“For the characters?” She looked surprised. “Some of them are pretty awful people.”
“I cried for you. I could feel your pain when I read them.” What he said touched her deeply and she was silent for a minute. “So we’ve both taken refuge here,” he commented to fill the silence. “I’m not hiding. I really love it,” he said, as they finished the lobster. They had eaten every bit of it, and the melted butter had been delicately flavored with truffle oil. She had noticed and loved it.
“Neither am I,” she said, and then thought better of it. “Well, maybe I am hiding. Or I was. I’m not hiding now. And life has a way of finding you wherever you are anyway. I’m stunned that my sister found my daughter. I had no idea she was doing that. She got lucky, and so did I.”
“Some things are just meant to be. You can’t stop them, both good and bad.” She knew it was true. Hattie had just demonstrated that.
“I’m glad my sister and I are close again. I missed her. I just couldn’t understand why she’d want to be a nun, and not an actress. But it seems to suit her.” He smiled at that.
“Maybe for the same reason you’d rather be a carpenter or a ‘farmer’ instead of a writer, and I’d rather build houses than be a politician. We’ve made choices, and those choices have made us who we are. I’d rather go to prison than be in politics,” he said, and Melissa laughed.
“Some people do both.” He laughed too. He had always liked their exchanges, even when she was tart or sharp with him. There was usually a reason for it, and if angry, she expressed it well. But she could be kind at times too. And he loved talking to her now that they were both revealing more of themselves. She was everything he had guessed, and more. He was a good judge of people, and tolerant of their quirks and flaws. More than she was.
She often said that she was allergic to stupidity, and hated people who didn’t keep their word, or lied. She held herself to a high standard and expected that of others. He knew she was a hard worker, they had that in common too, and the no-frills life they had both adopted, although her home was supremely comfortable, in part thanks to him, and the improvements he had added, like the air-conditioning he had forced on her, and she loved now in the blazing summers. She hadn’t thought it necessary, and too expensive, and he had insisted. And now she thanked him.
They cleared away the dishes, and left them on the counter. And he brought out a plum tart he had made himself from the fruit on his property.
“It’s a German recipe I found,” he explained, and when she tried it, it was delicate and delicious.
“You should be a chef,” she complimented him.
“I’m better with houses.” He smiled at her.
“Me too. Better than with people, in my case,” she said. “I used to envy my sister for how extroverted she was, and at ease with people. She could talk to a stone before she went into the convent. She’s more subdued now. But she still has a gregarious nature. I was always the shy, serious one, which is probably why I became a writer. It’s an easy way to communicate, instead of talking.”
“Not for me,” he said with a smile. “It still kills me to write a letter. I’d rather talk to people than send emails, which I hate. They’re so dehumanizing.”
“I suppose so, but it’s easier.” They finished the tart and he poured them each a small glass of Sauterne that he had brought with him. It had been an exquisite dinner. “It was fantastic,” she complimented him. She felt relaxed and sated and had stopped worrying about meeting Michaela while she talked to him. He had a way of making everything seem peaceful. “I’m nervous about meeting my daughter,” she confessed to him over the Sauterne, when they went to sit in the living room. The evening was chilly and he lit a fire in the fireplace he had built for her that was even prettier than the original. He had found an antique marble mantelpiece at an auction in Newport, Rhode Island, from one of the Vanderbilt estates.
“She’s going to love you,” he said confidently.
“How can I compete with Marla Moore, she’s a brilliant actress, and very glamorous.”
“That doesn’t make her a great mother. And there’s room for both of you in her life. You have a lot to offer her. And you’re younger and have a different point of view.” She hadn’t thought of that before. “Most actresses are narcissists, that’s not easy either.” What he said reassured her a little, and she thought of the things he had told her about himself at dinner, about his marriage, his career, and his family. He was an interesting person, and deeper than she had realized. She was touched that he had read her books, and was very perceptive about them. She wasn’t sure that even Carson had understood them as well as Norm had, and seen the suffering in them. Carson focused on the violence and plot twists that made them sell, so he could hit her publishers for more money. Norm had seen beyond that, he had seen her.
They were both looking into the fire, as Norm turned and put a gentle arm around her. He was a big man, and she felt small next to him. Everything about him promised safety and protection. She hadn’t felt that way in a long time, if ever. She and Carson had a very different relationship, based on business, which was appropriate at the time. But she was in a different place in her life now. And Carson was six years older, always with an eye on the future, and a bigger deal. She was fine with it then, but wouldn’t have been now. He had tried to do the same with Jane, his new wife, but her work had never taken off the way Melissa’s had. She had a small following of faithful readers, but he had never been able to make a big deal of her. Melissa had been his star, and the star had closed up shop and gone out of business.
Norm didn’t say anything, and then he kissed her. Their silences were comfortable. She felt no need to fill them with empty words or clever repartee, nor did he. He kissed her for a long time, and she was breathless when they stopped. She liked the feel of his soft beard on her face. He kept it neatly trimmed, and never looked unkempt, just manly and rugged. There was something irresistibly masculine about him, as though it was the way men were supposed to look, and she was surprised by how attracted she was to him. She had thought of him as a friend before, but doors were opening and revealing vistas she hadn’t let herself consider until now.
“Do we know what we’re doing?” she asked in a whisper, as she searched his eyes and he nodded with a smile.
“I think so. I do,” he whispered back. “I’ve been waiting four years for this. This isn’t a new idea to me. It just feels like the right time.” She nodded, not wanting to disagree, and they kissed again.
“What happens after this?” she asked innocently, and he laughed at the question.
“Let’s see where it goes. There’s no rush to figure it out. Why don’t we just enjoy it?” She nodded. It sounded right to her too.
He tore himself away finally at midnight. He would have liked to stay and spend the night with her, but he didn’t want to rush it, and he didn’t want her to feel that he had cooked her dinner to seduce her. He had made the meal for her, for them both, for the sheer pleasure of it.
They kissed again as he stood in the doorway, and she thanked him for the delicious dinner. He had taken the garbage out for her, so the kitchen didn’t smell of lobster the next day, and she didn’t have to do it after he left. He thought of everything.
“I’ll call you,” he promised.
“I’m going to New York next week to see Ash…Michaela.” She smiled as she corrected the name.
“I want to hear all about it when you get back,” he said with an encouraging look, and she nodded.
“Thank you, Norm…for everything.”
“Never mind that,” he said, kissed her again, walked down the steps, and waved as he drove away a minute later. She stood on the porch for a few minutes, thinking about him, wondering why she had never noticed how handsome he was, and how attracted she was to him. All things in their time, she thought, and went back into the hou
se with a smile.
Chapter 10
Melissa left for New York a week after her dinner with Norm. She drove herself, and had to concentrate on the road. She was so nervous and distracted, she was afraid she’d have an accident. What if she was killed on the way and never met her daughter? She could think of every kind of disaster happening, Michaela’s plane crashing on the way from L.A. to New York, taking her family with her. Melissa couldn’t believe it was going to be easy, and a happy event. She was sure something bad was going to happen to interfere with the meeting. But nothing had so far.
She checked in to a small, centrally located hotel in Midtown that she liked, which she used to recommend to friends from out of town when she lived there. It had a small elegant lobby, and comfortable rooms. Melissa had given herself two days to shop in New York before the meeting, so she’d have something decent to wear when she saw Michaela.
She had agreed to meet Michaela at the Mark hotel on East Seventy-seventh Street, where she would be staying with her husband and children. Melissa didn’t want to crowd her by staying at the same hotel, in case the meeting went badly. But Hattie said there was no reason why it should. Both mother and daughter were excited to see each other, and had waited a long time for this. David was going to join them, at the end, with the children, and they were going to have dinner that night, after a brief intermission.
Hattie was joining them for dinner on their second day together. And on the third day they were all leaving, hoping this was just the beginning. There would be many more occasions to be together after this, if all went well. Michaela wanted Melissa to come to L.A. for Thanksgiving, to meet her adoptive mother, the thought of which terrified Melissa. And she wanted them to come to Massachusetts for Christmas or just afterward. It would be beautiful and snowy and a white Christmas, and there was skiing nearby, on a small mountain suitable for the children.
* * *
—
Melissa walked into Bergdorf, feeling as though she had traveled back in time. She hadn’t been to New York in four years, and a thousand memories crowded into her head and assaulted her. Living and working there, their apartment, taking Robbie to the park before he got sick, shopping, seeing friends, life with Carson. She had abandoned an entire life when she left, all the people she’d known, and familiar spaces. She couldn’t bear their friends’ sympathy, or their look of panic that it could happen to them, and they could lose a child too. They felt sorry for her, but were relieved it wasn’t them. She understood, but didn’t want to see it. And she had nothing to say to them since her only child was dead and they had nothing in common anymore. She had borne it for two years, while she and Carson were still together after Robbie died, but the moment Carson left her, she fled.
He moved in with Jane almost immediately, and she went to the Berkshires to look for a house. Now suddenly she was back. It was a painful déjà vu for her, and she stood stock-still in the middle of Bergdorf’s main floor, unable to move, and then forced herself to head toward the escalator, to find something to wear that Michaela would approve of. She didn’t want her daughter to think she was a slob or didn’t care how she looked, which she hadn’t for four years, in old jeans and T-shirts. But now it mattered.
Melissa spent two hours trying on clothes, feeling even more lost. She felt ridiculous in them, polite little suits and matronly dresses she knew she’d never wear again, and weren’t “her.” She didn’t know what Michaela expected, and didn’t want to disappoint her. Hattie called her on her cellphone when she finished her shift, and Melissa was standing in a dressing room piled high with rejects. She was near tears.
“I need to borrow your habit. I’ve forgotten how to shop. I look awful in everything I’ve tried on. Can’t we say we’re both nuns?”
“You’d be struck by lightning immediately, after everything you’ve said about my being one,” Hattie said, and Melissa laughed.
“That’s probably true. I can’t find anything to wear.”
“What about black slacks and a nice sweater? That’s what you used to wear most of the time.”
“I’d forgotten. Can I wear that to dinner too?”
“You’re asking me for advice? My wardrobe comes from the donation boxes people drop off. I have four Mickey Mouse Disneyland sweatshirts, and two from Harvard.” They both laughed and Melissa knew it was true. She’d seen them.
“You can lend me one from Harvard if I don’t find anything here.”
“Buy three black sweaters, and a pair of slacks. She’s not going to care what you’re wearing, Mel.”
“I hope not. I saw Marla Moore at the Oscars on TV last year, in Chanel haute couture. I can’t compete with that.”
“You don’t have to. I think they borrow what they wear, so it probably wasn’t hers. All you need to look like is her mom.”
“I don’t know who I am anymore, Hattie,” Melissa said, near tears. “I’m not a writer, or a mother, or a wife. I live in the country and don’t see anyone or go anywhere. I don’t have a job, or a life, or anything to impress her.”
“Maybe you need to get a life and a new wardrobe, Mel,” Hattie said gently, and as she did, it occurred to Melissa that it might be nice to have some new clothes to wear when she saw Norm, if they had dinner again, and she hoped they would. It gave her an idea.
“I’ll do pants and sweaters. That works.” She went down a floor to where the more casual clothes were, and bought a soft pink cashmere sweater, a pale blue one, a red turtleneck, and two black ones that looked chic. She bought black and gray flannel slacks, and then she saw a lace blouse that looked soft and feminine, and she bought a simple black cashmere coat that looked right for New York, instead of the beaten up gray parka she’d come to town in. She stopped in the shoe department and bought two pairs of black high-heeled pumps, one in suede, a pair of Chanel flats, and a good-looking pair of black boots. She had enough clothes to get her through the next few days, and she thought of Norm when she bought the lace blouse. There was good shopping in Boston too, but she never went.
She reached the sidewalk with her cluster of shopping bags, feeling like herself again. She’d brought a pair of her mother’s pearl earrings with her, and a Chanel handbag she used to love and had found on a shelf in her closet, gathering dust. It was a familiar look when she tried it on at the hotel, and she smiled at the blouse, thinking of the evening she’d spent with Norm, and their kisses in front of the fireplace, drinking the Sauterne. She no longer owned anything to make herself attractive to a man, or to impress a daughter who lived in L.A. and had a glamorous movie star adoptive mother. But the clothes she had bought looked well on her, and showed off her tall, slim figure. The coat was very stylish she realized when she tried it on again.
Just being in the city again was a strange déjà vu for her. It made her think of Carson and how long it had been since they’d spoken and she’d heard his voice. She thought about all they’d been through, and wondered how he was. He was still in the publishing world, and married again, with two teenage stepdaughters. So his life was not so different, but hers bore no resemblance to her earlier life. She spent the winter in rubber boots or snow boots, and sneakers in the summer. Her clothes were functional and not pretty, and she hadn’t cared in four years. But now she did.
It was hard to turn the clock back to be someone she no longer was, and she looked older than she had four years before. Hattie said she hadn’t changed but Melissa knew she had. She’d been through too much not to.
The next day she went to the hairdresser where she used to get her hair cut. All the stylists were new so they didn’t recognize her. She had her long hair trimmed a few inches, so it looked neat when she pulled it back. And she indulged herself with a facial and a manicure, and emerged feeling very sophisticated and almost like a New Yorker again, but not quite. But at least she wouldn’t embarrass Michaela now when they met.
She di
dn’t know it, but Michaela had gone through the same thing when she packed her bags for New York. All her clothes were informal and plain, appropriate for her job as a social worker or out with the kids. She and David rarely got dressed up. They led a casual California life. She wore sandals most of the time and flip-flops on the weekends. Marla complained about it and said she was a beautiful girl and should dress like one. She bought her designer clothes, but Michaela had no place to wear them and they sat in her closet until she gave them away or sold them. It frustrated Marla, who was always impeccably and fashionably dressed. Michaela was panicked now about what to wear to look presentable to the birth mother she had never met.
* * *
—
Melissa was a nervous wreck when she got into the cab to go uptown the next day. She was wearing the pale blue sweater, black slacks and black coat, and Chanel flats, and looked well put together. Traffic was heavy, and she was afraid to be late, but she arrived at the Mark right on time.
The lobby looked like a movie set with a startling black and white floor, a bar, and a restaurant, and Melissa walked cautiously into the restaurant. Michaela had emailed her a photograph so she’d recognize her. Melissa didn’t have a recent one but described herself. Melissa glanced around the restaurant and saw her daughter immediately. She was seated at a table, fidgeting with a straw. She looked up and they both knew. Michaela stood up and came toward her as Melissa headed for her in a straight line, and folded her into her arms. They hugged for a long time, and a few people smiled when they saw them. The love between them radiated around them. The years and the circumstances melted away, and they were both crying and smiling when they went back to Michaela’s table.
“I never thought this would happen,” Michaela said in a choked voice, as they sat down and faced each other, and Melissa took her hand across the table and held it. She hadn’t meant to be so affectionate so quickly, but it came naturally to both of them, and it would have been hard not to give in to it. Then Michaela thought of something.
Finding Ashley Page 13
