Falling into Forever (Falling into You) (26 page)

“Great. That’s just great.”

I slam my fist into the couch. “What they’re saying about the daughter? Grace?”

“Jensen. We don’t even know if there’s really a kid.
If it’s true, then I don’t know how Hallie managed to keep the press away from the kid for so long. We should hire whoever she’s got working for her.”

“Eva.”

“Or maybe not.”

I glance again at the curly-headed girl, whose face is a replica of Hallie’s, minus twenty years
.

“
Hallie didn’t tell you about the kid? I thought the two of you had made nice again.”

“Shut up, Marcus.”

“Chris. She might not even have a kid. You know what the paparazzi do. They find some totally unrelated pictures of some random kid from Arkansas. They’re trying to sell ads, man. And you know what you do to sell ads? You sell a secret love child.”

I give him a stony glare.

“Ok. Not the best choice of words. But still. We don’t know.”

“Marcus, are you really trying to tell me that that child doesn’t belong to Hallie? Just look at her. She’s a carbon copy of her.”

I shove the iPad in his face. He glances at it carefully before setting it back on the table.

“Okay. So, maybe it’s her kid.” He takes a long breath. “Hall
ie Caldwell is a lot of things, and you know we’ve had our battles, but I don’t believe that she would have gone off, married some other guy, and pretended to him and everyone else that the kid wasn’t yours. It’s not in her, that kind of duplicity.”

“I thought that, too…”

Now, I wasn’t so sure. My eyes linger on the photograph, seeking some resemblance between the girl and myself. I can’t find anything, but it doesn’t mean that…

“So, find her. Talk to her. She’s probably still here somewhere.
There’s no way she managed to escape without triggering the attention of the vultures.”

I only
hear the first part of the sentence, the part about finding her, before I’m out of the seat and across the room. He’s right. I need answers, and Hallie’s the only one who has them.

His phone beeps before I can reach the door.

“Strike that. She’s gone. The press managed to get wind of the fact that a mysterious black car with Wisconsin plates snuck out the back garage.” As I turn back to look at him, I don’t fail to notice that he looks slightly impressed. “I mean, seriously. If we weren’t talking about Eva, I’d have to give them props for the disappearing act.”

“Marcus!”

“Sorry. Sorry. You could always use some of the famous Jensen charm to see if the hotel has a contact number for her. I would say that we could ask Eva, but I don’t think she’s in the mood to share anything with me right now. Sorry, man.”

“Were you being your most charming self again, Marcus?”

“You know me.”

I certainly do.
Okay, so there’s absolutely no chance that Eva will help. I search my brain for any hints that Hallie might have given me the night before about where she was off to when Marcus interrupts my thoughts.

“You can’t go looking for her
looking like that. They’ll be all over you before you can even get to the lobby.”

He’s right. I dig in my part for
my hardcore disguise, the horn-rimmed glasses and fake mustache and hat. A few seconds later, I look like a middle-aged creep.

“Good enough?”

“Good enough.” He tosses me a set of keys. “I think you need security, but I know that you’re not going to be able to wait for that. There’s a red Corolla in the garage. I had one of the girls rent it as soon as I heard about this shit, in case you got any bright ideas about leaving the hotel without a bevy of armed guards.”

“Thanks
.”

Without another word, I dart out
into the hallway. Unwilling to wait for another goddamn elevator, I sprint to the stairs and take them, two at a time, down to the lobby. I see a sea of photogs waiting across the street, aiming their lenses inside the hotel. So far, the security staff’s managing to hold them off, but I know that it can only last for so long. I was going to have to make this quick.

I’m slightly out of breath when
I lean over the counter to make eyes at the stout woman in her mid-forties who’s manning the front desk.

“Hi.
I wonder if you can be of some help to me. I’m looking for one of your guests, Hallie Caldwell. It also might be under Hallie Ellison.”

The woman gives me a long look, up and down, and when she finally finishes her inspect
ion, she avoids meeting my eyes. When she speaks, her voice is ice cold. “I’m sorry sir, but we’re very protective of our guests’ privacy.”

“
I’m a friend of Ms. Caldwell’s. I think she may have checked out earlier this morning. I was hoping she might have left some information about where she was heading. Maybe someone spoke to her?”

I give her my best smile, the one on the latest James Ross poster, the one that
had, as Marcus put it, boosted box office by ten percent.

She just looks disgusted.

“Sorry, sir, there’s nothing I can do to help you.”

I’m losing patience. Quickly.
That smile has sold millions of movie tickets. Shit. I must be losing a step. I move my hand to run my fingers through my hair, and as I touch the soft folds of knit wool, I remember. No wonder.

I don’t have time for t
his. I yank the hat off my head, push the glasses up on my face, and take a quick glance outside the glass doors. I lean over the counter.

“Look. Do you know who I am?”

It always works. It will work this time. It will.

The woman’s
eyes are as big as saucers. “You’re…you’re…”

“Chris Jen
sen. Yes, I am him. I need to know where Ms. Caldwell is. Those people outside? They’re waiting for me. And Ms. Caldwell. I need to find her before they do.”

She gives me a hard glare. “I don’t have any information for Ms. Caldwell, no matter who you are.
”

C
urious onlookers are starting to look our way. I pull the glasses down over my face and yank the cap back on. I’m contemplating a frantic dash to scour the airports when I feel a long finger tapping my shoulder.

“Hello, Christopher.”

I spin around.

Apparently,
it is possible to freeze time.

I know this because
Claire Caldwell looks exactly the same as she did when she stood in her living room, glaring at me, seven years before.

HALLIE

My eyes dart around the hotel’s parking garage nervously. What was it my mother had just said? Keep the sunglasses on and the windows up. Drive home and don’t stop until you get there. I’m still hanging on to the faint shred of hope that the vultures haven’t discovered where I live, but I know that it’s just a matter of time. Unfortunately, I don’t have anywhere else to go, not with a sleepy four year old.

Just minutes earlier,
I had been poised at the door of Chris Jensen’s hotel suite. I still wasn’t sure of what I was planning to say, but I knew that I couldn’t let him think that what I said to him in London, that I didn’t love him, was true. Then and now. I was going to tell him about Grace, about me, about my life, and I was going to see if there was any way he was willing to take me on, all my messes and fumbling. Because none of it mattered if he still loved me. And I think he did. Does. Did.

But
I didn’t have the chance to tell him anything. As I was standing there, ready to lay myself bare in front of him, Eva had called, her voice frantic.

“Get in your room and stay there. You were with Chris yesterday and someone saw. It’s bad, Hallie. They know about Grace and there are pictures of you and
Chris, the same ones I found and a couple of other ones. They’re making it seem like the two of you have been together for the last seven years, all the time while you were married to Ben. I’m not sure what I can do about it now. I’m not sure if there’s anything we can do about it now. I’m on the other line with Claire and we need to figure out a plan to get you out of this hotel as soon as possible. Give me five minutes. Get your things packed.”

I hadn’t seen the stories, but I didn’t need to. Most of it was probably true,
except for the long-standing affair and the fact that I’m sure the stories were embellished with a series of adjectives that I really didn’t need to think about. Slut. Fame whore.

Grace is whining and I lean in to kiss her cheek. She’s still strapped in her car sea
t, wiggling impatiently to free herself.

“Mommy, why
can’t we go to the zoo? You said we were going to see lions and tigers and bears. Oh my!” She rubs her eyes and her bottom lip wobbles. “I don’t want to go in the car. I’ve been in the car all night. Grandma said she wanted to get here early so we could go to the zoo. But now we’re not going to the zoo.”

“I promise, baby girl, that we will go to the zoo another day. We just can’t go today.”

“Why not?”

“Because we can’t, Grace.”

“Daddy would have taken me to the zoo,” she says in a quavering voice.

“He can’t take you to the zoo,” I say, my own voice shaking slightly. “He can’t take you because he isn’t here.”

I slam my hand into the side of the car and stare into her face, which everyone says is a carbon copy of mine. I’ve never been able to see it.

The only thing I see when I look into her face is Ben.

*
* *

4 Years, 9 Months Earlier

Ohio

“Tell me. How did I turn into an angsty teenager? I’m almost 21. I thought I was too old for this crap.”

I toss my mom’s afghan to the side impatient
ly, and turn to face Ben, who’s sitting on the couch in his apartment, absorbed in his computer.

He looks up
. “What do you mean?”

“You know,
angsty. Angst-ridden, full of angst?”

I glance into his eyes and see that he’s trying desperately not to laugh. I’m not amused.

“In case you weren’t paying attention in high school health class, it means consumed with the weight of the human condition. More specifically, it means I’m obsessed with the relation of the human condition to my own messed-up life. It’s practically a stage of human development.”

I punctuate the statement with a smirk. Now
I’m not the only one who’s annoyed.

“In case you forgot, I’m an English major, Hals. My senior thesis is basically a manifesto on the development of the angst-ridden hero in science fiction, so I’m well aware of the definition. But thanks.”

“Jerkface.” I flip him off, but that only makes him appear more like a jack-o-lantern. “I’m trying to spill my guts here and all you want to talk about man-eating dinosaurs or some crap like that.”

“So, spill your guts. It’s better than watching you mope in silence. I really hope we’re talking figurative gut-spilling here. Although I do have to admit, literal gut spilling would be more in line with this thesis that I need to finish.”

“No, no, it’s fine. I’ll just deal with my angst in silence.”

I’m only half-kidding. He had done more than his fair share of listening to me whine about my pathetic self. I had been unable to string a coherent sentence about anything interesting together for months now. I was
basically a walking CW show and about two seconds away from referring to myself in the third person.

Ben puts his computer
down and opens his arms in an invitation. He leans back on the sofa, his head tilted slightly to the side, and studies me cautiously.

“Come here, Hals.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Stop being petulant. In case you didn’t know, that means childishly sulky.”

I stick my tongue out at him, and we both laugh. I groan and nestle myself into the crook of his elbow, letting his warmth envelop me.

“I never thought of myself as someone who was all about the drama. And yet, here I am, with twelve million half-eaten pints of ice cream, pouring my heart out to my best friend. It’s been three months since I dumped my boyfriend. It’s not even like I got dumped. I dumped him. I’m whining like a toddler here.”

Ben doesn’t say anything.

“But I mean,
actually, the real question is why on earth you would even put up with it. You were the one who wanted me to transfer to Ohio State with you. Maybe you weren’t aware that you were going to have to put up with months and months and months of listening to me moan and cry and whine. And there are probably more months to come. Because I’m a brat.”

“Dear lord, let’s hope not.” Ben looks heavenward and makes the sign of the cross in an exaggerated gesture. I punch his arm.

“That’s the fighting spirit.” He winks at me. “I knew if I kept you around long enough, you’d at least take a peek out of the bell jar.”