by Laura Ward
I hadn’t enjoyed the feeling. I had doubled over, gasping for air. My leg muscles would tighten and cramp until I thought they’d snap off like the delicate strings of an over-tuned violin. But I had embraced the pain—because it was better than the numbness. And the feeling in my lungs and legs had been like the feeling in my heart. It was a familiar, comforting ache, and after time, I had craved both the physical challenge and the outlet.
Remembering that first freeing feeling, I turned left at the end of my street and sprinted, fresh September air filling my lungs as I drew in large breaths. Turning into a neighborhood, I slowed my sprint down to a pace I could maintain and allowed myself time when I didn’t have to worry about anyone else or how they felt about my emotions.
I hadn’t wanted my boys to see me crying day in and day out. I was determined that they wouldn’t see me falter any more than they already had after their father’s death. They were frightened of the violence that had ripped their dad from their lives. So at home, I kept my emotions in check.
When I ran, I sobbed until I could barely see and screamed when the wind would drown out my sounds. I would yell at God for taking away my best friend, and I would hold my stomach as the waves of nausea rolled over me, terrified that I wouldn’t be able to do this on my own.
I turned at the end of the court and headed toward home. This past summer, the first without Jack, had been especially devastating for the boys. At least now that they were back in school, they would be distracted some of the time. As for me, week after week was exactly the same. But every day for the last ten months, as I would finish my run—part release and part punishment—a calmness would come over me, and I would get it the fuck together. That was my mantra. I used that time to let go and then get it together for my boys. Running had saved me. I wasn’t running away, I was running to temper the misery, to be strong in the face of fear, and to be the person I needed to be.
I TOSSED MY phone on the seat next to me and rested my head against the seat of the SUV that had picked me up from Baltimore-Washington International Airport. All I could focus on, while we were cruising down I-95, were the stories my manager kept sending me. Tabloids were still reporting about Kylie’s affair? Over a fucking month had passed. This bullshit should have been old news, but if people kept reading the websites and magazines, they’d keep writing about us and taking our pictures.
Shit. I fell for her and all her lies. How could I have been that stupid? I should have known better. Kylie was as superficial as they come. Granted, she was one of the sexiest actresses in Hollywood with a body most men could only fantasize about. Her bedroom skills alone had caused me to consider monogamy for the first time in my life. She had also convinced me that she was in love with me and that we were supposed to be together.
I ran my hands through my hair and tugged. I’m such an idiot.
Now I questioned everything. She had cheated on me with some twenty-six year old dickhead. I got that Quinn Rogers was Hollywood’s newest fixation, but Kylie and I had talked about marriage. Rogers was nothing but a prick that was using her to boost his own status.
Fame wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.
I stared out the window as the city of Baltimore passed by, praying that this project—Jack’s story—would work out. Jack Atwater had been a real-life hero; an everyday man who had bettered the world of everyone around him. I had to learn more about him. This was the only way to do that. Jack’s story was mine to tell. This was what I was missing in my life. I wanted…no, I needed, to make this happen.
AS MY PACE slowed to a walk, I wiped the sweat from my eyes and tried to focus. Why was a huge SUV parked in my driveway? Who was leaning back against the door? I pulled out my earbuds and removed my phone from my armband. I pressed the number nine and then a one and stopped, ready to enter the final number one if the stranger was dangerous. The tall, trim man didn’t move. He continued leaning back, watching me approach with an easy smile. He wore black Ray-Bans, and I tried to figure out what about this guy looked familiar. Who did I know that would show up in a big fancy Denali? What was going on? I yanked on my fitted tank, pulling it lower over my hips, and became very aware of how sweaty I was and how badly I smelled.
“Hello, are you Mrs. Elizabeth Atwater?” A deep masculine voice questioned with a friendly yet nervous tone.
“Yes, may I help you?” I slowed my pace and kept a safe distance. Raising my chin, I noticed just how handsome this stranger was. His jaw was perfectly chiseled, his chest broad, and his arms bulging with well-defined muscles.
“My name’s Reynolds Carter. I’m not sure if you’ve ever heard of me?” He took off his shades, extending his large hand, and I shook it.
Dear Lord in heaven. Reynolds Carter? People magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive? My jaw went slack, and I forced my mouth closed. I glanced away and cleared my throat to gain my composure. I was in the presence of a god. Hell, he could be the sexiest human on the planet. Uh, yeah. I had heard of him.
And then it hit me, and I hoped it didn’t hit him. My exercise-induced odor. Earth swallow me now.
Reynolds Carter stood in my driveway, tilting his head, his easy smile spreading wider.
“Umm, yes.” I swallowed hard and placed both hands firmly on my hips. “Just because I’m a stay-at-home mom doesn’t mean I’ve been living under a damn rock.” I narrowed my eyes straight into a sea of blue in his. “I know who you are. The question is how do you know who I am, and why are you in my driveway?” I crossed my arms over my body and raised a brow in question.
He burst out laughing. “Well, Mrs. Atwater, I have an offer for you. I was wondering if I might talk to you about an opportunity. Is that okay?”
“Please call me Liz. No one uses my full name, except for my mother.” I babbled as my heart ricocheted inside my chest. Reynolds Carter wanted to talk to me. No one would believe this. Cindy would die. I thought I might die. “I guess we could talk for a few minutes. Would you like to come inside?”
As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I wanted to suck them back in. A flat smile spread on my lips as I waited for him. In a split second thoughts bounced around in my head. What in the hell was going on? I was inviting a stranger into my home. How would Jack feel about this? If he were alive, he wouldn’t be very comfortable with me inviting a stranger into our home. I wasn’t worried that he was going to steal anything from us. The man had more money than God. I also wasn’t worried that he was going to kidnap me and make me a sex slave. I’d seen the women he dated, and I didn’t look like them at all. Even on a day when I was showered and didn’t smell like a locker room. I slipped my hand behind my neck and waited for his response. How could I possibly help Reynolds Carter? This was bound to be interesting.
Reynolds blew out a long breath and smiled, snapping me out of my daze. “Yes, that would be terrific. Thanks.” Reynolds placed his hand on my lower back, and I stiffened and pulled away as he followed me into the house.
His touch felt somewhat intimate, but then again, I was bordering on frigid these days. If the affection didn’t come from my boys, I didn’t want it. I was tired of the sympathy hug with the obligatory pat on the shoulder. The next person that patted my shoulder was going to be missing a hand. This felt different, almost like he was guiding me. It was a natural male gesture and one I missed.
Once inside the house, I dropped my keys and phone on the side table and led him to the kitchen. “Can I get you a cup of coffee?” I reached for a mug as Reynolds nodded. I watched as he took in the place. I tried to imagine what it looked like through his eyes. It was a modest home, but one that was filled with warmth and family. “Sugar and cream?” I stirred one teaspoon of sugar and a dash of cream into my favorite hazelnut coffee.
“Yours smells great. I’ll have the same. Thank you.” He shot me a smile as I slid his mug across the counter of the breakfast bar. He sat on one of the stools where my boys had breakfast every morning, and I silently prayed there wasn’t sticky remnants of
syrup anywhere near his designer clothing.
“Mmm, this tastes really good.” Reynolds closed his eyes and drank the coffee, savoring the flavor.
“How do you normally drink it?” I blew on the steam before sipping from my oversized mug.
“Black. I had no idea what I was missing.” He winked and sat back in his chair and placed both hands on the counter. “Okay, here’s what I’m thinking. I need a new project. I’ve always wanted to write a screenplay, and I’d like to write it about your late husband.”
My eyebrows shot up, and my eyes widened as I stared at his face. “I...I’m not sure I understand. You want to write a screenplay about my Jack?”
“A screenplay to start, yes. If that goes well, I’d like to produce the movie. I’ve acted in some of the biggest films made in recent years. I know this business inside and out. I can do this. I just need you to tell me the story.”
My mind raced as I gripped my mug. Reynolds Carter was drinking coffee in my kitchen, discussing making a movie about my Jack. Was I hallucinating?
“Mr. Carter, I’m curious. Why are you coming to me now? Right after Jack’s death, I was asked to do some interviews. I wasn’t interested then. What makes you think I’m interested now? That ship has sailed. People have forgotten what he did. They no longer ask about him.” I swallowed, feeling my stomach turn. A lump rose in my throat as it did whenever I thought of how Jack may be forgotten. His family and friends would never stop thinking about him, but with each passing day, his legacy faded from people’s minds. I blinked back tears as Reynolds met my eyes with a steady gaze.
“Call me Reynolds.” He narrowed his eyes, studying me for a moment. “You’re wrong about Jack. He isn’t forgotten. I just watched a news story about new legislation coming into Pennsylvania because of Jack’s work. We can make a damn good movie about his efforts to help people. This is an issue that Hollywood has never delved into. I’m talking about unchartered territory. Let’s bring it into people’s minds and see how much more we can do to help the cause.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Carter.” I leaned my hip against the counter. “I’m having a hard time seeing how one of the hottest actors in Hollywood is interested in a movie about my husband and the cause that was so close to his heart. It’s not exactly blockbuster material. Why would you want to make a movie like this?” I tensed and folded my arms across my chest in full self-protection mode.
Reynolds leaned forward. “Look, I can tell you’re uncomfortable. I’ll leave you to think about all this. I don’t know much about this story or your life. I really don’t.” Reynolds stood up and pushed in his stool. He shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and rocked back and forth on his heels. His lopsided grin almost caused me to smile in return. “What I do know, is that I’m tired of the same old shit coming from Hollywood. I’ve starred in that crap and helped the wrong people benefit from it.” He walked toward me, tightening his fists. His voice rose in volume and conviction. “I want a chance to do something good. I want to tell a story that means something and helps people. I need this opportunity right now. I want to take control of my life, and I thought you might too. Think about it. Call me tomorrow.” He slid a business card toward me.
Reynolds looked at me with a passion I hadn’t seen since Jack stood in this very same kitchen, discussing the very same issues not long ago. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to give him a shot and I wasn’t sure I wanted to relive the painful memories, but I respected his enthusiasm and honesty.
“Okay, I’m going to think about it.” I nodded when a thought occurred to me. “Um, what exactly would you need me to do?” Maybe my brain was slow, but I couldn’t quite capture my role in his project.
“Basically, we would meet and write the screenplay together. I’ll have the exclusive rights to the screenplay, but you’ll tell me the story and have the final say in what goes in. If you don’t agree with anything I write, it comes out, or we go back to the drawing board. We’d be partners. Split the profits between us. In the meantime, I’ll pay you an advance. It’ll be a salary to cover your expenses while we work together.”
I cleared my throat as I held onto the end of the kitchen counter. The room tilted, and my brain felt dizzy. “Uh, excuse me? What did you just say? You want me to write this with you and share in the profits? And you’d pay me an advance?” Reynolds grinned and nodded. To say this was a shocking morning would be an understatement.
“I’m not a writer. You don’t want to work with me. I think you should consider working with a professional.” I shook my head and walked to the sink. Grabbing a glass from the cabinet, I filled it with water and drank it in large gulps. I wanted to swallow away the anxiety crawling up my throat.
“Liz, the entire point of this project is that it’s a true story. I’m not interested in hiring a professional who will put a Hollywood spin on this. I want it to feel genuine, honest, and life-changing for those who see it. I have enough background that I can handle the actual writing. I need you to tell me the stories, fill it with your details, read the rough drafts, and bring us back to the heart of the matter. We can do this. I know we can.” Reynolds looked at me with a soft, pleading gaze and the room stopped spinning, my racing heart slowing down.
“I’ll think it over.” My voice was shaky, but I pulled myself together and shook his hand before walking him to the door.
I went back into the kitchen and stared out the window as his SUV pulled away. Was this just some mid-life crisis for a famous actor? Would he do right by Jack or would he turn this into some sensationalized story? Could I trust a stranger to tell our story?
I leaned my head against the window frame. What would Jack say if he heard this crazy idea? Who was I kidding? He would love it. He would jump at any chance to spread his message to a bigger audience of people.
“Have you made a new rich best friend?”
I jerked my head around at the sound of Cindy’s voice. She handed me a cup of my beloved Diet Coke, and kissed my cheek.
Cindy. Just who I needed right now.
My best friend was a tall, thin, powerhouse of a woman who told it like it was. No bullshit and no polish. She had three daughters and an understanding husband. She loved to bitch to me about him, so I could remind her how awesome he was. She was the friend everyone hoped to have if they ever lost a loved one. She had taken care of my boys, my house, my laundry, and my meals when I couldn’t do it myself. She had helped me pick out Jack’s casket and the suit we had buried him in. She had stopped by every day to check in. She had been my life-line.
“Um, no. Not a new best friend. That was someone asking about Jack.”
Cindy pulled out a chair and sat at the kitchen table, her eyes widening at my words. “A reporter? Are they still bugging you for interviews? Call me next time they show up, and I’ll tell those nutters where they can stick it.” Cindy slapped the table, and I had to grin.
“Cind. This was not a reporter. It was a Hollywood guy.” I wasn’t ready to tell her it was Reynolds Carter. She was obsessed with celebrities. She read all the gossip magazines and watched only entertainment news. She would want me to work with him just because he was famous. I needed to think this through based on the facts alone.
She walked back to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. “I’m feeling anxious. You just said Hollywood. I need to nosh.” She poked her head further into the fridge. “Yes! You have salsa!” She opened the jar as she walked to the pantry and grabbed the tortilla chips.
Settling back into her seat, she scooped salsa onto a large chip and shoveled it into her mouth. Waving her hand at me to continue, she chomped noisily on her food.
“This guy wants to write a screenplay based on Jack’s life. He’s hoping it will get made into a movie, and he wants me to help him with the storyline.” I watched as Cindy paused, a salsa covered chip frozen halfway to her gaping mouth.
“Shut the front door! A movie? About Jack? Can you do that? Are you ready?” Salsa dripped from the
chip onto the table. I processed her questions as I reached for a paper towel. Was I ready to tell Jack’s story? Could I do it?
“I don’t know. I’m sure I would need to work with him on a daily basis, at least for a while. I’m not sure I could handle exposing myself to those memories every single day.”
Cindy finished chewing. She grabbed my soda and took a long drink. Wiping her hands on a napkin, she said, “I understand that. Let’s think through every angle of the decision. First off, where would you be working?”
Crap. I hadn’t thought of that. I had always been a stay-at-home mom. If the kids got sick, if school let out early, or if there was a weather delay, I was there. I wasn’t ready to leave that behind. I couldn’t afford to keep it up much longer, but Jack’s life insurance policy still allowed me to be home. “I’d ask him if we could work from here. So the boys wouldn’t be affected in any way.”
Cindy nodded. “And the boys. If you’re working from home, I’m sure at some point they would run into him. How do you feel about that?”
“Not good. I don’t want the boys around a stranger.” This was a bad idea. Maybe I shouldn’t do this. I rubbed my neck and blew out a breath.
“Calm down, mama bear. The boys will not be harmed by a writer in your home who wants to tell their dad’s story. You and the boys will hold onto all the good from Jack, but you need to let go of some of the pain. This dude wants to preserve Jack’s memory. That’s a gift!” Cindy grabbed my hand and squeezed. “I’ll be here every step of the way.”
My smile made her smile. “You always are.”
She reached into her purse and pulled out an envelope. “I think this happened at just the right time.” She slid the envelope to me and I opened it, scanning the contents.
