with Annie and Joss. I do need to talk to you… There’s a pack of paparazzi camped outside the gates here shouting my name!”
“Shit,” Adam muttered. “Yeah, I’ve got company too.”
“I’m in all evening. Can I call you back in about an hour?”
“Sure. Anytime,” he said.
India clicked off and stood looking out at the garden. It was hard to imagine that anything could have taken her mind off Adam Brooks. Fred’s party seemed like years ago. The panic about Annabelle had frozen time.
Picking up her plate and glass, she joined Joss and Annabelle.
“God, it’s cold,” she said, shivering as she perched on a foot-rest close to the fire. “I’d no idea it gets this ch
illy at night in August.”
“We’ll have to get you some Uggs,” Joss said, tossing her a cashmere throw. “Put this around your feet.”
“This is delicious, darling,” Annabelle said, resting her fork and flopping back into the downy cushions. “I’ve been ignoring the warning signs, you know.” I’ve pushed through so many walls of exhaustion, I’ve forgotten what it feels like to have energy.”
Joss nodded. “I noticed, but I thought you just needed a good vacation.”
“Yes. Well, I do, but I also think I need to make some changes,” she continued.
India smiled. “Well, you’re about to get a lovely long break,” she said, standing up and lifting a couple of plates. “You two have a lot to talk over. I’m going to give Lizzie a call. I’m sure last night must have been pretty awful for her.”
“I’ll fill you in,” Annabelle said, as Joss looked at her quizzically.
“Have an early night, you two. You look like you need it. It’s been a long day. I love you more than words can say.”
Annabelle smiled up at her. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she said. “I love you too.”
≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈
Lizzie was sitting in the pitch dark in her living room. The house seemed to reverberate with the echoes of the fight with Stan, a fight that had left her immobilized with rage.
When he’d had the gall to suggest that she should have been watching Sophie more closely, she’d exploded, screamed at him. Hurled every abuse she could come up with. She’d told him to get out, go fuck the nanny, and while he was at it go fuck himself.
