Orchid asked what she’d tried to forget for the last five months. “How are you? How’s Phoenix?”
Caleb narrowed his eyes. “What do you care?” he asked.
He turned away from her and Orchid caught him by the arm. “Is he still with that girl?”
He glared at her. “Like I said, what do you care?”
“What do I care? Yeah, why should I care?” she asked, jealousy welling as she pictured Phoenix with the slender birdlike woman at the agency holiday party.
This seemed to fuel Caleb’s fury. “That’s right, you don’t care. You left a guy while he was in the hospital. When he could’ve died. You didn’t even come in person. I hope you rot,” he spat, pushing his face inches from hers.
“Hey! I didn’t do anything. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She stepped back, shaken. “Wait, what do you mean, hospital? What do you mean, he could’ve died?”
“Don’t play dumb with me.”
“Is he okay? Is he hurt?” she asked.
“Oh, you are a piece of work,” Caleb spat and turned heel. He stormed out of the restaurant, slamming the door outwards as if a force of nature had flung it open.
She walked home, thinking. First, her junior media planner. Now Caleb. What happened?
Crazy possibilities ran through her imagination. Caleb spoke in the past tense, yet his rage was viscerally present. For the first time in months, uncertainty mingled with the bitter taste in her mouth when she thought of Phoenix.
The image of his business card, stark and white, came into focus. Her thumbs flew over her screen, as she texted a number her subconscious hadn’t forgotten. “Phoenix, I saw Caleb tonight. Are you okay?”
The same silence that marked the prior five months stretched over the next day.
Spurred by a growing uneasiness, she called Phoenix’s office. A woman answered, her tone tight and efficient, explaining that she could transfer Orchid to voicemail. There, his recorded baritone reminded her of his easy laugh, late nights together at his agency, and his ever-present kindness.
A feeling swept over her. One she didn’t want to admit to herself. Still? She hung up the phone.
Snowdrifts sealed Phoenix in his building as tight as his misconceptions sealed his thinking into the same derailed track. Hell of a winter.
“Did you see Orchid?” Phoenix asked without preamble when his brother answered his call. Seeing her name appear on his phone had tightened his chest, as if it’d only been last week since they’d kissed and said goodbye at the airport.
“Yeah. Seems to have amnesia. Played dumb over your accident.”
“How’d she look?”
Saying Orchid’s name nudged him off-kilter so he couldn’t even react to the hard edge in Caleb’s voice.
“Fine, I guess. What do you care?”
“I don’t.”
“I mean, that bitch never even came to see you in the hospital.”
“Yeah, because I never told her I was in the hospital.”
“What? Why not?”
“Aw, c’mon, there was no way we were going to work. She can’t even look at a scratch, and I’ve got a little more than a scratch,” he said, glancing at the blunt end of his arm and picturing her look of disgust as his coat slipped off where his hand should be. He felt as sick at her reaction as she seemed to feel about his injury.
Caleb grunted, his fury dissipating. “Is that really your call to make?”
“Maybe not. But I saw her over the holidays and she was pretty repulsed by me so, yeah, there’s no way this could’ve worked. Now she keeps trying to reach me. First time in five months.”
“So, what’re you gonna do?”
“I dunno. What would you do?”
“You gotta decide.”
He thought of solid, dependable Rina. And her complete acceptance of him.
“What’s to decide? I’m not even single.”
One message from a woman, even someone as talented, smart and beautiful as Orchid, had no power to change that.
CHAPTER 38
DEATH LETTER
Liv
TUESDAY FEBRUARY 5
Following the months of managing Phoenix’s correspondence after his accident, Liv continued the job once he’d returned to work. She read his emails and letters and listened to his voicemails, saving only those that required his personal attention. The rest, she’d summarize during their weekly one-on-one meetings.
The first inkling Liv had that Orchid was trying to reach him was when she borrowed Phoenix’s cell phone while he was in a meeting, intending to download the most recent security updates.
A text? It was cryptic and short.
Liv’s eyes narrow with suspicion. What good could come of this woman who had abandoned Phoenix? He deserves better. In line with hiding Orchid’s photo, filled with a sense of justice, Liv blocked all calls and messages from a certain Orchid Paige.
When Phoenix stopped by to retrieve his phone, he mentioned the message to Liv with a wry twist of his mouth. “Orchid texted me last night,” he said, slipping the slender device into his shirt pocket.
“What do you think she wants?” Liv asked, nonchalantly continuing her task of zipping open envelopes.
“I don’t know. I’m not planning to reply to her.”
Liv nodded, feeling vindicated.
A day later, an email arrived from Orchid Paige.
Liv’s finger jabbed enter to open the email, then sprang back as if the keyboard were sullied by the vicious woman who dared contact her boss.
Phoenix,
I saw Caleb. Please call me.
She jammed delete with satisfaction. A quick search yielded the steps to block emails from a specific address. He’d do the same thing if he only thought to protect himself.
CHAPTER 39
TWO AGAINST ONE
Orchid
THURSDAY FEBRUARY 7
Navigating the tents at Lincoln Center during Fashion Week was akin to getting through an international airport, security and all. Cavernous white spaces led hordes of showgoers through metal screens and ID checks to arrive to the runway location. Only Orchid’s glossy paperboard ticket printed with the right words allowed her this far. Dolce & Gabbana made Orchid’s love of leather and faux fur look good, even when worn together in a seemingly unplanned flurry.
Crowded into the vestibule to await seating, Orchid studied the varied looks of the fashion editors, bloggers and others. The attendees swirled with a mix of colors, prints, naked shoulders, and high heels. Orchid paid homage to the designers, layering a pleather minidress pressed into a subtle reptilian pattern over monochrome tights and platforms that bolstered her to six feet. A simple stack of metal and crystal around her wrists completed the look.
Cool tonal music pulsed in over the speakers, setting the mood for a breezy, effortless show.
The hubbub generated by hundreds chatting seemed to mute as she caught sight of a crisp white shirt, tailored slacks and wavy-haired guy better-looking than the models shown on the screens around the tent. Phoenix’s head tilted toward the woman with whom he was conversing.
Orchid weaved through the crowd, unable to stop drinking in the mirage of Phoenix, even as every sip fed her longing and the requisite stab of rejection that accompanied it.
Closer now, she could see that the athletic platinum blonde woman’s arm was clearly wrapped around him, as was his around her. The tight embrace was even more intimate than the one she’d witnessed with Liv a month and a half earlier. Her blonde head leaned against his chest as the two enjoyed their private bubble. Shit, this guy gets around. With his looks and smarts, no surprise.
Sensing her approach, he pivoted his eyes up without moving another muscle. The look he gave her hitched in her throat. She’d seen that expression before. After the initial surprise, his eyes stormed
. She was uncertain if it was with desire, tenderness or regret. Which parts were for her, and which parts resulted from the rendezvous with his flaxen-haired companion?
“Hey there,” she said.
“Hey, Orchid, what are you doing here?”
She gestured towards the echoing space up high in the tent. “Same as you, I guess . . . ditching work?”
“C’mon, in our industries? This is work.”
She took a step closer. “I’ve been calling and emailing. I was worried about you. Your brother said something happened. Are you okay?”
He unlocked their tight stare and licked his lips. “Yeah, I’m okay.” He turned toward the blonde, who was staring back and forth between them. “Tish, this is Orchid. Orchid, this is Tish, my ex.”
Tish? Oh crap, THE Tish? The Tish who Caleb used as a warning story?
The couple unhooked their arms around each other long enough for Tish to shake hands with Orchid.
“What happened with Liv?” Orchid asked, jealousy spiking her tone.
“Liv?” he repeated, confused. “My admin?”
“Admin? Isn’t it unethical to date a subordinate?”
“Date?” Phoenix asked. “I’m not dating Liv.” He looked down at Tish for affirmation.
Tish grinned. “You were right that today would be fun. This is entertaining. Maybe you should invite her to the wedding.”
“Wedding?” Orchid’s voice squeaked. “Seriously?”
Didn’t take long for them to get back together. Shock hit her in slow motion. Orchid could feel the permanency of the idea travel through her brain, thick with denial.
“Yeah, first week in April. Cipriani’s,” Tish said.
She stared at him in disbelief. “Cipriani’s? Where we attended the Effies?”
“You mean you think—” He stopped and stared at her, eyes narrowing. “Is it really so shocking? Not everyone has the same hang-ups as you, you know.”
Hang ups? Was being jealous of his engagement a hang-up?
A security guard dressed in a well-cut black suit and slender, matching-hued tie came to face Phoenix and Tish. “You two can come in now. I can’t take a third though,” he said, eyeing Orchid.
“She’s not with us,” Tish said.
And they were gone.
CHAPTER 40
IT’S TRUE THAT WE LOVE ONE ANOTHER
Orchid
SATURDAY MARCH 3
Casting eyes up from the luggage belt at Los Angeles’ LAX Airport, Orchid registered a face she thought she’d never see again.
“Orchid,” pronounced the man sporting her father’s likeness in the hue of a perpetual Southern California tan.
“You look just like Dad,” she said, suddenly shy, and put out her hand. Uncle Zach looked nothing like the scrawny twenty-four-year-old she’d remembered at her parents’ funeral.
“So do you,” he said, memorizing her features with a mirror-image of her hazel eyes. He clasped her outstretched hand and used his muscle, will, and the magnetism of shared bloodlines to drag her into an embrace. He smells like Dad. Or maybe it was her mind playing tricks. Her eyes suddenly watered.
“Wow, you’re all grown up. God, I’m sorry it’s been so long.”
Her uncle’s hair waved the same as hers, only in dark brown, and like her father, it looked good on him. His gaze slalomed down her face, maybe marveling, like she did, how sixteen years could pass with no sense of time, how family is rare and finite yet can slip away, how features and mannerisms marked them as the same tribe.
He took her bag and strode through the airport. “I hope you’re hungry. Esty will have lunch ready and expect you to eat.”
“Eating’s a specialty of mine, though right now, my stomach’s a bundle of nerves,” she admitted.
“Don’t be nervous. I’m really glad you came.”
She followed Uncle Zach to a rounded Jaguar, its silver cat leaping forwards, oblivious to the harsh pavement that lay beneath, like Orchid leaping to meeting family members she’d never known.
“Esty wants me to get a hybrid.” His hand dismissed the car while his heightened posture caressed it with pride.
“Would you believe, this was the car I always wanted as a kid?” Orchid said.
“Oh yeah? What else did you want as a kid?”
“Normal stuff. A phone, a boyfriend.” This fragile moment of meeting thrust into the forefront her memory of wanting parents to love her, unconditional acceptance, to belong to someone. But she wasn’t about to say all that.
Along the road, palm trees waved against the bluebell sky, blotting out the ever-present sun. Freeways sprouted double the normal lanes wide. Cars weaved into braided lines as if to prove the need for so much asphalt.
“Beautiful weather,” she commented, fiddling with her window, a little down to feel the temperate air, then back up because her uncle had turned on the air conditioning. She glanced at his neatly pressed golf shirt and khakis.
His devilish grin produced folds at the corners of his eyes that looked just like Dad’s. After all, he was only six years older than Dad was when he died.
“You’ll learn. Only tourists talk about the weather here.”
He pulled into a compact parking garage under a series of tightly tucked condos. They walked up carpeted stairs to where Esty awaited, baby in her arms. Insta-family. The hugs of strangers, the smells of broccoli steaming, and overly stretched faces was overwhelming.
“Aww, Quentin is adorable,” Orchid said, finding that crinkling her nose produced blubbery squeals. She retrieved a gift-wrapped package from her bag and placed it on the staircase ledge. “A little something for him.”
“Well, thanks. You must be exhausted. Come sit,” Esty insisted, scraping the chair out at the head of the kitchen table filled with a wooden salad bowl, terrines of grains and platters of vegetables.
Orchid washed her hands at the kitchen sink, then, feeling like an alien among her newfound family, she accepted the seat of honor.
“Did Zach tell you we’re vegan? Hope that’s okay,” Esty said, ladling scoops of food onto Orchid’s plate as if to make up for the family meals missed over the last dozen-plus years. “The quinoa is organic. I just baked the kale chips this morning. This soy-ginger sauce is for the veggies.”
“I’m vegetarian so this is great. Thanks for doing this. Especially when you must be so busy with the baby.” She pointed a chin at Quentin, who was nodding into an open-mouthed sleep, cradled in the hollow of Esty’s arm.
“We don’t mind,” Zach answered for his wife, face twisted with regret. “I feel terrible that we lost touch. I was still in school when your dad died. I called your aunt and she always said you were fine. It’s not an excuse. Just, you know, I’m sorry.”
Zach tilted his head expectantly at her, looking just like Dad, and then picked up his fork to slice the soft broccoli crowns. His words were sincere. He was only twenty-four when she’d been orphaned. And she could see he was trying now.
“Hey, it must’ve been hard on you, too. Dad dying so suddenly and all.”
He nodded over his plate, corners of his mouth pulling down the corners of his eyes. Esty placed a hand over his.
“Yeah, it was such a shock. Your mom, too, they were both so young. The last six years of his life, I was in school here in LA, so I didn’t see them much. But when I was growing up, your dad was the best. He’d drive me to school in his sports car, and talk with me about girls.”
Zach lifted his eyes to Esty’s. She squeezed his hand and then pursed her lips into a little air kiss. “What? You knew girls before me?”
“None,” he pronounced, returning her air-kiss. These two are adorable.
Zach spooned greens into the small space she’d managed to empty on her plate. “What do you remember of your parents?” he asked.
Orchid swallowed
. This was the reason she kept everyone out, so she never had to answer these awkward questions. Maybe this case was different. Maybe family calls for a new level of honesty. So, she aimed for disclosure.
“It’s going to sound terrible, but not a whole lot. I remember vacationing at an amusement park, family holidays, and stuff like Dad helping me with math but having a hard time understanding how the basics weren’t totally obvious to me.”
“Yup, your dad was a math whiz. He couldn’t get how post-grad students didn’t understand multi-variable calculus, so you were in good company,” he said with the teasing tone of an admiring little brother. This tidbit of insight lightened the load of idolizing her dead parents, bringing her dad a little closer to human.
She dipped a shiny sugar snap pea into the sweet-tart sauce.
“But mostly,” she admitted, “when I think of them I remember their accident. Sometimes, I start with a happy memory, but then I always end with them dying. It makes me not want to think about them.”
Esty looked down at sleeping Quentin. “That’s really hard on a little kid to see something like that. On anyone, really.”
“Maybe I was always sensitive, but seeing the car crash . . . it seems like I can’t watch the news or see anything gruesome.”
Zach nodded. “You know what I always tell myself? That was a single instant in lives that were mostly filled with intellect and love and fun. And if your parents thought back on their lives, I doubt the accident is what they’d dwell on.”
His pronouncement rewound the scenes of her childhood until the early happy ones spun before her with the same tempo as the bloody accident and sterile years with her mother’s sister.
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