Fix You

by Beck Anderson

  I run to him. My hands are around his neck. Strength fills me. I try to pour the intensity into him, hugging him tightly. His head is bowed.

  “Andrew.”

  “I love you.” His hands are still in his pockets.

  “I’m so sorry.” I kiss him. The rain soaks us. He cries, his shoulders rising and falling in shudders. His arms come up, hands pulling me in at the shoulder blades, pulling me as close as he can.

  The rain falls, and I feel strong. I can hold up to this, and I can help him. I can’t fix him, but I can love him. He can’t fix me, but he can love me.

  He leans into me, and we walk inside. I’ll run a hot shower for him. We’ll talk about the next steps—how to help him get better, stay better. We’ll talk about me, my past, the things I’ve held just under the surface for too long. Maybe we’ll talk about finding a new place, a private place that’s safe for all of us.

  We’ll go meet the boys and fly home to Boise. We’ll be together. All of us.

  42: Do-Over

  RED CARPET DONE RIGHT—that’s what Andrew wants to call this. I do feel a lot less freaked out the second time around. I think it helps that we’re at Andrew’s rented house, and that the boys are downstairs having pizza with Andrew, Jeremy, Todd, and my folks right now.

  Which, by the way, is a complete rip-off. I’ve been primped and prodded and preened for like an hour and a half, I won’t be able to eat because I’m terrified of messing up the dress, and they’re all hanging out like we’re going to a football game or something.

  Finally Mallory is done. I’m happy, because I convinced her a shiny ponytail would be a good red-carpet look. Actually, I probably didn’t convince her, but she acquiesced. So that part of me is comfortable. And the makeup is tolerable. There was a brief discussion of false eyelashes, but we got real and gave up on that idea.

  I walk down the stairs to the kitchen.

  “There she is!” Dad likes to announce things that are obvious.

  “Here I am.” I look at Andrew to see what he thinks.

  “My date!” He leaves the pizza and comes over. “I’d hug you, but I think I’d get pizza on you.” He’s wearing a gray suit with a spring green tie that matches my dress, but it’s obscured by a huge napkin stuffed into the neck of his shirt.

  Todd puts his pizza down. “Don’t let Andrew near you. He was shoveling it in, so he’s definitely saucy.” He smiles and wipes his hands on his torn-up jeans.

  Jeremy isn’t eating. He’s on his phone. But he puts it aside long enough to comment: “Kelly, you’re a vision. Leave him immediately.”

  Andrew rolls his eyes.

  Mom comes over and gives me a hug. “Oh, Bug, you look amazing. Now you all go have fun. And don’t be nervous.”

  “I’m not nervous, Mom. I’m not the one who has to talk about myself for the length of a football field.”

  Andrew carries his plate to the kitchen. “You have to stand next to me and endure it, though. That might be more painful. And I’m not going to win.”

  Jeremy claps him on the back. “Blasphemy! I called this one, son.”

  Yes, we’ve decided to go public. It’s awards season. Andrew threatened to leave the agency if Jeremy didn’t drop the dating clause in the contract. A client with a nomination can throw his weight around a little, I guess. So we’re putting the Franca-and-Andy-are-they-or-aren’t-they debate to rest. It’s not going to be a big deal, anyway. Except maybe to Franca, but she’s about to star in a new movie with the latest incarnation of the Justice League, so she’ll be plenty occupied with a bevy of leading men. The press really prefers famous people to date other famous people. It sells twice as many magazines. But we decided as a family, and then we did a few things to get ready. We changed the phone number. We told the school.

  What will be weird is when we get home. Two weeks ago we drove around with Andrew in our part of town and picked out a new house. So when we get home, we’ll drive past a gate to get in the neighborhood. We’ll pull into a new driveway and see Ditto going crazy in a new backyard. We’ll walk into a house that has been decorated by no one, but waits for both of us to put our mark on it. And the boys too, of course. They’re very comfortable laying claim to bedrooms and hanging posters with tape that will ruin the walls.

  But new is good. Different is good. Taking a risk is good. Andrew held my hand very tightly when we signed the papers. We’re pretty strong when you put the two of us together.

  That’s what I think again when I step out of the black Suburban with Andrew holding my hand to steady me. Wearing heels is still not a skill I’ve mastered. Tucker gives me a big smile. He doesn’t have much of a job tonight—awards shows have their own security detail—but he walks in front us anyway.

  It’s good, too, because I need a minute to figure out how to see. The flashbulbs are just like the ones I remember from when I was little and they took school pictures with big lights in the gym. I have little gray-blue spots all over my field of vision. And it’s loud, really loud. People are screaming, bellowing, “Andy! Andy!” From the public bleachers across the street, I can hear kind of a generalized, high-pitched squealing.

  “How do you even see to walk?” I ask Andrew. I have to yell. I’m clinging to him, I’m pretty sure.

  “You’ll be mostly blind for the first minute or so. Just look out at some point in the distance, or pretend to. Or just look at the back of Tucker’s head. Or me, you can always look at me.” He looks right at me and flashes his million-dollar smile. The flash bulbs go crazy again.

  “Everybody else is. You’re going to get spoiled.”

  He squeezes my hand. “Are you ready for this?”

  “No.”

  “Too bad. Here we go!”

  And we plunge down the next chute of our lives. Together.

  Acknowledgments

  Many thanks to the following people:

  First, to my husband, Marcus. You are the one who taught me about true love.

  To my kids, for enduring the time Mama spends parked in front of the computer.

  To the Chix. You complete me and help me complete my sentences. We rule.

  To my awesome editor, Jessica, for equal parts common sense and cheerleading.

  To all of my extended family and everyone in my “other life” at school, for your enthusiasm for this new journey of mine.

  And, to the team at Omnific, for giving me my first break.

  About the Author

  Beck Anderson believes in the power of perfectly imperfect women and in the healing power of love. Her new novel, Fix You, grew out of those beliefs and the time to write afforded by the worst Thanksgiving blizzard she’s ever witnessed in West Yellowstone. Author of the blog good enough is good, she routinely encourages fellow women, girls, wives, and mothers to be true to themselves and cut themselves some slack.

  For Beck, the path to published novelist has taken lots of twists and turns, including a degree in anthropology, a stint as a ticket seller at a ski resort, a much-loved career as a high school English teacher, and a long tenure as a member of the best writing group ever, hands down.

  Beck balances (clumsily at best) writing novels and screenplays, working full-time as an educator, mothering two pre-teen males, loving one post-forty husband, and making time to walk the foothills of Boise, Idaho, with Stefano DiMera Delfino Anderson, the suavest Chihuahua north of the border.

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  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Information

  Dedication

  Prologue: The Long Way Around

  1: The Spaces in Between

  2: Departure

  3: One Morning Run

  4: The Next Morning Run

  5: Still Running

  6: The Next Time

  7: A Little Dose of Reality Would Make Sense Right About Now

  8: Things Come Together

  9: Tour Guide Extraordinaire

  10: Required Reading

  11: Family Home Evening

  12: Rolling on the River

  13: You Just Got Here

  14: Short Goodbyes and Long Distances

  15: Working Vacations

  16: There’s One in Every Bunch

  17: Time Together

  18: We’ve Got Tonight

  19: Juke Box Hero

  20: Well, Then

  21: Lunch with Sharks

  22: Glutton for Punishment

  23: Oh, the Self-Doubt of It All

  24: Three for the Road

  25: Christmastime Is Here

  26: Julia Child, We Aren’t

  27: It’s Better to Give, but It’s Fun to Get Too

  28: No Sunglasses Necessary

  29: Sticks and Stones

  30: The Good Part of a Bad Night

  31: The Bad Part of a Bad Night

  32: Media Push Comes to Shove

  33: My Unfunny Valentine

  34: The Visit

  35: Blue Midnight

  36: Castles in the Sand

  37: Unraveling

  38: Still No

  39: My Truth

  40: A Running Partner

  41: Indio Again

  42: Do-Over

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

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