Scared Scriptless (7 page)

“Okay, guys, we have to get to it.” I feel myself going into what they call “Maddy mode.” “I never got a final head count for the party. How many people do you think are really going to show up?”

“This is Wolf, Maddy, not some Hollywood
gala
. Everyone is coming.” Mike is not your sugarcoating type.

“Oh God. I sent out so many e-mails. And the Andersons asked if their cousins could come, which means an extra five people. I said yes without even thinking.”

“We’re going to need a bigger boat,” Matthew deadpans. My parents think I’m bad—Matt is a movie-quoting machine. He was by my side when Hogan started indoctrinating us in TV/film history. No doubt it’s annoying to anyone who doesn’t get it, but we don’t care. We crack each other up. So, I can’t help but laugh at the classic
Jaws
reference but quickly get him focused on the task at hand. “The party is in less than an hour. Does Pete have the final numbers so we have enough food? Is everything else ready?” My brothers have assured me they could handle all the party details since they were right here, but thirty-plus years of experience makes me a bit skeptical. Reflexively, I reach into the car to grab my notebook.

“Everything is set. But I know you won’t relax until you see for yourself,” Mike says. “Go on in. I’m going to pull your car around back so Mom doesn’t see it.” Matthew and I file into Pete’s
Tavern, a dive bar and Wolf County landmark since forever and Carson family favorite since we came of age. Pete Jr., the second-generation owner, is the warm grandfather figure everyone loves. He has the perfect white beard to play Santa in the town Christmas fair every year, although I suspect all the kids know it’s Pete. Mike, Matthew, and I always did, but we were happy to go along with it.

Despite playing warm, jolly old Saint Nick once a year, Pete is a lovable grump, so I am not at all surprised when all I get is a head nod from the other side of the bar. “Maddy, you’re home.”

“Yep, Pete. Thanks so much for having us.” I look around at the rustic setting. It’s like a warm sweater to me, but it’s also not very festive at the moment.

“Would it have killed you guys to get more than a few balloons? Some flowers? Maybe a centerpiece?” I am getting a little exasperated; a party is taking place here in thirty minutes. Dare I ask if they remembered to pick up the cake? I knew I should have demanded they reply to the checklist e-mail I sent with more productive responses than, “There goes anal Maddy” jokes.

“Flowers? Why? No one’s died.” Matthew doesn’t look like he’s kidding. I don’t bother to explain; I just grab my purse and dash out.

Twenty minutes later, I’ve managed to race to Forever Flowers and the grocery store to grab a few bouquets and ribbons. I channel Bernie, our expert set designer, whom I have seen turn a dark and smelly back alley into a Paris café. I feel like Mary Poppins on crack, rushing around the room, assigning tasks to my brothers and Pete. Soon the room exudes birthday cheer just in time for guests to start streaming through the door. Bernie would have been proud.

Within ten minutes, my arms are tired from all the warm
embraces of friends and neighbors. Everyone comes in for hugs and
how are yous
, and I feel like a cross between a visiting dignitary and a shy teenager.

My phone buzzes just as Mr. Tanner is telling me about his niece’s latest baton-twirling recital:

“Shhhh, everyone, she’s here, she’s here!” Everyone manages to stop talking just in time to scream, “SURPRISE!” when my mom walks in.

The look on her face is priceless, and then she locks eyes on me.

“Maddy?? Oh my God, Maddy, what are you doing here? This is too much.” And she’s in tears. Good tears.

“Hi, Mom. Happy birthday!” I give her a Mike-size hug. I love her smile and the way she is touching my cheek with the back of her hand as if to see if I am really there. Meanwhile, my dad jumps in to grab me around the shoulders and pull me in to his chest. I tuck in under his chin and it’s a perfect fit.

“Daddy.” I squeeze him tightly around the middle and then pull back. He’s a big teddy bear; the whole mountain man persona suits him well.

“I can’t believe it all worked out without her figuring out the surprise!” he says with such pride. My parents are sort of notorious in town for not being great secret-keepers. “For weeks, I’ve been so nervous I didn’t know whether to scratch my watch or wind my butt.”

Looking at his neatly kept beard, the workman’s shirt, and Wranglers, it’s hard to imagine that he once routinely wore suits to work from nine to five and was working his way up the corporate ladder in accounting for a Fortune 500 company. Then he
met my mom. She’s five years older than he is, and he loves dragging out the part about how he had to convince her that the age difference didn’t matter, while Mom rolls her eyes. The romantic story we heard from infancy is that they came up here for a summer getaway, fell in love with the place, and never left. Secretly, I’ve always admired how brave they both were to take such a risk. Clearly, that risk-taking gene is recessive. I had to be pushed out of the nest, and no matter what fantasies I have for my life, deep down I am not the type to willingly take that kind of leap of faith.

My mom is over the moon with the party and being surrounded by all of her favorite people. She backs up his story, claiming she had no idea this surprise party was even happening. I find that hard to believe because my dad has not successfully kept a secret from her, well… ever. But if she’s faking it, she’s doing a great job.

Earl and Louise, my parents’ best friends, immediately step up and hand them champagne glasses.

“To Helen!” Louise sings out. Everyone echoes her and the cheers fill the house. I clink glasses with my parents and my brothers (Mike’s drinking his champagne out of a beer mug) and take a sip.

I wish that Hogan could have been here for this. We had been secretly texting all week as he tried to rearrange some sort of important meeting to make it. But since he couldn’t get out of it, I’m glad I didn’t let my dad know it was even a possibility. I would hate to have gotten his hopes up. They usually only see Hogan in the winter months.

“Mom, Dad, Hogan sends his love. He really wishes he could be here to celebrate.”

“Oh, of course, sweetheart. What fun that would be, but I understand. He has so much going on. He e-mailed me a birthday poem this morning. I swear, that man can write anything.”

“He says you two are overdue for dinner.” Hogan and I get together every few months—stealthily. Hogan doesn’t think it’s a big deal that we are practically family and always reminds me that I earned my success fair and square, but I am still leery of people knowing about our relationship and feeling like there’s any whiff of favoritism. We’ve both just been so busy now that shooting has started that we haven’t found time to get together. And honestly, another reason I haven’t been so eager to book dinner is that I will have to tell him about Craig. Unless Craig already told him—which I doubt, because one whiff and Hogan would’ve been on me like white on rice. I don’t know how Hogan is going to feel about it, but I guess I am going to find out soon enough. For now, I put the thought out of my head so I can focus on the party.

I look up in time to see my dad dipping my mom on the dance floor. They look so young and in love. I know how lucky I am to have these parents, this family, this community. Mom and Dad have each given Matthew, Mike, and me countless pieces of relationship advice over the years and have refrained during any heartbreak my brothers and I experienced, or whenever we marveled at how they did it when our other friends’ parents were getting divorced. My dad always said,
“Remember, honey. A leopard doesn’t change his spots. People are who they are; they don’t change too much. Your mom always loved me for who I was, and I loved her for that.”
Or from my mom:
“Make sure he loves you just a little bit more than you love him. And surprise him with lingerie at least once a year.”
I could have gone without that last tidbit. But as I see my parents dance into the night and as I cry through my father’s moving toast, all I can think is,
I’m so glad it’s worked for them
. I also try to imagine Craig dipping me on the old parquet dance floor under a moose head strung with Christmas lights, but somehow my brain can’t process an image
that includes Craig
and
a moose head. I text him a picture of the moose:

The next night, my brothers and I are at a clambake at Wolf Lake, clinking beer bottles to toast a wonderful surprise party. Matthew can’t stop replaying the iPhone video of Mom blowing out her candles and accidentally blowing a bunch of frosting into Dad’s beard. Tonight is another perfect night, cool and crisp. My legs are a little sore from hiking all day, but a good kind of sore. And once again, I’m surrounded by old friends. I didn’t know who was going to show up, when Molly, a friend from high school who now works as a waitress at Pete’s, sent out the Facebook invite—and the answer was everyone. Or at least everyone who went to Brooke Haven High School between 1998 and 2008. The only difference is, back in the day, we would have had beers and joints (well, me just the one time), and now there’s beer and… kids running around. Brian’s twins are currently having a heated sword fight with two long sticks, and I am hoping that no one loses a cornea tonight. Snuggled together on the other side of the fire, Brian and Lily seem unfazed by their boys’ antics. Actually, Lily seems much more concerned with finding the perfect song on her iPod to play on the Bluetooth speakers they brought. Mike’s best friend, Jacob, claims that he should get to pick since he won the afternoon’s hacky sack game and that that’s always been the rule (a rule no one remembers). Eventually Springsteen fills the air.

No one is talking about scripts, schedules, or screen tests. No one is looking over anyone else’s shoulder to see if someone more
important is in the room. The women are eating and wearing faded jeans from the Gap. Once again, I try to picture Craig sitting here with us, and the image just doesn’t compute. Craig channeling his inner mountain man would be really entertaining… or a disaster. But he did say that he’d love to visit, so maybe I’m not giving him enough credit.

Being with my family and old friends this weekend, I’ve felt very far from home, and at the same time right at home. And sitting in front of this campfire, I have one of those moments of feeling totally and utterly at peace in my skin. The kind of moment where you didn’t even realize how wound up you were, until the feeling of calm settles on you. I take a deep breath, enjoying the cool mountain air and the sharp scent of firewood.

“What’s going on in that busy head, Sis?” Matthew leans in next to me as he pokes a stick at the fire.

“Nothing.” I laugh. “You’d just tease me for being sentimental.”

“Well, since I haven’t seen you in what seems like forever, I will allow your sentimentality only this once.” Matthew does a mock stern voice.

“It’s just nice… you know? Being home. That even though we’ve been away so long, leading whole other lives, we come back here, and everything just falls into place. It’s like nothing has changed; we’re still in high school, coming up here every weekend. We’re so lucky. Most people don’t have this.”

“I know what you mean. But don’t you think it’s great that you get the best of both worlds? You get to have your life in LA, pursue your dreams, and Wolf is always here. It’s the rock.” We both keep looking at the fire. My brother is not usually this deep.

“I’m jealous that you’re back here,” I say. “You had your adventures, and now you’re going to live near Mom and Dad, inspire the next generation of Wolverines… maybe finally date someone longer than two months.” I playfully punch his arm.

“Well, yes to the first two for sure,” he says, laughing. “I can’t promise the last one, but I’m psyched to be home. And I’ll be closer to LA now, so I can pop down and visit. You can take me to lunch on Rodeo Drive.” He jokingly pronounces it “rodeo,” as in bull riding and cattle calls. At least I
think
he’s joking.

“Sure thing, we can do that. I love you, baby brother.”

“You too, Sis,” he says, getting up to grab more firewood. “And you know, Maddy, you could always move home too. I mean, it’s not unthinkable.”

I sit quietly pondering that for a while and wonder why, even though I love it here, it’s never occurred to me to move back to Wolf. Can you really go home again? And can I give up my career? I stuff these thoughts away, happy to let the music, fun, and beer sweep over me.

Hours later, the crowd has thinned as some of the families with young kids have gone home, but the dancing is still going strong. Everyone is laughing and getting crazy. I sit in a lounge chair, sweaty from my classic ’80s dance moves, catching my breath. Brian squats down next to me, watching the chaos. He smells like campfire and musk, a smell I would bottle if I could.

“Hey, you. Where are the kids?” I ask.

“Lily took them home. They didn’t even move when we put them in the car seats. They’re going to sleep well tonight.”

“That’s good. You and Lily are such great parents, Brian. I don’t know how you do it.”

“I know, right. How did that happen? One minute, we’re kids playing around this very campsite, and the next, we’re bringing our own kids here. It’s freaky. How did we get old enough to have kids? Sometimes I still feel I’m acting the part of Dad. Cool Dad, of course,” Brian says, laughing. “Hey, wanna go for a walk?”

“Sure.” I look back at the rowdy crowd. “Let’s go.”

When we finally get far enough away from the cars and the fire, Brian pulls out a mini flashlight.

“It’s a full moon tonight. What’s that for?” I ask.

“I thought you might get scared since you’re a city-folk type now.”

“Ha-ha,” I say as we head into the night. “Do I really seem different now?”

“A little. I mean, it has been ten years; it’s going to change you. It’s meant to change you a little, right?”

“Yeah, but when does it get to be too much?”

Our conversation stops as we get to the darkened lodge and the lift rising up the mountain in the distance like a shadow.

“Should we go up?” He turns to me, smiling mischievously.

“What the hell. For old time’s sake.”

I get the keys from my dad’s hiding spot. Thankfully, that hasn’t changed. And within minutes, Brian and I are riding up the mountain on the bunny slope lift.

“Do you know how much trouble we would be in—today, never mind when we were kids—if my dad ever caught us doing this?”

“Some things never change.” Sittting on top of the tarp protecting the seats from the summer sun, isn’t as comfortable today as it was when we were kids. But we sit together, heading up the darkened hillside, and there’s just an easy silence. This is one of my favorite things about being with Brian; we don’t have to talk.

Finally, after a moment, he leans into my shoulder. “So, Maddy. How’s life?”

I take a minute to answer because I know Brian really wants to know.

“I’m good. It’s good. I’m still loving working on
The Wrong Doctor
. This season is going well, but it’s hectic.”

“Lily and I can’t wait for the new season. Any insider scoop for us?”

“No spoilers from me. Besides, that would ruin it. I will tell you, we have a great new character. This guy Adam Devin. Lily watches
Days
, right? He’s on it.”

“Oh, man, first you have Billy Fox and now this Devin guy? You just want to torture me while my wife swoons over your friends.”

“Well, they’re not exactly my friends. Well, Billy is for sure. But I barely know Adam. I am sure he’s like all the rest, though. I will be happy to remind Lily that she’s way better off with you. You can catch a fish with your bare hands. Adam would need two prop guys and a stunt double to pull that off,” I add with Wolverine and ex-girlfriend loyalty. “You guys should come down and come on set one day. It would be fun.”

“God, Lily would love that. With the little guys, it’s hard to imagine getting away to LA. But we’ll try. I’m glad you’re still loving your job, Maddy. Any idea what comes next? Maybe your own movie or show? I mean, you have all of these good ideas. I remember all of the stories you used to tell me as we sat in our tree.”

“We were fourteen, Brian. All those stories were about lost love and teen angst.” I laugh and cringe simultaneously at the memories. “Besides, LA is a very different place; that’s not how the world works. There are the creatives and there are the worker bees. I’m a worker bee and that’s fine. I love my job; it’s what I want.”

“Yeah, I just don’t like to see you get into a rut. You left Wolf to achieve something big and amazing. I don’t want you to lose sight of that.”

“Does my life really sound that boring to you?” I ask, trying to keep the edge out of my voice.

“Not at all. Your life is amazing. Are you kidding? Lily is always looking for you in
US Weekly
and
People
magazine. She swears you must be just off-screen in every shot.”

“Please assure her that I am not.”

“We just want you to be happy. I know how hard it was for you when your parents forced you to take time away from Wolf after college.”

“They didn’t
force
me…” They sat me down and lectured me until I relented. I was so cocky at twenty-two, thinking I knew best—I was willing to take their dare, to live somewhere else, just to make sure Wolf was what I wanted. Within a year of living in LA, I realized why they went the tough-love route. I would never have taken the chance otherwise, and now I wouldn’t trade my life for anything.

“I don’t think either of us pictured you working in Tinseltown,” he jokes, to lighten up his sudden serious turn. “I know it meant so much to you to prove yourself to Hogan and your parents. I just hope it’s still what you want.”

When was the last time I actually stopped to think about what I really want?

“It is, Brian.”

“And what about your love life? All work and no play, as they say.” He flashes me the same huge grin that melted my fourteen-year-old heart. I knew this was coming, but for some reason, I just don’t feel like telling him about Craig. It’s so new.

“I see your plan, Brian. You did this on purpose. You got me up here on a freakin’ ski lift so I’m trapped, and then you interrogate me. I can throw you off this thing, you know.”

“You didn’t answer the question, Maddy.”

I just look at him and roll my eyes. “I know.”

Saved by the bell, my phone rings, and it’s my dad calling.

“Hey, Daddy, how are you?”

“Good. Where are you?”

“Oh, um… just at the campfire… talking with Brian.” Brian
and I look at each other and crack up that we’re still sneaking around behind my dad’s back all these years later.

“What’s that loud noise?” Oh God, the lift motor—of course he can hear that.

“I don’t know. The reception is really bad up here. I’m losing you.” I stagger my words so it seems like I’m cutting in and out. Unbelievable how easy it is to revert to a teenaged mind-set.

“I feel like a monkey trying to do math, trying to use this damn thing. Your mom and I are headed to bed, so we’ll miss you when you get home. We’re zonked after today, so we just wanted to say good night and make sure we’re on for lunch tomorrow before you hit the road.”

“Yep, lunch sounds good.”

“We were going to go to Crazy Eights Café, but now your mom wants to make lunch with that sandwich thingy you got her.”

I am touched my gift was such a hit. “That sounds great.”

“Good, because your mom and I want to have a check-in.”

In Carson family lingo, a check-in is a talk about some sort of family business, like where our vacation would be or when my brother decided to go climb Kilimanjaro. Once when I was seven, Mike, Matthew, and I called a check-in to discuss getting a pool in the backyard. The answer: no.

“Is everything okay, Dad?”

“Yeah, all fine. We just want to have time with our girl.”

But something about the way he says it is unconvincing. As Brian and I make our way back to the campfire, I have a nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach.