I moved my cursor up to the link for NEWS.
Diego and the Lion’s Den was having a twenty-fifth reunion, and I hadn’t been invited.
6
By the time I arrived in Greenburgh and knocked on Thom’s door, it was eleven p.m. It was no problem finding his address, as he’d written it in an email to Renee in my sent folder. I knew what I wanted to say, I’d practiced it quietly to myself on the train ride, but I didn’t know how Thom would react.
The address corresponded to a classic Colonial home with a wraparound front porch and columns. There was a swing on the porch, a couple of worn wicker chairs, and a beanbag, too.
His mother opened the door when I rang. I smiled nervously and told her I hoped I hadn’t woken Sammy. I was so dead tired, I would’ve happily curled up on the kitchen floor and fallen asleep.
“No, you haven’t woken anyone. He and Thom aren’t here.”
“What? Where are they?”
“They stayed in the city, looking for you.”
“Sammy, too?”
“It’s a late night, but he can sleep in tomorrow. They went to the taping. The Jerry Levine Show. We’ve been recording it, if you’d like to see. We can start it again from the beginning.”
I followed her into the living room, passing framed artwork from school projects Sammy had made with painted handprints on construction paper: Turkeys, Christmas trees, reindeer antlers.
Thom’s dad was asleep on the couch, snoring intermittently.
His mother asked if I wanted anything to eat or drink, and when I declined, she pressed the buttons that would return the show to the beginning.
My co-stars were back to looking larger than life. The couches and chairs were customized to make them look bigger and brighter and better than regular mortals.
Each one was interviewed separately by Jerry, except for Tara and Brody, who emerged holding hands and promptly upstaged everybody else by announcing that they were engaged and expecting their first baby.
I let out a guffaw. And here I’d been thinking I’d shock the world and win the hour by announcing a book deal. Leave it to the experts to out-drama me. At some point in their lives post-Diego, they had concluded no amount of fame and adoration was enough. There was always room for more, and this was how they’d collectively achieve it. Every move was prefabricated for clicks, and I was glad I’d finally walked away from it.
I knew what was real in my life: He was onscreen. Not onstage; in the audience.
Every time the camera turned its gaze to the live viewers, Thom and Sammy held up a sign in the front row.
The first one said, I HAVE BAGGAGE.
The second one said, AND YOU HAVE BAGGAGE.
The third one said, BUT TOGETHER, WE’RE A MATCHED SET.
The fourth one said, I’M SORRY, BUCKAROO.
And there I was thinking I’d used up my quota of tears for the day.
I covered my mouth with my hand and tried to muffle the sounds I couldn’t prevent from spilling out.
Thom’s mother handed me a tissue and gave my shoulder a squeeze on her way past.
“I’m going to call it a night.” Thom’s dad had already headed upstairs. “Are you sure I can’t get you anything?” she asked. “The foldout couch is real comfortable, and there are sheets and other linens in the hallway.”
“I think I’ll wait up for them, but thanks. Thank you so much.”
“For what?”
“Raising an incredible son.”
7
Two hours later, a key rattled in the lock and I roused myself from half slumber.
The front hall light flicked on and Thom stood in front of me, surprised. Sammy was asleep in his arms. I lifted my hand in a wave.
Eyes wide, he raised his hand and made a just-a-second gesture.
He walked upstairs, carrying his sleepy boy. One heavenly, halting verse of “You Are My Sunshine” later, and he was back downstairs. Thom had only pretended to have a terrible voice earlier.
“You owe me a royalty check,” I said. “You stole my line.”
“No, no, you’re mistaken. That was an example of a sign I would never write.”
We smiled tentatively at each other, uncertain how to proceed.
“Should we talk outside?” Thom asked. He looked as nervous as I felt.
“Sure.”
He gestured for me to walk ahead of him. I opened the front door and stepped out into the cool air. He closed the door behind him and shoved his hands in his jeans pockets. The porch light was still on, and we stood there in silence for another moment.
“How did you get in the audience?” I asked tentatively. “Didn’t you need tickets?”
“Nah, we name-dropped you.”
“Seriously? I’ve never been name-dropped before.”
We both spoke at once, urgently.
“I need to tell you something—”
“I’m so sorry,” Thom blurted out. “I wouldn’t blame you if you never wanted to see me or talk to me again. I was being a controlling, jealous asshole—”
“You were right, though,” I repeated. “About the book.”
“No, I was wrong—”
“I was never going to write it. Not for any price.”
“Because you’re a good person.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“I do. You gave up your own dreams to raise a kid. You didn’t have to, you chose to. I know you think that means you didn’t do anything with your life, but you were there for a little girl who needed you, for a sister who needed you, and I think that’s incredible.”
“I lied to you,” I said, my throat clogging up. “I lied about quitting my job. The truth is, Renee fired me. I never would have left on my own. Renee told me it was time, that for all our sakes I had to leave. What I’m trying to say is, all of this, all of it—getting treated at Prevail!, feeling angry about the anniversary, dragging you on the road trip, everything—was because I didn’t know how to say goodbye. But I know it’s the right time. I know I have to do it. Even though it’s hard. And tonight I said goodbye to everyone from the show, I said goodbye to my oldest friends, and if I have to say goodbye to one more person I love tonight I don’t think my heart can take it.”
He pulled me into his arms and held me tightly while I let it all out. My grief over losing Lainey, my happiness at getting to the anniversary, my hope for a future that included Thom.
“A person you love?” he asked.
He looked so hopeful and so hesitant I knew I had to be 100 percent honest with him, even if it was terrifying.
“Yes,” I whispered.
“I love you, too. I never should have tried to stop you from going. I never should have tried to guilt-trip you or pressure you into staying. You had every right to go, and every right to see J. J., and I should have trusted you, trusted us. It’s not an excuse, but all I can say is I panicked.”
“I could tell,” I replied, reaching up to wipe his face with my fingertips. “And I should’ve spent more time talking with you about it. If I hadn’t been in such a hurry to leave, I would have.”
“What happens now?” He tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear.
“I’m going back to Prevail! I want to finish the program, see where it’ll take me. Without you there—being distractingly handsome—I’m going to start writing a novel. I think it’ll be about a woman who doesn’t think she belongs anywhere.”
“Does it have a happy ending?” Thom asked.
“Very,” I assured him. “Will you write me letters?”
“Every day.”
“Lisa is going to flip when she sees me.”
We sat on the bench and held each other some more.
“I lied about something, too,” he said.
“You don’t have to—”
“With some people, you meet them and you know, ‘This person is going to change my life. I’m already different, just from having met her.’ When we almost had sex in your room, I was scared if we took th
at step, something big was going to start, or maybe it already had. I knew I would want to fit you into my life, and I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to.”
“Because of Sammy?”
He nodded. “I was afraid if I tried to grab some happiness, if I tried to have something that was for me instead of for him, something bad would happen.”
I kissed him. “I used to think fame was the same as happiness. That it was something I got to borrow every once in a while, but I always had to give it back. I never got to keep it. I get the feeling you don’t even let yourself borrow it, do you? Happiness. But I promise you can have happiness if you let yourself.”
“I’m trying right now,” he said quietly.
We kissed as we moved through the front door and down the hall into the living room again.
“I forgot, my parents are in the master bedroom, and the bed in the guest room is creaky…”
I interrupted him with more kisses. “Couch it is,” I said, lifting his shirt off.
Clothes flew. He pulled me down on top of him on the couch. “I’m sorry this isn’t a tent,” he said.
Our laughter turned into kissing and the kissing turned into sex, and we found out the truth. Third time really was the charm.
Three Years Later
FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
San Diego, California
Hometown Author Visits Local Bookstore
Debut novelist Holly Parker was in town this weekend as part of a five-city tour to sign copies of her first book at Turn the Page used-book store on Main. Her fourteen-year-old niece, Lainey, introduced her to the crowd, noting that Aunt Holly used to oversee the Saturday Storytime when Lainey was in elementary school. Her free, hour-long events proved so popular back then (Ms. Parker is skilled at character voices), Lainey explained, that she made it a condition of attendance that customers purchase at least one book or she would stop reading at cliffhanger moments and then hide the book somewhere in the store.
Though she now resides in upstate New York with her family, Ms. Parker was born and raised in San Diego. As a child, she spent many hours at the zoo.
Acknowledgments
A big thank-you to my agent, Victoria Marini at Irene Goodman, for her expertise and encouragement. You rock!
Maddie Caldwell, editor extraordinaire at Grand Central, you are a genius who makes everything better, funnier, clearer, and more emotional. I continue to learn from you and I’m grateful for your tireless help, hard work, and insightful ideas. Also at Grand Central and Hachette Book Group, I’m indebted to the fabulous publishing team of Beth DeGuzman, Bob Castillo, Erica Scavelli, Brigid Pearson, Nancy Wiese, Kamrun Nesa, and Alana Spendley. Thank you all!
Kiana Davis: Our stories and phone calls throughout junior high and beyond helped turn me into the writer I am today. Such fond memories and love.
Sarvenaz Tash: It’s a delight and honor to be your friend and collaborator. I’m so glad we bonded over our shared adoration of 1990s TV. Thanks for your enthusiasm and help with this project.
Early readers include the aforementioned, plus Rachel Murphy, Amy Spalding, Maggie Lehrman, Dana Davis, Lynne Kadish, Kathy Foley, and Mark Herder. Thank you so much!
The Santa Clarita chapter of RWA (Romance Writers of America) has kept me going and growing as a writer the last few years. Thanks especially to Lisa Gail Green, Leslie Rose Sullivan, and Katharyn Sinelli for always being up for a meal and a chat.
Thanks as ever to my parents, Earl and Ros, and Lydia and Richard, for their continual support. My wonderful husband, Joe Skilton, makes my writing life possible. You and Elliot are my world.
Thanks to my aunt Carrie Lapham, for knitting me such a lovely pair of fingerless mittens. I use them for all my typing, and they help keep tendinitis at bay. Speaking of Carries, ever since I read Carrie Fisher’s Postcards from the Edge as a teenager I’ve wanted to set a story in rehab and now I finally have!
Researching for this book was a multiyear process. References include, but are not limited to: The Song Machine: Inside the Hit Factory, by John Seabrook; Why? Because We Still Like You: An Oral History of the Mickey Mouse Club, by Jennifer Armstrong; The End of Absence: Reclaiming What We’ve Lost in a World of Constant Connection, by Michael Harris; Dreamland: The True Tale of America’s Opiate Epidemic, by Sam Quinones; and the article “Making Mickey Proud” (Chicago Tribune, November 5, 2007, by Newsday).
Last, thank you to the All-New Mickey Mouse Club (special shout-out to the 1989 season), the short-lived but memorable teen soap Swans Crossing, the 1990s in general, and every tabloid ever for helping inspire this story.
Also by Sarah Skilton
Club Deception
About the Author
Sarah Skilton is a book blogger with Barnes & Noble as well as the author of two young adult novels, Bruised and High & Dry. Her first adult novel, Club Deception, was published by Grand Central in 2017.
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