by Wendy Wax
Emma tried to picture her parents as completely separate entities. Despite the time they’d spent apart and their disparate interests, and, she’d discovered later, sex lives, she had never envisioned one without the other.
“And I suppose lots of press about her and her granddaughter appearing in a motion picture together might counter some of the harsher publicity. She did lay it on a bit thick with all those stories about maintaining the romance in our marriage, and how we defied the horrible Hollywood marital odds,” Rex said drily.
“Are you worried about the public reaction?” Emma asked. Rex had spent his entire adulthood pretending to be something he wasn’t both on- and off-screen. “Don’t you wish real life could be controlled like a screenplay?”
“Not anymore, kitten,” her father said. “I find I prefer real life. It’s messy and filled with all kinds of mistakes and heartaches. But I can’t tell you what a relief it is to finally be allowed to be who I really am.” His tone turned even more reflective, a rare thing for a man who was used to providing sound bites rather than deep thoughts. “I should have come out long ago. But I told myself I was protecting everyone, from your grandmother to Eve to you children, when in fact I simply couldn’t face the condemnation and possible loss in income and stature.” He snorted in a surprisingly inelegant way. “Telling the truth is incredibly important. You just can’t always control how it will be received.”
Emma stood and moved from the window surprised not only by her father’s revelations but also by how relevant they were to her own sad state of affairs. The truth had set her father free while hers had left her isolated and alone. “Well, congratulations, Rex. I hope you and Gerald will be very happy.”
“Thank you, dear. I’ll let you know how things go. But I will tell you that in my experience happiness isn’t something that just occurs. Sometimes, to borrow Jack London’s comment about inspiration, ‘you have to go after it with a club.’”
Thirty-nine
Serena was ashamed of herself before she placed the call. And even more so once she’d made it. She’d never called in sick or failed to show up for any acting job no matter how small, but today she was far too busy wallowing in hurt and disappointment to face the studio, Wes Harrison, Lauri Strauss, or even Ethan Miller.
“You have a bunch of messages from Brooks Anderson,” Catherine had said just as Serena had begun to hang up. “Do you want me to give you the number or read you any of them?”
“No!” she’d snapped, forgetting to croak as if she’d lost her voice.
Feeling even more pathetic and alone than she had when she’d returned from the lake two days ago, she slogged back to her bedroom and climbed back beneath the covers. There she once again chastised herself for letting her guard down so completely that she’d fallen for Brooks Anderson’s lethal line of bullshit. Not to mention being so sucked in by Emma’s invitation to the lake house and the intensity of Emma’s struggle to regain consciousness.
Turning on her side, she drew the pillow to her stomach, wrapped her arms around it, and wallowed some more, only dragging herself out of bed when it was time for her appointment with Dr. Grant who had—thank you, God—a last-minute cancellation.
Only now that she was sitting across from him with a wad of crumpled tissues in one hand, the good doctor was proving to be anything but sympathetic.
“You did not just tell me to pull up my big girl panties and get on with it.”
“Actually,” he conceded, unperturbed, “I believe I did.”
“Well, that’s not good,” she said. “And as someone who is paying you three-hundred-plus dollars per forty-five minutes, I demand that you stop reading women’s fiction and watching reruns of Sex and the City immediately. You may be getting too in touch with your feminine side.”
He smiled broadly. “Point taken. I’m only trying to say that this is not the end of the world you’re making it out to be.”
“No?” She helped herself to another tissue. “Because that’s exactly what it feels like.”
“In fact, I think you’ve made great strides this summer.”
“You do?”
“Look, you’ve claimed to be fine without Brooks Anderson for twenty years, but that wasn’t really true, was it?”
“Well, no,” she admitted.
“And you’ve insisted for the last five years that you didn’t really miss Emma or Mackenzie.” He speared her eyes with his. “Which wasn’t exactly true, either.”
She nodded. She had only realized how lonely she’d been without them when she’d seen Emma lying unconscious in that hospital room. She’d thought she’d left that kind of loneliness behind her when she and Mackenzie had helped each other and Zoe through it. “I thought . . . I thought we were back. But Emma had her own agenda. And everyone’s pissed at me when all I did was point out something that Emma was planning to admit to anyway.”
Dr. Grant’s face blurred in front of her. “Friendships and relationships can be complicated. The only way to avoid that is not to engage. Or to choose only safe relationships where nothing is really expected.” He eyed her pointedly but his voice was kind. “You’ve been forced to confront and reassess the things that have been missing from your life.”
“I should have known that Brooks appearing like that out of nowhere after all this time was just too good to be true.” She dumped the soaked tissues in the garbage can and plucked new ones from the box.
“Maybe,” he said. “But how many people do you think could have walked away from finding out for sure?”
She remained silent, deploying her tissues to mop up the new flood of tears.
“The answer would be not very many, Serena. And to be fair, you don’t actually know what happened.”
Serena thought of the messages Brooks had left for her at the studio. How real his emotions had seemed when they were together. But there was no getting around Diana’s malicious glee on the phone that day.
“Finding out what happened could help you finally find some closure. If he’s prepared to explain it at some point, you might want to listen.”
Serena couldn’t imagine it. But then her heart felt so heavy right now, she wasn’t sure how her chest could contain it.
“And as for your friends. I’m not saying it was fair, but it sounds like you mostly got caught in the crossfire. You’re going to have to ask yourself whether you want these women in your life. And if the answer is yes, you’ll have to figure out what you’re prepared to do to help make that happen.”
“It all sounds good, Dr. G. but”—Serena shook her head—“honestly, I don’t know that I’m ready for any of it.” All she really wanted to do was go home and crawl back into bed. Her only wish was that she lived closer.
“I understand.” His tone made it clear that he did. “But you’re strong, Serena. And you’re smart. And I have no doubt you’re a good friend.”
“Should I be worried that you didn’t mention attractive, talented, and interesting?” she asked, searching for but not quite finding her sense of humor.
“No, those are givens.”
“Why, thank you.” She briefly considered batting her eyelashes at him à la Georgia, but she didn’t have the energy or the heart for it.
“It seems to me the time is ripe for you to think about who and what you want in your life. You may be surprised at the answers. Change is never easy, but it can be rewarding.”
Serena took the subway back to the Village from Dr. Grant’s office, then made a lame attempt to cheer herself up with stops at Abingdon Market, where she bought a bouquet of sunflowers, with their bright yellow faces bobbing on thick green stalks. At the ice cream cart outside of Cafe Cluny, she bought a pint of mint chocolate chip then treated herself to the latest Vogue and Glamour at Casa Magazines. Mothers pushed strollers down the sidewalks. A group of tourists followed a tour guide, who was busy pointing out
Carrie Bradshaw’s brownstone from Sex and the City. A smile tugged at Serena’s lips as she thought about Dr. Grant and his “big girl panties” comment. Passing beneath the leafy canopy that shaded West Fourth, she began to really consider what he’d said. She’d always believed in choice and determination. Perhaps the time had finally come to stop playing the victim.
By the time she turned onto Bank Street she’d begun to shake off some of her malaise. Wallowing was not her style. She wasn’t even particularly good at it. Instead of lying in bed when she got home maybe she’d sit out in the garden for a while. A glass of wine would be nice. Tomorrow she’d call the studio to reschedule the recording. Whether she’d ever be ready to stitch up the tear Brooks Anderson had ripped open in her life, she didn’t know. For now she’d do what she’d always done. Plant one foot in front of the other.
Readjusting the flowers and her packages, she looked up and saw movement ahead. Her heart did a strange sort of tattoo and her steps faltered when she saw the man sitting on her front steps.
In another part of Manhattan, Mackenzie sat at a table in the window of a small sushi restaurant several blocks off Broadway with Adam and two of his oldest friends. Most of the meal had been filled with reminiscences about the “good old theater days,” which Liam and Dan were still living. The three of them entered into the eternal debate between live performance and film and the actor’s and director’s roles in both. Mackenzie smiled and nodded when it seemed appropriate, but mentally she’d checked out shortly after they’d arrived.
“I’ve got this,” Adam insisted when the bill came. “And I expect you two to come see us the next time you’re in LA,” he added as Dan and Liam rose to depart. He said this as if there was no question in his mind that he and Mackenzie would soon be settled out on the West Coast. But Mackenzie was still trying to come to terms with pretty much everything. Since they’d fled the lake house, Adam hadn’t mentioned Zoe or the fact that she was his daughter even once. Which seemed especially unbelievable to Mackenzie, who hadn’t stopped thinking about it for more than an isolated couple of minutes now and then.
She managed to smile and accept hugs from Dan and Liam before sitting back down with Adam, who had ordered more tea. He was flying out later that afternoon and she could tell that part of him had left already. He was excited about “their” new life and, of course, his movie deal. “I’m sure we can stay in Matthew’s pool house for a few weeks after you come out. You know, to give you time to look around for something you like.”
She looked at him. Took in his hopeful expression. He seemed to believe that if he just set the scene properly, everything, including her, would fall into place. “And you know I was thinking that we don’t really have to sell the house in Noblesville right away. I mean, if the theater sale goes as quickly as I think it might, we’ll have enough pad to take our time. So that you can have a little more time to go through things and . . . come out when you feel ready.”
A week ago all of this would have made her feel better and decreased the pressure she was feeling, as he clearly now intended. She might have found a way to overlook how he seemed to be ignoring that housing cost four times as much out in LA, that it could be years before the film was actually shot and edited; let go of her anger that he spoke as if her acquiescence was a foregone conclusion. She would have given a lot for those to be their only issues.
“Are you just going to pretend that you aren’t a father now?” she asked after the tea was poured. “That you are not Zoe’s father?”
Adam’s shoulders drooped. He ran a hand through his hair. “I told you I had no idea. And I’ve apologized repeatedly. I wish that night had never happened. But it meant absolutely nothing.”
“Zoe’s not nothing,” she said, cutting him off when he tried to continue. “There’s a part of me—a very small part to be sure—that understands how you and Emma could have . . . happened. I even grasp the ‘technicality’ that we weren’t seeing each other at the time. But we can’t really pretend it never happened.” She pushed her teacup out of the way. “Because Zoe is your daughter and all of us, especially Zoe, know it now.”
He stared back at her. For a few long moments he said nothing. “So you think that now that I know something I should have been told seventeen years ago, I should just ‘jump to’ and start acting like her father?” He exhaled sharply. “For someone who’s been demanding time to adjust to and think over a simple move from one city to another, I’d think you might understand that this . . . whole thing . . .” He gestured vaguely. “Would take some time to absorb.” His chin jutted stubbornly. She saw a confusion in his brown eyes that belied his argumentative tone. For Adam the best defense had often been a strong offense. Typically it had worked for him. She’d almost always been the one to back down.
“It’s not something either of us are going to be able to walk away from. Not even if we wanted to.” Mackenzie thought about Zoe’s shocked face, the tears that had already been flowing before the girl turned and fled to her bedroom. Even if Mackenzie managed to erase the mental image of Adam and Emma in bed together, there would still be Zoe. Who’d never asked for any of this. And who deserved to be loved by all of them. “I left her a note saying that she would always be welcome in our home. And I meant it. Even if I’m not sure whether she’ll see me as a ‘fairy godmother’ or more of an evil stepmother.” She looked her husband in the eye. “But you need to be on board for your role as her father.”
Adam looked down into his tea, swirling the cup before him. “I can get you a ticket out with me this afternoon,” he said. “Come to LA with me now. A change of scenery will be good for us. And we’ll find some way to sort this all out.”
That was how they’d always done things. He did and she supported him. But she wasn’t ready yet to simply say yes and follow him wherever he wanted to go. “I’m not ready to do that. I . . . I don’t even know anymore what I want to happen next.”
He sighed, looking more defeated than she’d seen him since he first agreed to leave New York for Noblesville. It was a look she’d tried to forget and had hoped to never see again. He reached for her hand and she felt the warmth of his surrounding hers. He looked her in the eye and held her hand as if it were a priceless possession; another thing that hadn’t happened in recent memory.
“I love you, Mackenzie,” he said quietly. “I feel like I’ve loved you forever.” His eyes were clear and earnest. “I can’t imagine my life, even in a place I want desperately to be, would be worth much without you.”
His eyes plumbed hers searching for the reaction she was unable to give him. “In case you have any doubt, I want you to understand one thing. I would have married you even if you hadn’t gotten pregnant. Nothing could have ever prevented that. It just might have happened a little later.”
She drew a deep and shaky breath as he answered the question she’d never had the courage to ask.
His smile was sweet as he placed a kiss on her forehead and another on her lips. “I never had any question that you were the person I wanted to spend my life with.” His smile grew, turning his brown eyes a warm whiskey color. “I hope when you’ve had some time to think everything through, that you’ll still feel the same way about me.”
Forty
Miz Mickhels? Emma?”
Emma rubbed her sleep- and tear-caked eyes then looked up at the nurse who had crouched beside her. She had no idea how long she’d been sitting outside Zoe’s bedroom door this time, but she had vowed that she wouldn’t move until Zoe came out. And that somehow when this happened she’d find the right words that would make Zoe understand just how much Emma loved her.
Mostly Zoe had managed not to come out of her room when Emma was out of hers, but she’d seen signs of her down in the kitchen. Seen her lying on the swim platform one late morning. Sitting in an Adirondack staring out over the cove one afternoon. But each time Emma had approached, Zoe had stared right through
her and refused to engage.
Yesterday, Emma had watched from her window as Ryan Richards pulled up to their dock, but by the time Emma had worked up her nerve and gotten downstairs certain that Ryan’s presence would at least force Zoe to acknowledge her, they’d already left the cove and were picking up speed.
“You two need talking,” Nadia said. “Or maybe some head knocking.” Her tone and expression said she was just the person to do it.
“I know.” Emma swallowed. “I want to talk to Zoe, to apologize. But Zoe’s not interested in hearing it.”
“Then you make her interesting. You’re the mother.” Nadia reached out a hand and helped pull her to her feet. “Is your job.”
“It’s kind of hard to do that through a door.” Not that she hadn’t already tried or had any real confidence that she’d do any better face-to-face.
“Then we open door.” Nadia pulled a pocketknife from her pants pocket and flipped open the nail file, which she inserted into the center of the doorknob.
Before Emma could protest or prepare herself, the nurse twisted the knife. There was a click. Nadia pushed the door open. Emma shrank back.
“No. You not wussy out. Have talk.”
Suddenly afraid, Emma tried to dig in her heels, but she was not the immovable force here. “But what if she won’t talk to me?”
“Then you talk. Zoe listen.” Nadia gave her another gentle, for her, push.
Emma entered her daughter’s room on jellied legs. Zoe sat on her window seat in much the same position Emma had just been forced out of, knees to her chest, chin resting on her knees. She stared at Emma out of green eyes the same shade as her own. “I don’t want to talk to you. I locked my door because I don’t even want to have to look at you.”
Emma kept walking, though the few feet past Zoe’s bed and to the window felt like miles. She sat down on the opposite end of the window seat afraid that if she got too close Zoe might bolt.
