Authors: Thérèse
India sat quietly. She was exhausted. If only I wasn’t wearing this stupid dress and these shoes, she thought. She was cold and her feet were throbbing. Then suddenly the mood shifted. A doctor appeared and, from his expression, she could see the news was good.
Max was out of danger. He had suffered a mild concussion and they would keep him under observation for a few days. Adam grinned at India and she beamed back at him.
“Thank you, Doctor,” he said. “That’s a great relief. I know he’s in good hands.”
As they walked slowly toward the exit sign, India let out a yelp and leapt back as the swinging doors flew open and a team of paramedics frantically negotiated a stretcher past her and Adam. The doors flapped closed and open again, leaving a distinguished-looking man and a somewhat bedraggled woman behind. India stood transfixed. Yes, it was definitely Stan. But who was that with him? They were standing stiffly, turned away from each other. What could possibly have happened? Where was Lizzie?
Adam tilted his head in their direction, indicating they should go over. He led them all back into the room they had been so glad to leave only a few short minutes before. Stan answered their unspoken question.
“It’s Sophie,” he told them. “Lizzie found her passed out in the bathroom. We have no idea how serious this might be.”
Joan sat down. She said nothing, twisting her rings around her trembling fingers, her eyes on the floor.
“We’ll stay,” Adam said, “if it’ll help.”
“Thanks,” Stan said. “I think Joan’s in shock.”
“I’ll get her some water,” India said. “Be right back.” My God, she thought, this is like a soap opera with real actors playing all the parts.
Sipping tepid water from a plastic glass, Joan let out a wail and started to sob.
“My baby. My little girl.”
India put her arm around her.
“Sophie is going to be just fine,” she reassured her. “She’ll be okay. She will.”
Joan managed a weak smile.
“Where’ve we gone wrong? She’s failing school ... she’s … God, is she going to be okay? Where is she?”
India thought fast, she needed to distract her. “What does she enjoy doing?” she said.
“Acting,” Joan said, finally looking directly at Stan. “She likes painting too, doesn’t she?”
Stan shifted in his chair uncomfortably. “That’s not going to get her into Harvard, is it?” he muttered.
God, he’s not helping at all, India thought. The poor woman’s distraught. “Don’t think about any of this right now,” she said. “Drink some more water. Take a deep breath.”
India held Joan’s hand and they sat in silence for a while.
When, two hours later, an intern called Stan to the desk, India watched as Stan nodded and listened and then shook the doctor’s hand. Coming back into the room, he was visibly shaken.
“She’d taken cocaine with a potentially lethal amount of vodka.”
His voice had no trace of emotion. “They’ve pumped her stomach and sedated her. They got her in time. There’s no brain damage,” he added, pressing his fingers hard on the back of his neck and rubbing it. He had a bead of perspiration on his top lip.
“Cocaine? Sophie?” Joan gasped. “I had no idea. Stan, did you?”
“Do you want me to call Lizzie and tell her everything’s under control?” India offered.
“Thanks, but I think I’d better speak to her,” Stan said stiffly.
“You must be completely wiped. Let me take you straight home,” Adam said to India, putting his arm around her protectively.
India nodded and leaned into his shoulder.
They drove out into the early morning sunshine, both blink-ing from the darkness of the underground car park. As they reached the road barrier, India’s neck lashed as Adam screeched to a halt and slammed on the brakes. There must have been two hundred paparazzi, at least. It was like being in the centrifugal force of a swarm of locusts. India was genuinely terrified this time, but Adam was in no mood for it and swung swiftly into re-verse. Zooming up the hospital driveway, he pulled over in front of the side exit. India followed him quickly into the marble interior, where he made a couple of calls. Within twenty minutes, she was en route back to Bel Air, hidden away in the safety of a chauffeured, tinted-glass Lincoln Town Car.
There was no sign of Annabelle. She’s probably gone for a hike, India thought, yawning as she scribbled a note to let her know she was home and planning on sleeping late.
Adam drove straight out to Malibu. He knew the pack would be camped outside his Hollywood apartment and he needed to get close to the ocean, to feel the sand between his toes. He parked, relieved to see that there was no “guest” reception. Kicking off his shoes, he scrambled down the slope of the hillside and leapt across the sand to the edge of the shallow waves. The sudden jolt of ice-cold water felt good. He walked fast, hurling stones toward the farthest point of the ocean until his mind became calm and a feeling of utter fatigue overwhelmed him.
≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈
She couldn’t put it off any longer. She had to know. Once Joss had left the house with the girls for their tennis lessons, Annabelle put in a call to her doctor’s office.
“I’ll be over the minute I’m done with surgery,” he told her.
“Thanks, Rand, I appreciate it,” she said.
Her hand was trembling as she clicked off. She’d hardly slept. She lay in bed all night, listening to the rhythm of Joss’ breathing and running the worst-case scenarios over and over again in her head. Her hand kept reaching for her throat. Maybe if I wish hard enough, it will go away, she’d thought. It was too much to take in. This was not supposed to happen. Everything was going so well, maybe too well. As her imagination ran riot, she found herself drafting letters of love for the girls to open on their birthdays after she had passed away. She was even picturing planning her own funeral, with Joss and India at her bedside.
No. I cannot possibly be thinking like this. I am not going to die. Get a grip girl, she told herself, but during the endless night it was impossible to control the waves of nausea that kept flooding over her and the constriction in her chest that made it difficult to breathe. She had never felt so utterly alone or vulnerable.
≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈
Lizzie climbed out of bed and struggled into a pink cashmere robe. She looked out of the window. Stan emerged from his silver Mercedes looking worn and tired. She waited until she heard him dash upstairs and slam the bathroom door before heading down to the kitchen. He appeared a short while later, buttoning up his shirt as he walked toward the counter.
“There’s coffee,” Lizzie offered. “Have you eaten? Do you want breakfast?”
“Eggs would be good,” he said. “Sophie’s gone home with Joan… I had no idea…” He let the thought trail off.
“No. I know,” Lizzie answered quietly. “I don’t think Amy’s mother was too delighted, either. They’d been at Fred’s birthday party. Perfect timing, hey?” she added, flicking the whisk and pouring truffle oil into the mixture.
“Shit,” he muttered, fastening his tie and checking the clock. “I was supposed to be at Nate ’n Al an hour ago.” Fishing around for his BlackBerry, he speed-dialed his office.
“Tell him something urgent came up. See if he can do lunch … get a table at Toscana… Yes, rebook them for three o’clock. Put back the CAA meeting to four thirty…”
Your daughter almost died and it’s business as usual, Lizzie thought bitterly, as Stan rattled off more instructions.
“Reschedule Peterson for tomorrow. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
“Sorry,” he said, draining the last of the coffee and gesturing to the untouched plate. Then, hesitating for a second, “Let’s talk later.”
Yanking his briefcase from under the table, he lifted his key fob. He had pressed the remote for his car before even reaching the front door.
India woke to the squawk of blue jays and the irritating whine of a leaf blower. The afternoon sunshine was streaming through the painted wooden shutters as she lay in bed watching the dappled patterns on the walls and replaying scenes from the previous night: the arrival at Chateau Marmont, the emergency room, Adam leaping up for news of Max, and Stan, sitting there helplessly with Joan. How terrifying it must be to think you might lose someone you love, she thought. To sit hour after hour waiting like that for news. It was bad enough for me and I hardly know the guy.
And Adam. She couldn’t believe how long it had been since she’d been in a man’s arms, since she’d felt so desired. How easy it had been to tune in to him at the hospital, how they had talked in shorthand like old friends, as if they had known each other always.
Speaking of talk… This was another of those times when she missed Sarah. Thank goodness it wasn’t too late to call London. When Sarah picked up, India found herself talking so fast she was out of breath. Then she paused for dramatic effect.
“Okay. Are you sitting down? Okay. Guess who offered to get me a drink? Ready for it … Michael Mulholland.”
There was a high-pitched scream. India held the phone away from her ear.
“O my God. I hate you. Did you tell him you had a friend?”
India laughed. “I didn’t get the chance. Adam was over like a shot when he saw him talking to me.”
“Okay, this is all just too much. I am seriously jealous, Indie. Go on … I’m assuming… Am I assuming? Was it amazing?”
“Sarah, we are talking hot. I mean, it was off the Richter scale,” she whispered. “I think I used some muscles I’ve not used in some time. In fact, I think I used some muscles I never knew I had!”
“Okay, India, I get the idea. You can stop right there; show a little pity please. As you know I have not managed to get laid for some considerable time… But I do want daily reports, please, and if you see our friend Michael again, I will not be speaking to you if you don’t give him my number and tell him how fabulous I am.”
“Promise. I promise, Sarah. Cross my heart.”
India took a long, leisurely shower. The water felt prickly against her newly awakened skin. It was as if all her senses were suddenly raw and alive. Drying herself with a thick white towel, she picked out a bikini and an oversize cotton shirt and waltzed off toward the kitchen. Pure contentment, she thought, drinking in the smell of freshly mown grass.
Closing the picket gate behind her, she noticed an unfamiliar car in the driveway. The doors to the main house were closed over, too. When Annabelle caught sight of her through the French windows, she waved for her to come in. India went cold. It was obvious from Annabelle’s expression that something was terribly wrong.
“What is it?” she asked immediately. “Is everyone okay?”
“Yes, everybody’s fine.” Annabelle said, quickly. “Darling, meet Rand, he’s an old family friend and my doctor. Randy, I don’t think you’ve met my sister, India?”
A tall slim man in his late fifties with graying hair and a deep tan stood up to greet her.
“Lovely to meet you,” he said warmly, shaking her hand. “I can see the resemblance.”
“Good to meet you as well … shall I leave you two alone?” India asked politely, keen not to intrude on what seemed like a very intense conversation.
“I hadn’t planned on worrying you or Joss. I wasn’t going to say anything until I had some definite news, but as you’re here, darling, sit down for a minute.”
India perched on a stool, holding her stomach. It felt as if she’d swallowed a stone.
“What is it, Annie? Tell me.”
Annabelle hesitated and looked over at Rand, who picked up her cue.
“I’m going to send Annabelle for a scan later this afternoon. I suspect she has a benign growth on her thyroid gland that can be treated easily, but it’s important we check it out to make sure. She’s had a shock, but as I’ve been telling her, the lump doesn’t feel solid. In ninety-five percent of cases these growths are noncancerous.”
India was listening intently.
“How long will it take to know for certain?” she asked, desperately trying to get a fix on what she was hearing.
“I’ve put in a call. She’s having a UFA later today.”
“A what?” India was not thinking straight. Her head was spinning. “UFO?”
Rand smiled.
“UF-A,” he emphasized, “an ultrasound fine-needle aspiration. It’s a painless procedure and I’ll have the lab results back within twenty-four hours.”
“What will this involve?” India asked. “I mean if it’s…” India avoided the word “malignant.” “If it’s what you just said, benign?”
“Well, we’ll move forward when we have all the information. It’s soft to the touch, which is a good sign.”
“What do you mean?” Annabelle asked, tentatively.
“I mean, I really wouldn’t get too alarmed at this point. Thyroid cysts are very common and treatable.”
Rand stayed for another half hour or so, reassuring them patiently and answering question after question.
After he left, India rushed over and hugged her sister.
“How long have you had this? It’s going to be okay;. you know that. You heard what he said.”
“I found it yesterday,” Annabelle lied, stretching her neck up and letting her sister touch her throat, lightly. “But God! I’m glad you’re here. Can you imagine how I’d cope if you were five thousand miles away?”
“Don’t be ridiculous; I’d have been on the first plane over,” India choked out. She clung to her for a moment before reaching over the countertop to grab a paper napkin.
“You always said the thought of me being so far away brought a lump to your throat,” she joked, blowing her nose noisily.
Annabelle laughed out loud.
“I’m going to stay as long as you need me, Annie. I can help look after you and Joss and the girls. You are going to be just fine; I know it. But I’m not going anywhere until you’re completely well and over this. And I’ll come with you for the test, of course. Just let me go and put some clothes on.”
“We need to leave in about an hour,” Annabelle shouted after her.
India raced across the garden. What the hell was happening here? One minute life was one big party, the next it was unraveling before her eyes. Annie would be all right. She had to be. Flying into the suite, she opened her laptop and began scanning the Internet for information about the thyroid gland.