by Fiona Quinn
Avery screamed, her hand clamped tightly over her mouth.
Lola ignored the tears that sprang to Avery’s eyes and dipped the stick back in the pot. “And you said he plays guitar.” She slathered on another thin layer of wax. “So he must have dexterity in those fingers.” She smiled conspiratorially at Avery as she rubbed the next strip then ripped.
“Agh!”
“I think you’re the kind of girl who deserves a good time.”
Avery thought she was the kind of girl who deserved a brandy.
***
Wrapped in her terry cloth robe, Avery stood in the driveway, hugging Lola tightly. “You’re the best friend any girl could ever want.” She laid a loud smacking kiss on Lola’s cheek.
Lola hugged Avery hard. “Stop. You’re going to make me all weepy. Now that you’re headed out of town, what am I going to do without you and your mom to break up my day?” Lola pulled back to look Avery in the eye. ”It means I’m going to have to hang out with the baboons.” She smiled her soft motherly smile.
Avery suddenly longed for her own baboons to cuddle and smile about. Her mind flickered to Rowan. And she wondered… Avery quickly shook herself free from the thought. That was dangerous ground to tread. She had never even met the man in person.
Now she was going to meet the man.
Waving at Lola’s car as it backed from her driveway, Avery knew there was no way she was going to pull a happily-ever-after from her present scenario. Happy endings belonged to other people’s story lines. Better to nip any other fantasies in the bud. This was real life, not a manuscript she was editing.
Avery checked her watch. Rowan had said nine o’clock. He was having a rough day with parents too. His dad was in the hospital. He didn’t expound, but Avery saw emotions sowed into his words that reminded Avery of her own ambivalence. Or maybe she was doing what Taylor had talked about. She was seeing everything through her own lens. Maybe Rowan was scared and heartbroken and not ambivalent at all. Maybe he was a good son despite the fact that his dad had been a mean drunk in Rowan’s youth. Perhaps his dad had gotten help and patched things up.
Her mom was beyond that. They’d never patch or mend. This was as good as it was going to get.
Avery had a duty to her mom. She loved her mom. But her mom wasn’t the kind of mom Avery had always longed for.
She walked back inside to go get ready. Ten more minutes, then Rowan and she would Skype. Avery would have to dim the lights now that her mouth was clown red from Lola’s waxing.
And then, selfishly, she thought, I hope that, despite his dad, we still get to meet in New York.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Avery
Tuesday night
Falls Church, Virginia
The Skype call connected immediately.
“Hi, there.” Avery lowered her eyelashes as a flush warmed her cheeks. Suddenly shy, she fidgeted, her hands in her lap.
“Hey.” Rowan’s smile was more a greeting than happiness. He looked worried. But that made sense, his dad and all.
Avery raised her gaze to take in his image. A long silence followed. “You look tired. Was your flight to New York okay? Is that where you are now?”
“Yeah, I’m at my hotel.” He held up the computer and rotated it around for her to see.
“Swanky.”
“I’m not sure how this worked out. Usually the bureau pays for rooms you share with the cockroaches. But I’m happy to take it.” He sat back down at the table and adjusted the computer screen.
“How are you?” Concern infused her voice.
“I’m a little off balance, to be honest.”
“If you’re not up to a conversation right now, I understand.” Avery leaned forward. “Though, I hope this is okay. I’d like to be here for you.”
“This is good, thank you.” He jostled his chair around and positioned his elbows on the table top.
“I don’t want to pry, but would you like to talk about what happened? How is your father?”
“No news is good news on the dad front. If he calls me, I’ll know things are getting bad.” He smiled, and it took any sting out of the words. “He’s private by nature.”
Avery tipped her head thoughtfully. “Like father like son?”
“Oh no.” Rowan chuckled. “No, this apple fell far from the tree. I am nothing like my father. And he would enthusiastically concur with me saying that.”
“Yes, I…you told me he drank, and he was mean. I didn’t mean to imply… I can’t see you being either a drunk or mean.” Avery bit at her lip, trying to figure out how to get out of the hole she’d just dug. “So you’re more like your mom? I don’t think you’ve ever mentioned her in your tweets.”
“Well, nothing to reveal there. I haven’t seen her in over a decade.” His words were matter-of-fact and held no emotional load. “She took off with a work colleague on a business trip, which was actually her moving out and moving on—to Spain to be exact.”
“Wow. That must have been a shock.”
“For my dad, perhaps. I was away at West Point, and I hadn’t grown out of my teenage narcissistic stage then. As long as it didn’t affect me directly, it didn’t matter.” He shrugged. “Besides, she wasn’t your normal cake-baking, kiss-you-goodnight kind of mom. She was more of the drama-making, vodka-swilling kind. She and dad were greeted as friends at the local ABC store.”
It seemed to Avery that Rowan’s tight-lipped half-smile punctuated the end of his sharing about his parents. “I had a difficult day today. It looks like you did too.”
Canting her head, Avery asked, “How did you know?”
Rowan rubbed his index finger at the corner of his mouth. “You have a little chocolate icing, just there.”
Ha, she’d grabbed a little piece of cake to calm her before the Skype date. Avery scrubbed at the indicated spot with her fingers then pushed her face closer to the camera.
“Yeah, you’ve got it. So what happened?”
“My mother.” Avery’s mouth twitched. “When my dad was dying, he asked me to move home and look after my mom, who is not well. And she’s having a bad day today.”
“Does your sister Fanny help out?”
“Fanny…” Avery began, but she saw Rowan focus over her shoulder. Turning her head to see what had caught his attention, she saw her mom standing behind her. She was dressed in mismatched church clothes with a shower cap arranged at a jaunty angle on her head.
“Avery, those men are outside watching the house, again. You need to brush your hair and go out and talk to them. Tell them we don’t like them here.”
“Mom.” She turned back to Rowan. “Let me Skype you back in a few minutes.”
“It’s fine,” Rowan said as Ginny moved up behind Avery, a hairbrush in her hand. She dropped the bristles onto Avery’s scalp and yanked.
Avery drew her shoulders up to her ears, turtling her head as best she could to deal with the pain. “Mom, that hurts. Please stop.” Avery reached out to end the Skype call, but Ginny smacked her hand.
“Don’t touch that,” her mother said.
As Ginny took another swipe through her hair, Avery reached again for the laptop. A second smack landed. Avery jerked her hand back, wincing.
“Avery,” Rowan said. “I’m going to go make myself a snack. You do what you need to do, and I’ll be here when you’re ready.” Rowan got up and disappeared from view.
“Mom.” Avery strained for patience. “There is no one outside. Please stop hurting me.”
Ginny’s voice drowned out Avery’s words with a sonorous Lumen Christi.
Avery stood up, took her mother’s hand, and pulled her upstairs to the master bedroom. There, she gave her mom the night time dose of medicine that would help her sleep until morning.
Her mother was still singing when Avery closed the door and bolted it from the outside. It was sometimes her only option when her mother lost touch with reality.
Avery looked at her watch. It could take twent
y minutes or so for the meds to kick in.
She slugged her way to her own bedroom where she stopped in front of the mirror to check her hair. After applying some gloss and brushing blusher over her cheeks to mask her wan complexion, Avery blinked at her image in the mirror. She was stalling going back downstairs. Okay, so now he knows, so what? He’s a pen pal, and he works far, far away.
On the way back to the dining room, Avery stopped in the kitchen to pour herself a cup of tea from the now tepid pot. She slid onto the chair in front of the computer, watching Rowan’s face focused on some task. When she placed the cup and saucer on the table, the rattle caught his attention.
“Everything okay?” he asked, swivelling to face the screen.
“Everything is normal.” Avery rubbed her fingers back and forth across her forehead. “Is that okay? I guess it has to be. What are you doing?”
“Doodling is all.” Rowan held up the picture of a caged bird.
Avery thought it was an apt metaphor for her situation. “Lovely,” she said.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Nothing to say really. It is what it is.”
Rowan nodded. “Your mother has dementia?”
“No. She’s just crazy.” Avery thought, yup, that’s the nail in the coffin of what might have been something more. “It’s not genetic. When Mom was pregnant with my brother, she was on bed rest and developed a blood clot that led to a stroke. She lost the baby, which I guess didn’t help things. Or maybe it was for the better, who knows.” God, she was tired. All of her energy just drained right out of her. She desperately wanted to go to sleep. “The brain damage from Mom’s stroke resulted in psychosis.”
“Delusions.”
“And paranoia, like when she said there are men watching the house. Though that one is new.”
“How new?” Rowan asked.
Avery had to think about that. “Last few days. Not long. If it’s not that, then it’s that her caregiver wants to kill her and steal her social security check. It wasn’t always this bad. She was okay. Not great. But okay before my father got sick. They discovered stage four pancreatic cancer, and Dad died that same month. Mom’s doctors say that the increase in her symptoms is caused by the stress of losing him.”
“Is her medication helpful?”
“When I can get her to take them. She thinks we’re trying to poison her. I have these new shots that are easier for me to work with. The pills… Sometimes, I literally have to force them down her throat.” TMI. It didn’t matter, he was gone anyway. “I feel like the bad guy. And as I have learned over the last two days, who the bad guy is depends entirely on where your feet are planted. For many who are looking at me, judging me, I’m the bad guy.”
Rowan sat silently.
“Do you want to hang up now? You don’t have to follow through with dinner in New York.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’d understand if you’d rather not…uhm, meet, or anything.” Lame.
“Because I got to see the kind of stress you’re dealing with?” He leaned forward, his face filling her screen. His eyes so intelligent and kind.
“It’s a complication. I’ve lost most of my friends over this.” She shrugged. “It’s okay.” She offered up a smile. “Really. I understand.”
She needed to just let this go.
Let Rowan go.
She closed her eyes.
“Please stop. Avery, look at me.”
She lifted her lashes and looked him in the eye, gripping at the seat of the chair, bracing herself.
“Nothing has changed between us except that today you learned that my home life wasn’t Norman Rockwell, and I learned even more deeply what a strong and amazing person you are.”
Tears sprang to Avery’s eyes. She looked away and batted her lids to quell them.
“The singing stopped. Does that mean your mom’s asleep?”
“The medication kicked in. Yes, asleep.”
“Then take a deep breath,” he said. “Let that all go. I wanted to ask you about something.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Avery
Wednesday Evening
New York City
George corralled Avery into an alcove at the convention hotel. They had just finished up listening to pitch sessions followed by an open bar meet and greet.
Avery wished he wasn’t standing so close.
“I’m getting pushback from the production departments. Shreveport is hellbent on bringing out the Knapp book on schedule. He’s rabid about it. I told him you’d met with Taylor in person. He didn’t believe me. You did meet with him, didn’t you? I swear to God, if you lied to me.”
“Have you met Taylor Knapp?” Avery’s back was pressed against the wall as she tried to gain distance. “Do you know who this is? I mean, beyond a name.”
“No. And I don’t need to. I was told to assign it to you. That came from Windsor himself. But I have all the pressure of getting this project accomplished.”
“This is dangerous stuff. But you know that from the fallout with Taylor’s first book. And I have the impression that what Taylor is cooking up pushes things far beyond what happened with the last book. It’s as if that last book was testing the waters. Something’s going on here, George. Seriously. I think we’re being used in someone’s game.”
“The only thing that’s going on here is we’re going to make money. Big money. That protects everyone’s job. Yours and mine. It’s a tentative time, Avery. Your getting this done and getting this done right, can protect a lot of people’s livelihoods.” He put his hand on the wall above Avery’s shoulder, caging her there.
“No pressure.”
“Just be professional,” he said. “Just do what you do.”
“Turn a blind eye.” She tried to take a step to the side.
He put his other hand to the wall, stopping her. “Not a blind eye. A critical eye. An editorial eye. Find every single wayward comma. Find all the plot holes and the pacing issues. But don’t rock the boat on the themes that Taylor wants to put forth. He’s a genius! He can read his audience like they’re tea leaves.”
“Like he has a lot of data that would help him hit the right psychological buttons.”
“Exactly.” He lifted his hands in the air, shaking his fists. “Brilliant!”
Avery took advantage of the move (number twenty-seven in the alpha-ape how to win book), side-stepping out of his reach, then moving quickly toward the elevators, seeking the privacy of her room.
George wheeled around and quickened his pace to catch up with her.
Adjusting the shoulder strap on her briefcase, Avery waited with the pool of convention-goers waiting for the next car going up. George stood right behind her back.
Now that the day was over, his cologne smelled sickly-sweet and stale, exciting her gag reflex. Avery moved away from him, trying to cover the move as a shift of balance. The bell dinged and the doors slid open.
George placed a possessive hand on her lower back as he shepherded her in.
Avery tensed at his touch.
They squeezed into the crowd and turned toward the closing door. George’s hot breath whispered in her ear. “You know, it’s kind of a shame we had to go through the pretence about booking two rooms.”
Avery shot a glance over her shoulder. “It’s not happening.”
He chuckled. “No?”
They moved to the side as people arrived at their floors. The pushing jumbled her into George’s arms as he steadied her. Avery let her breath hiss between her teeth. This was probably the longest elevator ride in the history of elevator rides.
Finally, on the ninth floor, they both exited.
George propelled Avery down the corridor by the elbow.
She stopped abruptly to face him. Pitching her voice so her words didn’t carry into any of the other rooms, she pulled her briefcase between them. “I’m serious. It’s not happening ever again. Clear?”
“Su
re. But then again, I’ve heard that from you before haven’t I?” He sent her an audacious wink, and Avery wanted to smack the smugness right off his face. She glared disdain at him and moved up the hallway. George’s laughter following after her.
In her room, finally alone, Avery kicked off her high heels and stripped off her suit pants. She headed straight to the shower where she let the pulse of hot water loosen her muscles. Her thoughts trailed back to the time before her old boss moved on to greener pastures. Avery had liked her job—travelling to other cities, meeting famous authors, and those still in the fingers-crossed stage of the publishing game. It had always felt more like a party than work.
But the industry had changed. There was unrest, a feeling of endangerment, as if the publishing dinosaurs were going extinct. Everyone, it seemed, was clinging to their jobs by their fingernails. People were scared. At the cocktail reception, it made them talk too loud and drink too much. It was all the more apparent to Avery since she’d abstained.
The pervasive undercurrent of stress was not Avery’s alone.
But it added to Avery’s tension headache.
She stepped out of the shower, wrapped a towel around herself, and wandered into her room. At least she would sleep this week; that was worth the trip right there. She wondered if she should give Fanny a call to check and see how things were going.
Just as she was talking herself out of making that call, her phone played Barry Manilow’s Copacabana. “Hi, Lolly.”
“Hey there. I need to talk to an adult right now or my head’s going to explode.”
“Rough day with the kids?”
“I have them each in a corner. They’ve been there long enough the little ones have curled into balls and fallen asleep. But they’re alive.”
“Good to know.” Avery picked up the room service card that encouraged her to circle what she wanted brought up for breakfast and to be hung on her outer doorknob by midnight. She glanced down the offerings of oatmeal and Greek yogurt with fruit, then tossed it onto the bed beside her.
