The Girl of Sand & Fog (40 page)

“You are not a terrible person, sweetheart. Look
around you. We all love you. Forgive yourself, Kaley. Let go of the past.
That’s what your mom and I have decided to do.”

He starts to rock me gently. Forgive yourself and
let go of the past. It sounds like something Bobby would say.

An image of Bobby that last night before I left
California rises in my head. The look in his eyes.
You need to figure out,
Kaley, if you want me because you love me or because you hate Alan.

I pull back and look up at him. Alan is my father.
I need to forgive both him and myself for all our sakes. I love my  dad. It’s
time to let go of the past. If I don’t, things will never be completely right
with my family or with Bobby ever again.

“Everything is going to be OK, Kaley,” he says
reassuringly.

I nod, brushing at my dripping nose with the back
of my hand. “I’m glad you finally made up with Mom and asked her to come here.
You’re doing all right as a dad—that talk was really good—but there are times a
girl just needs her mother. And Mom is a great mom.”

My dad stares at me, unsure how to react, but
Chrissie is laughing so hard it looks like she can hardly breathe. She drops a
kiss on my head and then one on my dad’s cheek.

“That, Alan, is what I wish we had on film.”

CHAPTER 30

Toronto,
Canada, three months later

I
sit on a stadium chair, listening to my dad doing a sound check on stage and
waiting for Graham Carson to finish watching the final cut of my documentary
about the tour.

I can’t tell by his face if he thinks it’s good
or bad.
Shit,
why did I show him this? I didn’t realize how much the film mattered to me
until I hit play. I also didn’t realize how much it mattered to me what Graham
would think of it.

It was, after all, his suggestion. Filming our
months on the road. His voice rises in my memory—
the camera doesn’t lie. Not
if you don’t let it. Film everything and you might learn something about your
father.

Fifty-nine minutes of torture and still counting.
Fuck, throw me a bone here. Anything to tell me what you think. His eyes have
been locked on the screen, his expression agonizingly neutral, and he hasn’t
pulled out the earbuds once so I can ask him what he thinks of what he’s seen
so far.

I curl my legs up in front of me and turn until
I’m facing him. Oh well. No need to panic over it now. It’s done. I don’t know
what to do with the film now. Showing Alan seems too daunting a thing just yet.
Graham’s right. The camera doesn’t lie if you don’t let it.

He makes a low whistle, pulls out the earbuds and
sits back in his chair. “Jesus Christ.”

My eyes go wide. “Is that good or bad?”

He studies me, shaking his head. “How old are
you, kid?”

“Eighteen. I was eighteen when you met me.
Eighteen when we started this today and even though you took forever to watch
my documentary”—I make a silly face—“I’m still eighteen.”

“You have one hell of an eye, Kaley.” He clicks
closed the laptop. “It’s an amazing film.
Long and Hard: My Journey With my
Father
. When the title came up on screen, my heart stopped and I got
chills. I couldn’t tear my eyes away until it was finished.”

A beaming smile fills my face before I can stop
it. “Really? You think it’s good?”

His gaze softens, approving. “Best documentary
I’ve ever seen about your dad, hands down, and I’ve seen them all. You captured
the real Alan Manzone brilliantly—the still pictures cut into the film at times
gave me goosebumps. You capture the man and that’s something every other cinematographer
has failed to do completely.”

My cheeks rapidly heat. “Thanks. It means a lot
to me that you think it’s good.”

Graham hands the computer back to me. “Have you
shown it to your dad?”

I shake my head.

“Why not? He’d be so proud of you if he could see
that. And I think really happy. Because that’s not just a film about him. It’s
film about you, too, and how much you love your dad. It’s in every frame of
film how much you love your father. Show it to him, Kaley. He deserves to see
it. The past four months have been a journey for your dad, too. Let him know
that he’s forgiven and you love him.”

I fight not to get all teary-eyed and exhale the
breath I’ve been holding. I shrug. “Maybe. I don’t know. I don’t know if we’re
ready for that much honesty between us yet in our relationship.”

Graham slips an arm around my neck, pulling me in
to drop a kiss on my curls. “Alan is there. He always has been. But now you
are, too. Show it to him, Kaley.”

I nod, struggling to hold back my emotion because
Graham reads me like a book and is right. He’s always right about everything.
Overbearing at times with his opinions, but he’s a good friend with my best
interests at heart.

“You doing all right, Kaley?”

I nod.

He smiles. “You must be really excited about
going home to California tomorrow.”

To hide my expression from him, I focus on
loading my junk into my tote. The mention of home is a definite mood kill.
“Excited? Sort of. I don’t really have anything going on at home.”

“You start USC in September. That definitely
sounds like something exciting to me.”

“Yep. I do have school.” I put the strap of my
bag over my head. “Can you take me back to the hotel?”

His brows shoot up. “You want to leave when your
mom’s on stage? I think she’s going to sing with your dad. Don’t you want to
listen?”

I shift my gaze to find Chrissie next to Alan
center stage. Jeez, they look so happy. Everyone is happy—my folks, my brothers
and sisters—
everyone except me.

I debate grabbing my camera and snapping a
picture of them. Oh well, the documentary is done, and this experience is done,
too. The way my parents stare at each other reminds me of everything I lost and
makes the hurt in my heart burn.

All going back to California means is that
tomorrow my next phase of life starts: Pacific Palisades without Bobby.

The lump in my throat becomes strangling.

Graham slips an arm around me.

“It’s going to be all right, Kaley. If it was
meant to be, it will be there when you get home. Four months won’t have changed
a thing. And if Bobby is not there waiting for you, then he wasn’t worth your
time in the first place.”

Shit, how did he know what I was thinking?

I settle back into my seat, slouch down and brace
my feet on the back of the chair in front of me. “We broke up. It’s over. I
don’t expect him to be waiting for me.”

Graham shakes his head at me. “He’ll be there.
I’m not worried about that.”

I wish I could believe him, but I don’t.

The arena fills with the sound of screaming
guitars and my parents’ voices. Slowly we slouch into each other, my head
tilted and resting against Graham’s, our eyes glued on the mesmerizing picture
that is my mother when she’s with Alan.

“God, your mom’s incredible,” Graham murmurs
appreciatively. “Her voice is like a thousand volt jolt through the body.
Forty-two years old and she’s still one of the sexiest women I’ve ever seen.”

I grimace. “Gross. Don’t say things like that
about my mother. Besides, you’re gay. She should do nothing for you.”

Graham’s eyes start to twinkle. “Sexy is sexy,
sweetheart. I don’t need to be straight to see how hot your mom is. Both of
your parents are sexy as hell.”

I shudder. “Ew. Anyway, my mom has no moves at
all on stage. She’s got to be one of the least coordinated recording artists
ever.”

Graham’s head goes back as he laughs. “OK. I’ll
give you that. She’s no Jennifer Lopez, but she doesn’t have to be. Even no
moves works for Chrissie.”

I watch her. Jeez, Dad is smiling and staring at
her as if she’s the most amazing thing ever.

My humor vanishes and my mood dips.

A prick of sadness.

“Everything works for Chrissie. Always. My mom
has everything she wants, the way she wants, always.”

Graham takes me in a one-arm, shoulder-wrapping
hug and lays his cheek on my curls. “You do, too, Kaley. And you always will.
You just don’t know it yet.”

CHAPTER 31

I
stare out the window as the plane slowly descends. Southern California has
never looked better to me than it does today from the air.

I’m finally home. I can track down Bobby and try
to fix things with him, though I’m sure the smart girl move would be not to
chase him and I’m pretty sure my dad is going to object if I try to cut out
first thing.

My dad will tell me not to do it.

He’s probably right.

His guy advice is always right, probably because
he’s
such
a guy, the alpha male of all alpha males.

I’m going after Bobby anyway.

I turn and stare at the closed door of the
luxurious sleeping compartment on Alan’s Lear jet where my parents have hung
out alone pretty much since wheels up in Toronto. It’s sweet, though awkward at
times, how into each other they are. Who would have thought two people could
still be so hot and heavy and in love at their age, especially after five kids?

Yep, I’ve definitely witnessed a lot of
too
much visual
moments since my mom flew to Australia to be with Dad. As
embarrassing as they behave at times, watching them makes me a little sad and
jealous. It’s like there is no one else in the world for them than each other,
and though it’s confusing that their life together wasn’t always a smooth
thing, it’s kind of a nice feeling to know I have two parents married and
deeply in love with each other.

My gaze shifts to my sister sound asleep in
Lourdes’s arms. Khloe is so lucky that that is all she’s ever going to have in
her life: both parents loving her and in love with each other. There’s not a
doubt in my mind that Chrissie and Alan are going to be together forever this
time.

I shut down the twinge of resentment inside me
because it’s wrong and I don’t want to resent Khloe any longer, and I’m really
glad that she’s here. I’m not sure we would have ever become a family without
her.

And my mom is so happy. I’ve never seen her
happier. Nope, it’s time to put the past and the unpleasant feelings away, and
only enjoy where we all are today.

One family, a little weird, totally not normal,
but good.

“We are thirty minutes from touching down in Los
Angeles,” the pilot’s voice announces through the intercom. “It’s clear skies,
74 degrees in the south land, and we should be taxiing in around 1:30 p.m.
California time.”

My heart jumps; we’re landing soon.

Maybe it’s safe to bother my parents.

I unbuckle my seat belt—
please let it be safe
—and
make my way toward the back of the plane.

I knock.

I wait.

“You can come in, Kaley,” my dad says through the
door.

My brows hitch up.

How did he know it was me?

I slowly turn the knob, inch it open, peek in and
then breathe a sigh of relief. Alan is sitting on the bed, fully clothed,
reading a newspaper, and my mom is asleep beside him, curled in a tight ball,
using his lap as her pillow.

Not what I expected.

So maritally normal.

Crap, my dad even has half glasses resting low on
his nose.

I sink down on the bed, sitting on my knees
facing them. “How did you know it was me?”

My dad folds his paper and tosses it aside.
“We’re nearly home. Who else would be interrupting us first thing? I’m
reasonably certain none of the rest of the herd is itching to bolt. What do you
want, Kaley?”

I choke back a laugh at the term
herd
and
fight off a grimace at the
itching to bolt
comment.

I shrug.

“I’m itching to bolt.”

Since my dad can read me without effort, no point
in beating around the bush.

He shakes his head slowly, not in a gesture of
no,
you can’t go
, but more in an
I shouldn’t let you do this
kind of
way.

Damn.

“You said,” I remind heatedly before Alan can
formulate a response, “that if I did exactly what you told me to the entire
four months on the road, that I didn’t have to stay in lockdown until the end
of my six months’ probation. I did everything you asked. You said that I could
have my freedom back when we reached LA. You promised. I want to take off for a
while after we land.”

Alan rakes his messy black waves from his face as
his eyes fix on me in an odd blend of amusement, exasperation and apprehension.
“Do you want some advice?”

Oh crap.

“Not really, Pop.”

My dad’s lips pucker as if he’s beating back
laughter. “Well, I’m going to give it to you anyway. Run after a guy and he’ll
run your life forever.”

I let loose an aggravated shake of my head.
“That’s not even close to true and definitely not Bobby. And I’m not running
after anyone.”

“Then there is no reason why you can’t come home
with us, play it cool, and see what happens,” Alan counters quickly. “It’s what
Chrissie wants. It’s what I want. To go home together as a family. It’s
important to us, Kaley.”

I exhale loudly in frustration. “I
have
to
go home with you. How do you think I’m going to get my car? I just want to
leave after I get there. It’s been four months. I just want to see him. Talk to
him. Apologize. I’ve got a lot to apologize for. Come on, Pop. Can’t you be
cool just once?”

He studies me for a moment, unmoved. “Send it in
a letter. No wait, an e-mail. But, please, don’t do it by posting a video
online.”

He starts to laugh and I give him a light shove
in the leg. “Don’t make jokes. This is important.”

“No, Alan’s right,” Chrissie pipes in quietly.

I shift my gaze to find my mom’s eyes wide open
and watching us.

Damn, she’s been awake and listening.

Now I’ve got to battle two of them.

“Please. I promise I’ll be home by curfew. Even
though I’ve never had one and I am over eighteen, you can set one if you let me
go. Please…”

“Don’t wheedle, Kaley. It’s beneath you,” he
teases. We square off with our eyes, but it’s my dad who closes his first. “You
can go if you want to. It was our agreement and I always keep my word, but you
shouldn’t do it, sweetheart.”

Even with the last jibe, I’m so happy I lunge
into my dad and give him a fast hug and kiss.

When I pull back, Alan rolls his eyes and groans.
“Can you do one thing for me, so I’ll worry less about you taking off? Can you
try to be less obvious than you just were with me when you see Bobby?”

My cheeks burn but I nod.

My dad makes an aggravated groan, but I spring
from the bed before he can say another word, and go back to my seat, more than
ready to reach LA now.

The plane tilts, levels off and then I feel a
series of bumps—landing gear touching earth—followed by the loud whoosh of slowing
engines. We taxi and then stop. The steps are pulled down.

The doors open, and a burst of sunshine floods
the cabin with the warm August air. Everyone starts moving, gathering things.
Lourdes ticks off a rapid stream of commands—half in English, half in
Spanish—to my brothers and sisters.

My parents emerge from their private cave, and my
dad lifts Khloe from the housekeeper’s arms.

I pause at the top step of the open cabin door.
Nothing but private aviation personnel, ground crew, the waiting car and driver
to take us home, and the two remaining members of my dad’s security team, Trey
and Graham, who made the last leg of the journey home with us. There’s not even
press here. Just normal airport activity and us.

My mood dips.

I didn’t really expect to see Bobby waiting for
me.

Why did I look to see if he was there?

Stupid, Kaley. Bobby dumped you.

Graham looks up at me, waves, and smiles. I trot
down the steps and cross the tarmac toward him.

“I’m glad my dad picked you to stay with us this
flight.” I make a face. “Don’t take this the wrong way. It doesn’t mean I’m not
happy to be done with having you as my bodyguard everywhere I go, but I’m going
to miss you.”

Graham laughs. “Believe it or not, I’m going to
miss you, too, Kaley.”

“Thank you for everything. You’ve been a really
good friend to me.”

He drops a kiss on top of my head. “Everything is
going to be all right. I’m not worried about you anymore. Things look like
they’re going well with you and your dad. Just—”

He pauses.

I shouldn’t ask.

Fuck, I’m asking.

“Just what?” I demand pointedly. “Spit it out,
Graham. No need to stop being overbearing now.”

I can tell by the gleam in his eyes that I
shouldn’t have stepped into this.

He taps my nose. “Try listening to your dad. He
won’t steer you wrong. He’s a good man and he loves you.”

I groan. “And here we
were, doing so well,
and you had to get one last one in, didn’t you?”

He grins. “I had to try.”

I almost walk away, then I slip my arms around
him and give him a firm hug.

“Kaley…” he chides in a slow, exaggerated way.

“Graham…”

“I’ve already told you. Never do that. Drop your
arms. Step back. We’re in the US. This time your fingers really
are on
my gun.”

Crap.

Grimacing, I do as ordered.

His eyes sparkle at me.

Oh fudge.

“Very funny. Ha, ha, ha. You don’t carry a gun.
You’re only for show. All looks. No heat.”

He arches a brow. “Really? You think no heat?”

“Then show me your gun,” I challenge.

Full dimples this time. “I’m not showing you my
gun, sweetie. I’ve already told you, you’re not my type.”

I explode into laughter.

“You are so obnoxious. I really am going to miss
you.”

Smiling, he juts his chin. “You’re not going to
have time to miss me. I think you’re about to have something better going on
real soon. Definitely hot. Damn. I don’t think he’s here for me.”

I turn in the direction Graham is staring.

My heart jumps.

Parked just beyond the gate of the private
aviation entrance, leaning back against the hood of his Aston Martin.

Bobby.

He did come.

He’s
here.

Green eyes lock on me.

“Kaley, let’s roll,” I hear my dad call out.

I tear my gaze away from Bobby.

Crap. The bags are loaded and everyone’s in the
car except my dad. He’s standing in the space behind the open door, impatient
and ready to go.

“Steady, solider,” Graham whispers. “Try not to
run. Go talk to your dad first. Take your time. Play it cool. Don’t make it too
easy for Bobby. He did break up with you, remember?”

Same advice my dad gave me.

If Graham says it, it’s got to be right.

I wonder if they coordinate via text my daily
doses of male guidance.

I sigh heavily. “I won’t run. I’ll talk to my dad
first. Happy? Jeez, you’re as big of a pain as my dad is sometimes.”

Graham’s laughter follows me as I move toward the
car. I rummage through my bag for my phone and keys, then hand my carry tote to
the driver.

I turn to Alan. “Bobby’s here.”

My dad frowns. He scans the airport. His face
changes; he’s spotted Bobby.

“Well, can I go?”

Shit, Alan’s expression isn’t encouraging.

“Are you going to remember what I said?”

I nod.

“I want you back at the house no later than ten.”

Crap.

Ten?

The curfew nonsense just blew up in my face.

I didn’t mean it.

I’m eighteen.

This is stupid.

“Fine. Ten. Can I go?”

Waiting.

Waiting.

“Please?”

Come on, Alan, come through for me.

“You can go,” he says slowly, then winks and
smiles.

Jeez.

“God, why do you have to be that way? You were
going to let me go all along and dragged it out. Do you always have to be
so—so—?”

Crap. I don’t know what to call it.

“Parental?” He lifts a brow. “Yes. I do. I love
you.”

He climbs into the car.

“Ten p.m. Not one second later,” he orders before
the door is shut.

I stay rooted in place, deciding to wait until
they’re gone before I make my move. Once the black SUV disappears from view, I
shift my gaze to Bobby.