No Ordinary Life (16 page)

35

W
hen the doctors asked what happened, I spun the first lie that came into my head, knowing from the warning Chris gave the paramedic that the truth would hurt the show. The doctor didn't believe my story and neither did the nurses. Metal slides went out with eight-track tape players and pet rocks, but cutting her arm on a metal slide at the playground was all I could come up with when I was asked what happened.

The cut required five stitches and a tetanus shot. We were at the hospital almost three hours, and in that time, I think every member of the cast sent flowers or balloons or a stuffed animal.

Jules felt so bad that he sent a teddy bear the size of a car. He also called at least sixteen times in increased states of inebriation to tell me how sorry he was.

Molly took it all in stride. Once the wound was cleaned and bandaged, and we were just waiting for the doctor so he could put in the stitches, she was in good spirits. She watched television, took a nap, and ate apple sauce that the nurse brought her, artfully dodging the woman's probing questions about how she got hurt—intuition or intelligence cautioning her against divulging the truth.

As Griff promised, one of the crew brought our car. I was disappointed and relieved Griff didn't bring it himself. I hate to admit it, but Helen was right; Griff tried to stop it before it happened, and my lame efforts after were too late. Which means I owe him an apology—an apology I want to give, while at the same time I dread the idea of facing him.

There are so many gifts that they won't all fit in the car or in my mom's condo, so Molly and I leave most of them for the nurses to bring to the pediatric ward, including Jules's giant teddy bear.

We're walking toward the parking lot, our arms loaded with loot, when a voice cuts through the night. “Hey, Two-Bits.”

I look up to see Chris leaning against a black Porsche.

“Hey, Chwris Cwross,” Molly says.

Her jolly greeting seems to bring him enormous relief.

“I thought I could take you two lovely ladies to dinner.”

I glance at my watch. It's nearly six. While we were waiting for the doctor, I had called my mom and told her I would make spaghetti when we got home. It's been almost a week since we had dinner as a family.

“Do you like lobster?” Chris asks.

Molly crinkles her nose.

“How about steak instead?” he says, and his warm laugh causes instant amnesia, a sudden forgetfulness about spaghetti and the remainder of my family.

“Now you'wre talking,” Molly answers.

36

W
e walk into Ruth's Chris Steak House hand in hand, Molly between us. I know how we look, and shamelessly I revel in it. We look like a beautiful couple with our adorable child. Chris is handsome, I am pretty, Molly is darling. He drove us here in his Porsche. We will enjoy a nice bottle of wine with our steaks, and after, we will return to our beautiful home in the hills with its manicured lawn, swimming pool, and built-in barbeque. We probably have a dog and maybe a cat. We definitely have a housekeeper, a gardener, and perhaps even a nanny.

At this moment, I do not have an ex-husband who has reappeared after eight months of being gone, another daughter who hates me most of the time, a son who will not talk. I only have perfection.

Dinner is divine. I actually say that to myself,
This dinner is divine, darling
, causing me to chuckle out loud. Molly sleeps on the bench between us, her head on my lap, her feet pressed against Chris's thigh.

Chris looks over and smirks. “Something funny?”

“I feel like I'm playing pretend,” I say, fully aware that the wine is making me loose-lipped and loopy. “Like I should have a long cigarette holder, a fur capelet, and should be blowing smoke rings in the air with a pout.”

“Why would you be pouting?”

“Because, darling, our server—who is quite lovely by the way, and quite young—is clearly enamored with you, and though I'm not your date, I could be your date, and she doesn't know I'm not your date, and if I were wearing a capelet and smoking a cigarette, I would most certainly be your date, and therefore I would be pouting because that girl is shamelessly flirting with you while I'm sitting right here beside you…as your date!”

His laugh creates deep lines around his eyes that are very sexy.

He cranes his neck in search of our server who stands at the pickup line traying up an order of food. “Quite lovely indeed,” he says. “Though not even close to the loveliest lady in the room. And you
are
in fact my date.”

I blush and smile, pleased to be his date, while at the same time well aware that there is a four-year-old snoring between us, which prevents this from being an actual date. “Do desperate actresses always fawn over you like that?”

“What makes you assume she's a desperate actress?”

“Because of the way she's fawning over you.”

“Ouch. I'm wounded. You don't think it's my rugged handsomeness and charm?”

“The Bounty Man could walk in here, and he wouldn't get that kind of worship. It's like you're a god.”

“I am a god, a short, nebbishy, Jewish god whose humble job makes him the gatekeeper of dreams for all the wanton waitresses of Tinseltown.”

“Humble, hardly.”

“I would have preferred you protested the nebbishy part.”

“You don't need any more idolization.”

His face gets serious. “But I am humble, at least I am today.” He reaches over Molly and takes my hand that rests on her hip, his dark eyes, the color of espresso, holding mine. “I'm sorry about what happened.”

Like static electricity, a jolt shocks my cortex, and I flinch and pull my hand away, setting it on the table and out of his reach. His expression is so like Sean's.
If you give me another chance, I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you and to them. But even if you never forgive me, I promise, if you let me see them, I won't hurt them. I won't ever do that again.

Do they practice in the mirror, mastering the art of deception? So incredibly earnest, the words smooth and sincere, a honed ability to say exactly what you want to hear the moment before they rip the carpet out from beneath your feet.

He feels bad. Sean feels bad. But the moment I let my guard down, both would do the same damn thing again.

“Everything okay?” he asks.

“Fine.”

He lifts Molly's legs to his lap, scoots closer, and takes my hand again, setting it back on top of Molly, the spot it was originally, the spot he wants it to be. I let him, mostly because I don't have the courage to pull it away again.

The waitress delivers our check, and Chris doesn't even glance at her as he pulls a platinum American Express from his pocket and places it on the silver plate.

He sips his port and I sip my wine, and after a moment, his thumb begins to move gently across my hand, almost imperceptible, and the soft tickle short-circuits my brain, making me forget how little I trust him, or more accurately, making me not care. It's been a long time since I've been caressed by a man and even longer since I've experienced the heart-fluttering rush of seduction.

When Chris's drink is gone, he lets go to retrieve his credit card and the receipt from the tray. Discretely he slides both into his coat pocket, but not before I notice the scrawled note at the top that says,
Call me
, with a name and number scribbled beneath.

I glance at our server, who stands at the server station filling a water glass. Her face lifts, and I turn away just in time to see Chris give her a wink.

I pretend not to notice. “I should get Molly home.”

Chris carries Molly from the restaurant, and again I feel the eyes of admiration watching us, but already I'm tired of the game. It's been a long day, and all I want to do is go home, curl up on the couch with my three kids, and watch TV.

37

S
ean's coming here? You said yes?”

My mom and I are in the hallway and the kids are inside.

“Shhh, they'll hear you,” I say.

“You haven't told them?” Her face has progressed from pink to red, steam practically blowing from her nostrils, which flare with a combination of incredulity and outrage.

“I'm going to. I just haven't figured out exactly what to say.”

Her arms are crossed, her finger tapping impatiently against her elbow. “How about you tell them the truth, that their no-good, two-timing, runaway dad is popping in for a quickie before he returns to his life with his girlfriend in Albuquerque? Probably so he can claim he didn't actually abandon you and cash in on Molly's success.”

“That's not why he's here.”

“It's not? Really, Faye? Have you even thought about why he's here? Eight months, nothing, then suddenly he appears out of nowhere, hat in hand, saying he wants back in your life. A coincidence? Are you really that naive?”

“It is a coincidence. He doesn't even know about Molly acting. He came here because he realized we left Yucaipa and he was worried about us.”

“Yeah, right. And I'm Mary Poppins. Christ, Faye. You think Sean just realized you moved from Yucaipa? You moved here three months ago. I'd bet my right arm he's here because he saw Molly on the Gap commercial.”

“This has nothing to do with that.”

“To hell it doesn't. I don't know what it is about that man, but he's had you fooled from the moment you met him. He's here for the same reason he married you. Opportunity.”

“Go to hell!” I pivot and storm into the house, racing past Molly and Tom and into the bedroom.

Emily sits on the bed reading a book.

“Please,” I say, “go.”

“You okay?” she asks as she stands.

I manage an unconvincing nod, and she hesitates, unsure what to do.

“It's okay, baby. I just need a few minutes alone.”

With a concerned look that warms my heart, she leaves, and I pull a pillow to my chest and bury my face in it.

My mom's wrong. She's always been wrong about Sean. She doesn't know him, never even gave him a chance. Yes, it fell apart, but that doesn't mean it wasn't real. My breaths wobble with each intake of air as I try to hold in my emotions. Sean didn't say a word about Molly being on television. He probably doesn't even know.

A tickle bristles my brain, and I try to push it away, but it refuses to budge. I don't like to think about it. It was a long time ago. He would have married me anyway. He told me so. Shame blindsides me, and I pray there is not a heaven and that my dad is not looking down. He didn't leave much, but he worked hard for the little he left, and I gave it away to the first man I fell for so he could buy his own rig.

“Mom?” Emily says through the door.

I take a deep breath, set the pillow aside, and straighten my expression. “Yeah, baby?”

“Can I come back in?”

“Sure, sweetie.”

Tentatively she steps in and closes the door behind her. “You sure you're okay?”

Her concern nearly causes the floodgates to open. Things have been so awful between us. “I love you, baby. You know that, don't you?”

She shifts uncomfortably and nods.

I pat the bed, and she shuffles over to take the spot beside me, sitting on her hands, her eyes on her lap.

“You're growing so fast,” I say, marveling that she's nearly my height.

She winces at the lame statement, barely stopping herself from rolling her eyes, and my heart hitches at how awkward things have become between us. A few months ago, I never would have said anything so stupid, and she wouldn't have even considered being disrespectful.

I brush her thick hair behind her shoulder. “Baby,” I say, “I need to tell you something, and I want you to tell me honestly how you feel about it.”

She shrugs and looks at me through her long lashes, her green eyes the exact color of Sean's, and I realize my mom is wrong because, no matter why Sean married me, nothing that gave me a daughter as beautiful as Emily could ever be considered a mistake. And I hope with all my heart that there is a heaven and that my dad is looking down because I know, if he could see Emily, he would be smiling.

“What is it?” she asks.

“Your dad is back.”

Her face lights up, causing my heart to reverse course and clench in anger. “I'm not sure why he's back,” I add with more than a little bitterness in my tone.

She doesn't notice. “He's back. Where? Here? He's here? Why didn't he come see us? Can we go see him?”

Her enthusiasm is like a red-hot poker to my brain.

“He's coming to see you tomorrow,” I manage.

A huge smile fills her face. “I knew he'd come back. I just knew it. So is he going to move here? Will Grandma let him move in with us? I'm going to ask her.”

She bounces up, and I catch her by the hand.

“Baby, he's back, but I don't know if it's for good.”

Her head tilts.

“We need to see how things go, take it one day at a time and not get too ahead of ourselves. Okay?”

Her head shakes. “No. He's back. Don't you see? He needed to go off and make some money, and he did, and now he's back.”

“He what?”

“That's what he told me. He said he needed to stay on the road to make enough money so we could live better. And he must have made enough, and so now he's back.”

My jaw clenches. “When did he tell you that?”

“Before he left.”

Her eyes are so bright, her worship so complete, I know it cannot be diminished by the truth, so I simply nod and allow her to believe that her father is a hero, a brave warrior who left for noble reasons and who has now returned with the bounties of his victories after months of toiling for the sake of his family and home. The thought causes acid to rise in my throat, but I force myself to give a thin smile to her radiant one.

Perhaps her rose-colored perspective is a blessing. We are a product of our parents, or at least we think we are, so perhaps thinking the best of Sean will allow her to think better of herself.

“I haven't told Molly and Tom,” I say.

“I'll tell them,” she says and skips away to deliver the joyous news.