Acting Up (20 page)

“Sorry,” he said, clearing his throat.

Addison managed a nonchalant smile. “It's okay.”

The thick tome went back into storage. Then he reached for the next box and ripped it open. Lying on top was a picture of an attractive couple in not-so-flattering 1970s' garb. The lack of fashion sense couldn't diminish their wide, happy smiles.

Addison gasped.

“Your parents?” Ethan guessed.

She picked up the frame. “I thought I'd lost this.”

“You look like your dad,” Ethan said, studying the image. “Well, you used to anyway.”

“He was so handsome. Always smiling. Everyone loved him.”

“Including you?”

“He was my hero,” she whispered, tears forming in her eyes. “Nothing was right after he died. Nothing.”

Ethan fought the urge to draw her close and comfort her. He hated to see her in pain, but part of him wondered if she didn't need to talk about her past. She'd gone to so much effort to erase the person she'd once been, and there had to be a reason.

“What happened to him?” he asked.

“You don't want to hear my sad stories,” she said, attempting to regain control.

Ethan didn't want controlled. The perfectly polished celebrity. He wanted the real person. Something had driven Alice Faye Jones to become someone else, and he needed to know why. Mostly, he needed to know which persona was real. He needed to know if he was falling for a mirage.

“I do actually,” Ethan said. “I wish you'd let me in and see the real you for once. Half the time, I don't know—”

“Half the time what?” Addison asked, anger sparking in her eyes.

“I don't know who you are. You keep everything locked up tight. I know you like to play people, and I'm never sure if
I'm
one of those people.”

Sparks practically shot from her eyes as she straightened. “Fine. You want the dirty truth,” she said, in a cold, emotionless tone. “My father died in a car accident, and it was my fault.”

“What?”

“It was raining,” she continued as if he hadn't spoken. “One of those monsoon summer storms, and I had a birthday party at the skating rink. My mom didn't want my dad driving in the rain, but I pitched a fit and demanded he take me. I was such a brat.”

The bleakness in her voice made his heart ache. “You were just a kid.”

“A selfish child. A selfish, unheeding child.”

For a moment, Ethan went still. “That almost sounds like a quote.”

“It is.”

“Who would say something like that to you?” he asked, outrage building inside him.

“My mother. It's what she said to me when she was packing my things the night before I came to live with Aunt Ruth. My mother blamed me for my father's death.”

Addison said the words so casually, and yet they sliced like a knife. Ethan shook his head. “Surely she didn't blame you. What happened anyway?”

“Another car hit us on the way to the party, and we skidded off the road. It's the strangest thing. I barely remember anything about being in the car before the accident. There are snatches of sounds and images. A car horn. My dad shouting a warning. Screeching tires. I don't think I'll ever forget the screeching tires. All I remember is coming to and seeing my dad. There was blood streaming down his face. He wasn't moving. I guess I passed out then.”

Guilt clawed up Ethan's throat. He should never have made her relive something so horrific. “You don't have to tell me anymore.”

A deep, shuddering breath escaped. “Maybe I need to. I've never told anyone what happened. Not even Aunt Ruth knows the whole truth.”

He squeezed her hand. “Okay.”

“I woke up in the hospital. I could hear someone screaming. Wailing like those people you see on TV. I think somewhere in my mind I knew it was my mother, and what it meant. One of the nurses yelled, and my mother walked over to the bed. I remember her eyes were dead. Black and dead. She bent over, and I thought maybe she'd kiss my cheek or give me a hug. Something. But she just stared down at me and finally she said, ‘Your father is dead.' Then she walked away.”

Ethan pressed his lips together, trying to hold back the string of curses. How could a mother inflict so much damage on her child? He'd sooner cut off his arm than hurt one of his sons. He wanted to go hunt down Addison's mother and shake her. Did the woman have any idea what she'd done?

“She never offered one word of comfort?”

“Nothing.”

“Were you hurt?”

“Just a few scratches,” she said. “They released me from the hospital a few days later, but it was as if whatever thread that'd held us together as a family had been severed. About two weeks later, she announced I was going to live with her aunt.”

“Perhaps she was too fragile to deal with your grief as well as hers,” Ethan said, looking for any reason to explain something so vile.

The hollowness reflected in her eyes punched him in the gut. He'd seen the same devastation before… in the eyes of Alice Jones. Ethan hadn't understood the emptiness before. Now he did.

“That's what she said at first, but I didn't buy it,” Addison said. “The woman wouldn't even speak to me. I kept picturing her eyes when I woke up in the hospital. So, I asked her over and over. I wanted to know why I was being sent away. Finally, she told me she couldn't bear to have me in her house. Couldn't look at me without seeing my father's body lying in a morgue. Without remembering the terrible moment when a policeman came to say her husband was dead. All because of a
birthday party
. Because I was a selfish, heedless child.”

Ethan sucked in a breath. “I can't believe she would put that kind of burden on you.”

“I'm not sure if she actually did blame me for his death,” Addison said, swiping a hand across her hair. “I think something happened to her when my father died, and she went a little crazy.”

“Which doesn't erase what she did.”

“No. I was devastated. For years I woke up crying.” She sent him a wry smile, a touch of humor behind the sorrow. “I think I single-handedly paid for my therapist's house.”

Well, he'd asked for the real Addison, and the glimpse he'd seen amazed him. “You're a lot tougher than you look, aren't you? Not many kids would survive that.”

Her mouth turned up. “Tough cookie, that's me.”

“Perhaps it was a blessing your mother sent you here.”

A genuine smile appeared. “Aunt Ruth saved my life, I think. Sewed me back together. Just in time for my mother to come back. She showed up one day out of the blue and announced I was going home. Of course, by then Covington Falls had become my home, but I didn't have a choice.”

“Did she ever talk about what happened? Maybe she wanted to make amends?”

“I don't know what she wanted,” Addison said, with a careless shrug he didn't buy for a second. “But no, we never talked about my father. We didn't talk about much of anything. Not even about her new husband.”

The statement rocked him, as it surely had her all those years ago. “She'd remarried? In only nine months?”

“Six. They'd already been married for three months when I came to live with them.” A wait-this-gets-better smile ghosted across her lips. “The new stepfather also came with a beautiful, blond stepsister, Tiffany Joy.”

The way Addison said the name, Ethan knew the mysterious stepsister had as much to do with the disappearance of Alice Jones as her father's death. “You didn't get along with her?”

“Oh, I got along with Tiffany fine,” Addison said. “She wasn't horrible or anything. She'd just taken my place. In retrospect, I'm not sure why my mother bothered to bring me home me at all. Maybe she did feel guilty for abandoning me, but it didn't matter because it didn't take long to realize I didn't belong anymore. My mom had a new husband
and
a new daughter. A new daughter she could actually look in the eye.”

“Maybe it only seemed that way,” Ethan said, still hoping there could be a reasonable explanation. “You were still so young, and no doubt protective of your father's memory.”

“She was in the wedding picture,” Addison said, so softly he almost didn't hear the words.

“Who?”

“Tiffany,” she said, as if the confession physically hurt. “There was a wedding picture of the three of them on the mantle above the fireplace. All one, big, smiling, happy family. Minus the forgotten Alice, of course. Then there was the way my mom looked at Tiffany. The way she hugged her, spoke to her. My mother never touched me.”

“She could have taken a cue from you. Sensed you wouldn't welcome her affection. Parents don't always know the right thing to do. I know I feel completely useless half the time.”

Her soft chuckle echoed through the attic, and she touched his cheek in a feather-light caress. “You always want to see the best in people. It's what makes you such a hero. Maybe she truly didn't know how to repair our relationship. In any case, I left home the day after I graduated from high school and never went back. Headed for Hollywood with a duffel bag and a dream of being a star. Someone who would never be invisible again.”

“You became Addison Covington,” he said, understanding the transformation now more than ever.

“At your service,” she said, executing a little bow. Then she gestured around the darkened space. “Actually, Addison started coming to life up here in this attic. I used to spend hours going through those old steamer trunks. They're filled with clothes. Some belonged to Aunt Ruth's mother and others she made for herself. Everything from 1920s-era dresses to 1950s' poodle skirts. And the hats. Man, she had fabulous hats. I'd try them on and put on my own productions. This is where I started to pretend I was someone much more interesting than plain Alice Faye Jones.”

Ethan could picture it. Skinny little Alice, parading around the attic, giving mock interviews. Had those lonely afternoons been the foundation of a whole other personality? Or had Addison been more of a role she'd assumed to hide her pain?

Addison gazed at the picture in her hands, looking so forlorn and alone. He wondered if
she
blamed herself. Lord knew, he carried guilt over Jenny's death. It didn't matter how many people told him he couldn't have done anything. How many times he'd wished things had been different. Wished he could turn the clock and go back.

One couldn't wish away the past, though. The past made up who one became. How would Addison be different if she'd never tried to go to that birthday party? Would she even exist? If Alice Jones had never felt abandoned and alone there might never have been a need for another personality.

“You probably wouldn't be Addison Covington.”

She gaped at him. “How did you—”

“It's a natural response,” he said. “If things had been different, what would have happened? I think about that, too. Where would I be if I hadn't gotten injured in college? I still wonder sometimes, but I know I wouldn't be the person I am today. The same is true for you. If your dad hadn't died or if you and your mom had stayed close, you might not have had the motivation to go to Hollywood at all. You wouldn't be
you
.”

She wouldn't be the woman he knew. The funny, confidant and audacious woman he couldn't help but love.

Luke Mitchell took his place on stage and hit the first note of his number.
“Why does her smile make my mind start to wonder? Why do I feel this way? When did she become more than a point to be made? When did I start seeing more?”

Michelle answered with her first line.
“Why do his eyes make my heart beat like thunder? Why do I feel this way? When will I be—”

Michelle's voice, which was usually so strong and clear, broke. Again. Her shoulders slumped, and Addison sensed more than the girl's voice was about to crack.

The accompanist pounded out a strident chord, which described the frustrating afternoon better than any words could. The song was supposed to be the climax of Act I, a duet between Ellie and Harry, though they weren't in the same room. For the first time the two characters acknowledged their growing feelings for each other. The verses chased and intertwined, ending in a soaring finish with both voices raised together as the curtain descended.

Too bad the number seemed to be sinking right now, since Addison's leading lady couldn't get past the first page. Biting back a sigh of frustration, she made her way up to the stage. Michelle's eyes widened, and her hand trembled as she brushed a strand of hair back from her face.

“Luke, go study your lines for the next scene,” Addison said. “The rest of you, take a break.”

The cast went out through the back door. Luke ambled off the stage, but not before shooting a worried glance in Michelle's direction.

“Want to tell me what's going on?” Addison asked as soon as they were alone.

Michelle stared at the floor. “I'm sorry,” she said, eyes brimming with tears. “I'm so sorry.”

“I'm not interested in sorry. I need to know how I can help.”

The girl's head came up. “Help? I thought—”

“You thought what?”