Someone Else's Life (29 page)

Holly

I stare out my bedroom window at the dark driveway.

Still no Rosie.

I hope she’s okay. Hope she’s not hiding away somewhere, upset.

Hope she’s going to keep her promise …

I sigh.
Yeah, right
. Like she’s really gonna still give me five hundred dollars, after her boyfriend just returned from out of the blue—
to see me
.

I sink onto my bed.

But my appointment’s tomorrow …

I bite my lip. I could try asking Dad again after he finishes work, but …

But he wants to
sit down and talk about it properly
, I remember miserably.
This isn’t something you want to rush into
—
there’s no hurry
.

But how can I tell him there
is
a hurry, without telling him I’m
pregnant
?

I close my eyes, imagining the whole new can of worms
that
would open—something I just can’t even bear thinking about tonight. Everything’s hard enough already.

I flop back onto my pillow and pull Kitty’s letter from my drawer:

Dear Holly
,

I know nothing I say can ever make up for what I did, or the years I’ve missed …

No kidding.

And I know you probably won’t believe me, but I’ve regretted it every single day since
.

My heart bleeds.

You’re an adult now, Holly, and while I realize I’ve missed my chance to be any sort of mother to you, I hope you will accept my gift of $10,000
.

Translation: I’m so rich I can buy myself out of any situation, and usually do.

I’ve missed so many birthdays, so many Christmases, and whilst I know money can never make up for what we’ve lost, I hope it may be useful to you
—
that I can at least make your life easier in some small way as you head into adulthood
—
to college, or whatever path you choose
.

I swallow.
Whatever path I choose
 …

The last thing I want now is to make your life any more difficult, but I do fear that now our paths have crossed once more, the media may try to intrude on your life
—
as they do in almost every aspect of mine
.

I shudder, imagining reporters swarming round our house, digging up all our secrets—
my secrets
—printing them for the whole world to see.…

Consequently, I feel it would be much better for everyone if the press does not get involved, and wonder if you would be so kind as to sign the enclosed form, fill in your bank details, and fax it back to me, so I may transfer your money directly
.

Ten thousand dollars … I glance at the form: the space for my account details, the paragraph promising I won’t speak to the press, then a box for my signature.

Ten thousand dollars
 …

Darling Holly, you may not be my biological daughter, but you are the baby I held in my arms, the child I named, the daughter I’ve missed all these years …

I swallow hard.

Please believe me when I say I will never forgive myself for leaving you. The only excuse I have is that I was seventeen, no one knew I was pregnant and I was scared out of my mind
.

I bite my lip. She was like me, I realize suddenly. Except she was a year younger …

I feel so ashamed of what I did, and understand if you can never forgive me, if you never want to see or speak to me ever again. But I would be eternally grateful if you would accept my olive branch, and allow me to at least help you in this small way, my Holly
.

Sincerely
,

Kitty Clare

I stare at the letter.

Strangely, I don’t feel as angry this time. What she did doesn’t seem quite so awful. Despite myself, I even feel a stab of sympathy for her, this woman who deserted me, whose footsteps I’m inadvertently following.

Yes, Kitty abandoned her baby—but she was a teenager, younger than I am. And aren’t I doing something similar—
worse
, even—by considering abortion? I close my eyes.

At least Kitty’s trying to make up for what she did. True, money isn’t a great way to do it, but as it happens, it’s exactly what I need at the moment. Kitty may not have been my mother for all these years, but now, ironically, she’s the one person who can help me out, give me the money I need, no questions asked.

And she’s offered it to me on a plate.

In return for … what? Forgiveness? Closure? A guarantee that I won’t run off to some tabloid and sell my story? As if I’d want to. Why would I want my life invaded, my secrets splashed all over some magazine, some paper, some Website?

And, if not quite forgiveness, I can certainly swallow my pride for the sake of my baby—for the sake of ten thousand dollars that will allow me to get tested anonymously, to protect my future—our future.

And why
shouldn’t
I get something from Kitty after all these years? She owes me. And she’s right, it would make my life—
my decisions
—much easier …

I stare at the form a moment longer, then grab a pen and fill it in, sign my name and fax it off.

Perhaps some good can finally come out of this awful situation after all.

Rosie

The frosty wind whispers around my shoulders as I gaze up at the huge two-story lobster-pot Christmas tree, its cheerful lights glowing determinedly, despite the darkening night and icy cold, despite the fact that there’s hardly anyone here to see it—despite the fact that Christmas was nearly a month ago.

The pretty red ribbons flutter in the breeze as I huddle in my hoodie, chilled to the bone, but not from the wind. I can’t face going back to the house yet—not if Andy might still be there. I have enough imagined pictures of him with Holly floating round my head without risking adding real ones by returning too soon.

I hug my hoodie closer, Holly’s money tucked safely inside. It’s still hers, after all—she deserves it, whatever’s happening with Andy. From the sounds of it, she wouldn’t even take his calls—his “million voice mails,” I remember bitterly.

I realize I’m fiddling with the birthstone necklace and pull my hand away sharply, staring at the lights until they splinter and blur like reflections on the tide.

Suddenly they’re blotted out.

“Hey,” Andy says quietly.

I look away. “How’d you know I’d be here?”

“I didn’t.”

“Oh.” I flinch, hating my heart for leaping at his arrival, only to be crushed yet again. He hasn’t come to see me. It’s just a coincidence. It’s only a small town, after all.

“I looked everywhere else,” Andy explains, sinking down next to me on the bench. “There’s not that many places to search. Especially in off-season.” He smiles wryly but I don’t look up.

“And I remembered how much you loved this tree when we found it.”

I stare up at it, at the cheerful red plastic lobster, king for once, high above the beribboned pots, trying to ignore the heat I feel from Andy’s body close to mine.

“Rosie,” he sighs. “I’m sorry about what I said. I was wrong.” He looks at me. “You were right to come here, to tell them …” He takes a deep breath. “Holly had to know.”

I stare at my feet.

“What she’s going through, what’s happened—it’s not your fault … None of it is.” He shakes his head. “And it’s really brave of you to stay, to face up to the consequences, take responsibility … I’m not so great at that.” He smiles ruefully. “But I’ve come back to give it a go.”

He covers my hand gently with his.

“I’m proud of you, Rose. You’re so strong. When I think of everything you’ve been through … You’re the strongest girl I’ve ever met.”

He squeezes my hand tight, his warm palm enclosing mine.

I squeeze back. “Thank you, Andy.”

“And Holly needs that strength—needs you—even if she doesn’t always like to admit it.”

I look away, suddenly cold again despite his hand clutching mine.

“Holly.” I nod. “You came back to be with Holly.”

“Don’t be an idiot, Rose.” He sighs, smoothing my hair as it tangles in the wind. “I’m just … helping her with something, trying to follow your example.” He cups my face, his eyes deep in mine. “There’s nothing between me and Holly.” He brushes my cheek tenderly. “There’s only you. There’s only ever been you.”

I look at him, his eyes fathomless in the dark, glittering with the reflections of the tiny lights.

“I thought you’d gone for good,” I whisper.

“I promised I’d come back,” he reminds me. “I couldn’t leave things the way they ended—I had to apologize, tell you you were right.” He smiles. “You seem to be making real progress with Jack—with Holly …”

I nod. “I hope so.”

“And believe me, you didn’t miss anything in Washington. I didn’t even get to the Smithsonian—Aunt Patty was on overdrive, dragging me round town to meet all her friends and neighbors—you had a lucky escape.” He grins.

I smile faintly.

“You were right to stay,” he says gently. “You’re needed here.”

I search his eyes. “And you …?” I ask tentatively.

“I’ll stay if you want me to,” he promises. “But you don’t need me, Rose—look how far you’ve come on your own. You’re really building bridges here, and I
really
don’t want to get in the way of that.” He strokes my face. “They’re your family, Rose, there’s nothing more important. They have to come first. They need you—
all
of you—as long as it takes.” He squeezes my hand.

I nod slowly, staring at our hands, trying to work out whose fingers are whose.

“Where does that leave us?”

“I don’t know,” he sighs. “I love you, Rosie Kenning.” He grips my hand tight, and my heart aches. “And I’m so glad everything’s working out for you—with Kitty, with Jack, with Holly … I’m so happy for you.” He looks at me, his eyes shining. “But right now … it seems like we’re just on different paths.” He sighs.

I swallow hard, my insides twisting as he lifts my chin.

“Once everything’s settled down—when the moment’s right, when we’re both ready … that’s when our paths will come together—that’ll be our time …” His eyes swim as he cups my face. “We’ll have our time. I know it.” He smiles fiercely and my throat swells. “And we’ll finally go traveling together. Just you, me, the beach and the sea—no stress … no worries … and it will be … 
incredible
.” He grins. “If our week in New York’s anything to go by, I can’t wait!”

His eyes sparkle and I giggle weakly.

“I love you, Rosie,” he tells me, his voice husky as he kisses a tear from my cheek. “But for now—just for now—they need you more.”

I nod painfully, his face blurring in the dark.

He pulls me close and I shut my eyes, trying to memorize the feel of his body against mine, every centimeter his warmth touches … until finally he breaks away.

“Au revoir.” He smiles, kisses me softly before slowly walking away.

And although I feel cold without him, shivering violently in the empty square, watching him disappear into the night—though the future’s dark, and I don’t know when I’ll see him again—deep inside me, a flame burns on.

Holly

The burning sun is just starting to creep over the neighbors’ houses, gilding the roofs and chasing away the shadows, as I brush the dirt off my knees and wriggle into the dusty corner. It’s smaller than I remember up here, darker, damper. But then, it would be; I haven’t been up to my tree house in about eight years.

I pull my jacket tighter against the chilly morning air as I gaze around at the peeling pictures and discarded toys. A long-forgotten treasure chest sits rotting in the corner, the bright paint faded, like the old scrap of damp carpet beneath me. It’s been a long time—a lifetime—but it’s still my place. The playroom Dad built for me; the den where Melissa and I shared our secrets and spied on the neighborhood boys, watching for hours as they lay bronzing in the sun, imagining our first kisses.

I lean back and my hand rests on something soft. I pick it up and dust it off, surprised. His fur is coarse, roughened with age and adventures, but the teddy bear’s deep chocolaty eyes smile at me knowingly, his scent wonderfully familiar. Mr. Brown. My favorite toy since I was a baby.

A baby
. I hug my stomach, which is just beginning to swell against my waistband.

Will you play up here someday, baby? Will you cuddle Mr. Brown, read these books, climb that rope
-
ladder …?

Suddenly the ladder pulls tight, and I spring back, startled, as Dad’s head pops up above the floorboards.

“Hey.” He smiles, wobbling on the rungs. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. Your mobile was ringing.” He tosses me Andy’s cell phone and I glance at it quickly—it could be the clinic. I forgot to check the voice mail.

“Permission to enter?” he asks.

I shrug, wiping my eyes and scooting over quickly as he crawls awkwardly into the tiny room, tucking his knees up against his chin.

“I like what you’ve done with the place,” he jokes, looking around at the layers of dust and cobwebs.

I smile despite myself. He looks ridiculous—like a giant folded into a nutshell.

“Well I never!” He gasps, his eyes falling on the teddy bear. “Mr. Brown! How are you, old fella?” He fondles the bear’s ears affectionately. “I thought we’d lost him years ago—never dared mention it to you because one time when you lost him for just a day you were inconsolable. Even ice cream for breakfast, lunch and dinner didn’t cheer you up! You cried so hard you gave yourself a headache. Just as well, really—it was only when I went to get some painkillers that I found him, hidden in the medicine chest!” He laughs.

“I’ll never forget the look on your face when I brought him riding into your bedroom on my shoulders. You looked at me like I was your hero, like I could fix anything.” He smiles wistfully. “I loved that. You’d come to me with your cuts and scrapes and nightmares and I’d kiss them all better, solve everything with a wave of my magic wand. It was the best feeling in the world.” He beams at me for a moment; then his face clouds over.

“I’m sorry I can’t fix this, Holly-berry.” He sighs heavily. “I’d give anything, you know, do anything to change things—to swap places …”

I look at him. For the first time in my life he looks old.

“You lost your magic wand?” I joke, my voice light.

He smiles sadly. “Yes, yes, I suppose I have.”

I stare at the floor, at the knotted wood swirling and splintering beneath us, yet somehow still managing to hold us up, at least for now.

“But I still have some magical powers.”

“Oh, yeah?” I raise an eyebrow.

“Uh-huh. My shoulders are actually super-spongy-sturdy stress supporters,
plus
I have super-sensitive-sympathetic listening skills.”

“Bonus.” I grin, and he smiles.

“So … you and Josh …”

I shrug. “Didn’t work out.”

“I’m sorry,” Dad says sincerely. “What happened?”

“It just … didn’t work out,” I repeat quietly.

“Right.” He nods. “Only I hope it wasn’t to do with Hunt—”

“It’s for the best,” I interrupt quickly.

“Right.” Dad nods, and we both stare at the floor. “You know, I do also have super-sonic-shutting-up powers …,” he says gently. “On occasion …”

I grin despite myself. “Rarely used.”

“Rarely used,” he admits, smiling.

I sniff. “How about super-human-hugging powers?”

“Now,
those
,” he says, wrapping one big arm around me and pulling me close, “are my specialty.”

I close my eyes and lean into him, his arms tight around me, the musty smell of his old woolly sweater warm and familiar.

“Oh, Holly-berry,” he sighs, rocking me like a child. “You know, it hardly seems two minutes ago that I first gave you Mr. Brown to soothe you to sleep as a baby.” He looks at me. “Did you know he used to be mine, when I was a little boy?”

I stare up at him. “Really?”

He nods. “I loved him so much, I never went anywhere without him—I never thought I could ever part with him.” He looks at me. “But it turned out I could—for something I loved infinitely more. My first child.”

My heart sinks as rapidly as it rose.

“Then he wasn’t for me, was he?” I say, looking away. “He was for her. For Rosie.”
Just like everything else
.

“No, Holly-berry,” Dad says gently. “He was always meant for you. You’re the one who needed him, who couldn’t sleep without him. Who loved him.” He strokes my hair off my face. “Some things are yours because you’re born with them—your DNA, the color of your eyes—and other things become yours because they’re a part of
you
, who you
choose
to be—and that’s so much more important.” He sighs. “Huntington’s … whether you have it or not, that’s not who you are. It doesn’t define you, Holly.”

I look away.

“You are the decisions you make. The things you do. The people you love and who love you. They’re the things that really make you who you are.” He smiles. “That’s why Mr. Brown here will always be yours, just like this tree house, like the scar on your knee where you fell off your trike.” He links his pinkie with mine. “He’s a part of who you
are
. Intertwined. Inseparable. And no one can ever take that away. Ever.” His eyes linger on mine, deep and full. “He’ll always be yours.”

My heart swells.

“Until you decide to give him to your own child one day.” He grins, handing Mr. Brown to me and pulling me closer. “It’s a crazy thing, becoming a parent,” he whispers into my hair. “You never realize just how much it’s possible to love someone else. How another life can be so much more important than your own … until suddenly you do.”

I stare at Mr. Brown and swallow hard. Now’s the time, the moment.

“Dad …”

“I know, I know.” He grins. “Slushy slushy, but you’ll understand one day, when it’s your turn.”

“Dad …”

“And that’s a long way in the future, I know!” He laughs. “Supersonic-shutting-up powers activated.”

“No, Dad …” I hesitate.
I have to do this
. “Dad, you know those super-sensitive listening skills?”

“Super-sensitive-sympathetic listening skills,” he corrects me.

“Dad.”

“Sorry,” he says. “Activated. Shoot.”

I look at him, my heart pounding in my chest. Suddenly I smile, certain that everything will be okay. “Dad, I—I’m—”

“Jack!” Megan yells from the garden.

Dad glances outside, then back at me. “Go ahead.”

“I …,” I begin again.

“Jack!”

His gaze remains firmly on mine.

I take a deep breath.

“Jack!”
Megan yells again. “Jack, where
are
you?”

I look down at her pacing the garden, and my pulse races. I can’t do this in a hurry.

“You’d better answer her,” I tell him, my heart sinking.

He sticks his head out of the door. “Megan!” he calls. “I’m in the tree house with Holly—can it wait?”

Megan hurries over, a large envelope in her hand. “I’m sorry, no, it can’t,” she says, swiping her frazzled hair from her eyes. “Jack, you have to see this,” she says, her face deathly pale. “You too, Holly.”