Here Without You (23 page)

Suddenly, I’m so tired.

I’m tired of feeling jealous – an emotion I’ve never truly experienced before Reid, which has somehow become all-consuming. And relentless. And just so
exhausting
.

Closing out of the website, I barely register the tears streaming down my face, but I can’t let them blind me to reality. If I talk to Reid, my tongue will burn with the need to ask him what’s going on between them, if anything is.
And even if nothing is – yet – I can’t believe that it won’t. Or even that it shouldn’t.

I didn’t see this coming – not this soon. Not this way. But that doesn’t matter, because I always knew he would return to his Hollywood lifestyle and his peers. I can’t blame him and I don’t. Because in pursuing the adoption of his son, he’s choosing the difficult thing. He’s choosing the right thing. And I admire him for it.

He believes that I helped him become a better man, that I’m a good influence, and it’s true. Because that’s what I was meant to be, for him. I see that now. I was never meant to be the girl he wanted forever. It doesn’t matter if I fell so, so hard – if I’m crazy in love with him. When you love someone, you want what’s best for that person, not what’s best for you.

I didn’t change Reid Alexander. I just helped him uncover who he always was, at his core. Now, it’s time for me to let him go and be that man.

Reid:
Missed Calls (3)

  Messages (2)

 

Reid:
Okay, you said you’d be in tonight. I’ve called, and I’ve left messages. I wanted to talk to you about today.

 

Reid:
Are you angry with me? Did I do something I’m not aware of doing? I don’t understand.

 

Reid:
missed calls (2)

 

Reid:
If I wasn’t stuck in the middle of the damned desert, under contract, I would be banging on your dorm-room door and to hell with who heard or saw me. I’m worried.

 

Reid:
I’m going to have to call your parents. (And I can’t BELIEVE I just wrote that.)

 

Reid:
Dori, not again. Please, goddammit, not again.

‘Hello?’

‘Mrs Cantrell – this is Reid. Alexander.’

‘Yes, Mr Alexander?’ Her tone is somehow accusatory – and what’s with the
Mister Alexander
crap?

Ten seconds in and I’m already pacing the length of this fucking trailer, wondering what sway her parents have with her, still. Wondering if I can fault
them
for her withdrawal. Knowing, after that meeting two months ago, how elated they would be to see this relationship collapse, which makes me furious.

One. Two. Three
. Deep breath.
Four. Five. Six
.

‘I haven’t heard from Dori in several days. I just want to make sure she’s all right.’

She pauses before answering. ‘Dori is fine. I appreciate your concern – but she’s fine.’
Without you
– that’s what I hear.
She’s fine without you
.

‘You’re aware, then, that she’s not returning my texts or calls. And clearly, you also know why.’ One hand at the back
of my neck, I’m fighting every innate compulsion I have to keep from demanding that she tell me what the fuck she knows that I don’t. ‘Would you mind, very much, sharing that information with me? Because I don’t have a clue what’s going on.’

‘Don’t you?’

‘What does that mean?’

‘Do you read the celebrity gossip sites, Mr Alexander?’

I huff a breath. ‘Not if I can help it. I ignore them as much as possible, in fact, because they’re mostly lies and misconstrued half-truths, or unabashed invasions of privacy. Dori knows what’s true or what isn’t. At least, I thought she did. I thought she trusted me.’

‘And what is the truth? That you’ve been photographed numerous times with another young lady – one you used to … date?’

‘Dori knows why –’

‘Yes. She told me about the child you fathered, and what you and your ex-girlfriend are doing now – which, for the record, is admirable of you both. But it’s also not something my daughter needs to find herself caught up in or distracted by –’

‘Maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s not something Dori should have to deal with. Maybe it’s even more than she can handle.’ Christ. Speaking that sentence makes me feel as though I just stabbed myself in the chest. I can’t accept that it’s true. ‘But why isn’t she talking to me about it? Why does she think that dropping off the face of the earth is the way to resolve this?’

Her answer is quietly devastating. ‘I imagine she’s protecting herself from being further hurt by you.’

When I recover my breath, I blurt, ‘Further? What do you mean
further
hurt by me?
I love her
. I don’t intend to hurt her. I don’t want to hurt her. I almost relinquished rights to my son because I don’t want to lose her – because I was afraid of this reaction.’ I can’t tell her what may actually be behind Dori’s reaction – the needless guilt she feels over a choice she made years ago – a choice that, at the time, was right for her. ‘Even so, I never imagined her doing … 
this
. She’s not a coward, and this is the most cowardly thing I’ve ever known her to do.’

‘So you believe that shielding herself from certain emotional damage is cowardly?’

‘
Certain emotional damage?
You make it sound as if this outcome was inevitable. Like there wasn’t any other possible result of a relationship between us, and we were doomed from the start. But that deduction isn’t something you based on the knowledge of my son or anything to do with Brooke Cameron – it comes from your prejudice against
me
. Against my
lifestyle
,
or my career, or my previous reputation –’

‘Isn’t that how we all assess people and predict outcomes, Mr Alexander? By their previous reputations? Let’s say you’re correct. What about your lifestyle or reputation would benefit my daughter? What about your career would ever make her feel safe? Standing aside and watching while you’re physically involved on-screen and constantly rumoured to be off-screen – whether it’s true or not – with other women? Why would I want that for her?

‘And then, let’s add the existence of a son with one of those rumoured other women. What will happen to her once that secret comes to light? What will people say? Of course I don’t want that for her. Why in the world would I?’

I’m shredded by the recognition of how right she is. Even if her daughter is the only person I’ve ever met who
didn’t
ultimately judge me by my reputation, but by what she saw in me – and God knows how she managed that. I have only one truth to stand on.

‘I. Love. Her.’

‘If that’s true,’ she answers evenly, ‘you’ll want what’s best for
her
. Not for yourself.’

Brooke’s words about Graham slam into me and I fall to my knees in the middle of the trailer. I feel like my heart is imploding. Every scrap of anger or righteous indignation evaporates. Every argument turns to ash. Because, of course, she’s right. If I love Dori, I’ll want what’s best for her. And only Dori can know what that is.

Brooke:
I saw the judge this morning. The case is being accelerated. We’re getting an overnight. First, here, tomorrow night. (If you come to Austin, Kathryn says you can stay here. A hotel would blow our cover.) If that goes well, each of us will get him in LA for a few days. His caseworker will travel with him.

Me:
DAMMIT. I can’t get away right now. I am LITERALLY in the middle of the desert. They had to set up a special tower just so we could
all get cell service. If I could leave this set, I’d be in CA. Call me in a couple of hours? I’ve got a scene to shoot.

Brooke:
K

Two hours later on the dot, my phone rings. Brooke.

‘Hey. So he’s going to stay at Kathryn’s with you overnight? Will the fact that I’m not there be a problem?’

‘No,’ she answers. ‘I explained that I’m not working right now, but you are, and that if we get him, we intend to trade off projects. That one of us will always be with him.’ Brooke always did think fast on her feet. ‘Reid?’ A new hesitation creeps into her voice. ‘Are you sure about this?’

‘About River? Yeah. I’m sure.’ I don’t have to ask if she is.

She releases an audible breath at my answer – as though she’s still expecting me to back out any minute. It’s so difficult for her to count on anyone. To trust when someone says they’ll be there for her. With our history, it’s a damned miracle for her to have confidence in anything I promise. I can’t blame her for asking.

‘Wendy is having surgery two weeks from Monday, so that’s when the overnights in LA will take place. One of the little boys she’s been keeping will be moving to a new foster home, and the other is moving towards a family reunification that might be too early. She couldn’t say much about either one, but it sounded like she was freaking out over both of them. I think we’ve suddenly become the best-case scenario.’

That seems like a wrong sort of thing to feel fortunate about, but I’m a dick, so I’ll take it. ‘Yay for other people fucking up?’

She laughs shortly. ‘I guess. Will you be back in LA by then?’

‘Yeah. We’re wrapping up here in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. Probably fourteen, fifteen days left, and we’ll be doing the studio sections next, at Universal. I should be back in town right before he arrives.’

‘And you’ll have the home study and parenting course stuff by then?’ she presses.

I roll my eyes, but tell myself she’s just making sure of essential details. No need to snap back. I set my jaw. ‘Yes.’

‘Okay.’ She takes a deep breath and launches into part two of this call. ‘I think it’s time to call Rowena.’ I curse and start to object –
again
– but she barrels on. ‘I know you have a preconceived perception of her after last spring – but, Reid, she’s our best shot at maintaining
any
control over how this news breaks. The public will want photos of our child. You know they will.’

She’s right – River is going to be top photo-stalker material. The only way to neutralize that is to provide the pics ourselves. With a jolt of comprehension, I realize I’ve got to trust her. And this Rowena person.
Ugh
. My opposition dissolves unsaid.

‘What did you mean before, when you said you’d be in California now if you could?’ she asks, undoubtedly to change the subject before I can build a case against her sycophantic paparazza.

‘Dori. She stopped talking to me about a week ago.’

‘A
week
? What happened?’

‘I have no idea. That’s a major component of the “stopped talking to me” bit.’

‘Don’t be an asshat. Did you two have a fight? Did you do something stupid like screw some girl who took photos of your naked backside and leaked it online?’

I would take exception if that exact thing hadn’t transpired a couple of years ago.

‘No fight. No girls. The photos of you and me in Austin are all over, of course, though she hasn’t said a thing about them. But she knows about River. I guess she just decided she couldn’t deal.’

‘That sucks. She should know not to pay attention to the crap online … although it’s occasionally true. If she can’t handle it, though, maybe you’re better off without her.’

I couldn’t have asked for a better time to film a withdrawn, brooding character. My Darcy role was a bit brooding, but he was mostly sarcastic and arrogant.

With the amount of time I spend alone – either in my trailer or walking at a barely visible distance from the huddle of trailers and sets, I think my co-stars have decided I’m one of those method actors who insists on remaining in character on and off-screen. I’ve caught insinuations that indicate as much, but I’ve no need to artificially immerse myself in the moody temperament of my current character.

I get him. Jesus Christ, do I get him.

And though I’m certainly drawing on my personal
thoughts and emotions during filming to portray him (aka
actual
method acting) I’m not drawing on painful experiences from my past. All I have to do is conjure Dori, and the agony blazes through me, on cue.

It’s been six days since I’ve seen him.

Kathryn has been the voice of reason at every turn. ‘Don’t overwhelm him with
things
, Brooke,’ she says, when I want to buy him every Lego set I can find online. We choose a half-dozen, and put four of them away for later. It takes me almost an hour to narrow to a couple of plush animals – a teddy, of course, and a floppy-eared puppy (to compensate for the fact that Kathryn urges me not to buy him the real thing).

One wall of his room at Kathryn’s has been painted green – his favourite colour, according to Wendy. His room at my condo will include lots of green – I’ve hired a
trompe l’oeil
artist to paint a roadway with colourful cars and background scenery all the way around at eye level. The ceiling will be baby blue, with fluffy clouds scattered from one corner to the other. His closets will be painted with chalkboard paint, so he can draw all over them.

It appears that I can’t help but overdo.

I worry over this, too, but Kathryn laughs and shakes her head. ‘This is you, Brooke. Just try to pull back a little. Remember, what he needs is your love. That’s why
poverty-stricken parents can still do a wonderful job of raising a child.’

What she doesn’t say:
That’s why wealthy parents often fail at it. They substitute
things
for
affection
.

‘I’ll remember.’

One thing we agree on is half-filling his built-in bookcase with books – dozens of picture books – favourites from my childhood, and anything new that catches my eye. Their spines are multi-hued and inviting when we line them up on the shelves – a miniature library. Wendy says River likes to be read to before bed, and I wonder to myself if he’d like to be read to on the flat rock by the creek, in the middle of the day, for no reason.

I buy Matchbox cars and a track with a double loop in the middle that Reid assures me every boy ever born would like, and authentic-looking construction trucks that will look even more realistic with their working parts encrusted with dirt.

I choose a green toothbrush and three kinds of toothpaste. A nightlight shaped like a racing car that switches on and off. A pair of galoshes in John Deere green, even though the forecast calls for a cool, sunny day.

River’s caseworker is picking him up from Wendy’s after his afternoon nap, and bringing him here. Kris has been here several times during the home study, so she’s already familiar with the place. She and Kathryn hit it off immediately – lucky for me. It took Kris longer to warm to me, but that’s the upshot of being a woman and having a blunt personality.

Sometimes people just don’t like me. Go figure.

Glenn is planning a barbecue for dinner. He’s one of those guys with the manly black canvas apron boasting,
Licensed to GRILL!
and all the long-handled accessories you can shake a stick at. On the way home from work last night, he stocked up on supplies: sirloin patties and beef hot dogs, buns, pickles, sweet relish and shoestring potatoes.

Kathryn’s charged me with assembling a fruit salad to keep me occupied (read: I’m driving her up the wall with my anxious patrolling around the house). One minute I’m happy and ridiculously domestic, and the next I’m positive someone will call to tell me they’ve made a mistake. I never should have been considered to be River’s mother. It was a court error – haha, so sorry.

When the phone rings, my hands jerk reflexively from the task of chopping the heads off strawberries, and I feel the sharp sting of the blade cutting through layers of skin.

‘Ouchgoddammit! I mean – darn it!’ In a matter of seconds, my index finger develops a streaming red gash.

‘Maybe handing you a paring knife wasn’t the best decision …’ Kathryn observes, turning to grab first-aid supplies from the pantry while I cleanse the cut and press a paper towel to it to stop the bleeding.

Glenn snags the phone on the third ring. ‘Y’ello?’ His expression appears concerned, which makes my heart flip over – until he says, ‘And it’s only making that noise when you’re coming to a stop, but not when you’re idling? Uh-huh. Do the noise one more time for me.’