“And this must be the fabulous Kelly. How are you?” Rudy shakes my hand, holds on to it for a moment.
“I’m okay.”
“Tucker tells me you’re not so hot.” He’s still holding my hand, but reaches behind him to pull up a rolling stool and sits in front of me on it.
“My knee is bugging me. And I really like to run. It keeps me sane.” I shrug.
He looks at Tucker and smiles. “She is adorable. You were completely right.” He laughs. He’s a big laugher, with his head tilted back and his mouth wide, eyes crinkled shut.
Tucker looks at me. “I only said adorable things about you. I promise.”
Rudy chuckles again. “You’re in the right place, Kelly. I want to take a look at it and see about maybe an MRI. Then we can decide what’s next.”
“MRI? While I’m pregnant?”
“It’s the safest alternative. Way safer than a CT. We’ll get one good look before I decide if I need to scope it or not. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s have a look.”
I pull up the leg to my yoga pants, and Rudy tenderly probes around my kneecap.
“You know, the way your body weight gets redistributed when you’re pregnant, just that might be enough to set this off. Your hips spread a bit and the angle from knee to hip changes.”
“The clicking didn’t really start until I was here in New York.”
“Lots more stairs to climb. Subway, buildings, you know. Plus everything here is paved. I bet you ran on trails mostly in Boise. Nice healthy dirt.”
“You’re right.”
“Well, let’s schedule the MRI, and lay off the running until then. When I know more I’ll give you some specific things to do to build the muscles around the knee, but I want to wait until I see what’s up.”
I will not cry, I will not cry.
I breathe in. “No running?”
Tucker looks at me, smiles. “You can do this, Kelly.”
“Yeah, unfortunately, no running. What’s in your building? You have a swimming pool? Do that, and maybe an elliptical, but if it feels funky on the knee, don’t do that.”
“This sucks.” I can’t be all chipper about it.
“I know. Tucker tells me it’s really your go-to stress reliever.”
“It’s how I combat depression. Number-one way.”
“I feel you. I get SAD every year. The time change and short days suck the life out of me.”
He’s the happiest person I’ve ever seen. I don’t believe it. “You personify sunshine. You’re Rudy of Sunnybrook Farm. Come on.”
“I lift, I run, and I do yoga. I get acupuncture too. You should try that. I have a guy I really like. That might be something you can do with Andrew too. He should get after that in a couple weeks. It’ll help with the nerve damage on his shoulder blade.”
“I don’t know if he’s even gotten that far. That sounds like a good idea.” I know Dr. Joe at home is all about the acupuncture.
Tucker stretches. “I’ll go with you. My knees could stand some poking too.”
“Kelly can do it for knees and for depression. That means extra needles.” Rudy laughs again.
“So, no running.” I sigh.
“Nope.” He hands a slip of paper to Tucker. “We’ll do the MRI in-house. See you next week.”
I don’t know about this. No running. I chew the inside of my cheek while I process this on the way to the car. Tucker’s quiet.
“Well, Miss Kelly, should we hit the tea shop before we get home?”
“Sure.”
“Hey. Remember, we’re going to do this together. No big deal.”
I nod.
He stops short at the bottom of the stairs. “I have a brilliant idea. You’re going to love me for this.”
“What?”
“What about some girl time?”
“What?”
“Tessa and the terrible triplets. Think of all the fun you could have with your best friend and her three little monsters. The American Girl store, Natural History Museum, carriage rides around Central Park, dress up and Madeline’s tea at the Carlyle. Let’s invite them to visit.”
“Yes. I’m all about that idea. I love it, Tucker. Let’s call Tessa from the car.”
Tucker takes my hand to help me climb the stairs. “This is why I am the man. You might love that Andrew guy, but I am a genius and truly the man.”
“I completely agree,” I tell him. “You rock.”
I J
UST
W
ANT
T
O
L
IE
D
OWN
. Really. I could wish for a drink, or a smoke, or to be wrapped up in Kelly’s arms, but as of right now, on set, the only thing that’s attainable, that’s allowed, and that won’t get me fired or on the path to ruin is to lie down and take a nice, long nap.
“Tucker, if McDougal comes back, just whistle twice, one low, one high, and I’ll jump right back to my mark.” I turn away from the group of people I’m standing with and start inching my way to the low green velour couch that someone on the crew dragged over to the area by the food. I have no idea where in New York City this couch came from, seeing as how it’s now appeared in the middle of our trailers and set, but I don’t care. I don’t even care if it smells. My shoulder hurts, and I want to lie down.
“Are we in a secret club? How about I just say, ‘He’s coming!’” Tucker even gets pissy from time to time. Between the two of us, we’ve probably had maybe fifteen hours of sleep in the past three days.
“That works too.” I sit down on the couch and think about the best way to spare my torn-up shoulder when I fall into blissful slumber.
“Andy!” I hear him before I see him. “Andy, aren’t you about to run through this scene?”
Aaronson. He powerwalks over to me. I was so close.
“McDougal paused us for a minute. He wanted to ask the second unit DP something. I think he just stepped into that trailer over there.” I point in the direction my director went, hoping to send Aaronson away.
He stands over me, looking down. “I don’t want him. I want to talk to you.”
I sigh. “Okay.” I stand up and try to look more awake. “What’s up?”
Aaronson looks up to the heavens, takes a deep breath, lets it out, looks me straight in the eye. “Are you okay?”
“My shoulder, no. Me? Sure. I’ll be fine.” I stand up tall.
He nods. “Good. Let me know if you need anything. Glad to hear you’re fine.”
He turns and strides back the way he came. I look over at Tucker. Tucker just shrugs.
“Tucker, I’ll be in my trailer. Come get me. Tell McDougal I needed to change the dressing on my shoulder.”
“If that’s a legit thing I’m telling him, I can send someone in to help you fix it. The on-set nurse knows how to dress a wound. Her name’s Angie. She’s nice.”
“It’s a lie. I’m going to go nap. I must lie flat.”
He knew that before he asked me.
I get in my trailer, and I’m so happy to be near a couch to lie down on, it takes me a minute to realize something is wrong.
Lots of things are wrong. So, so many things are wrong.
The inside of my trailer looks like it’s been attacked by a French whore. A classy, high-priced one, but still. There are swaths, miles and miles of fabric, all pink and gold and shiny, draped over the windows and covering the table—and the little trailer bench seats. There are candles lit everywhere. I smell perfume, something familiar and spicy, and hear music playing. Something I’ve heard before.
My blood goes cold.
“Amanda?” I call out.
“In here, Andy.”
As soon as the smells and sounds registered in my brain, one word came to mind: Cannes.
Cannes the film festival. Cannes the place where Amanda and I hooked up and broke up.
“You’re not in the bedroom, are you?”
My trailer has a tiny bedroom at the back of it.
“Of course I am. Don’t be an idiot. Come here.”
I walk back to the door of the room.
Amanda has a lighter in her hand. She touches it to the tips of the candles in a huge silver candelabra in the middle of a little table, set for two.
“Stop.” I close my eyes in the hopes that she will disappear.
“What?”
“I don’t know what you’re doing, or thinking, but stop. Get out of my trailer, Amanda.”
“I thought you’d like a little Cannes right here in New York. Remember our room? The balcony, where the sea air drifted in at night, the way the curtains billowed up with the breeze off the Mediterranean?” She gestures to all of the decorations she’s added.
“I’m not interested. I don’t want this. I don’t want you.”
Amanda lights the last candle and looks up, straight into my eyes. “I don’t believe you. You’re trying to ‘remake your image,’ and I’m not buying it for one second.”
“Get out of my trailer. I don’t care if you believe it or not. I don’t want to be a drunk. I don’t want to get wild in a Cannes disco bathroom with you. I definitely don’t want to have sex with you. Anywhere. Anytime.” I hold her gaze.
She picks up a plate from the table and throws it at me. I duck left as it flies by. Then she flips the table and storms past me. “If that’s true, then go fuck yourself, Andy Pettigrew.”
The door slams shut. I stand still and look at the wreckage.
The door opens again, and Tucker pops his head in. “Did you get a nap?”
“You’ve got to be kidding me, Tucker.”
“What? They need you on set.”
“I’ll fill you in between takes.” I grab my sunglasses and follow him out of my trailer.
His first job is to put a lock on that door.
I
T’S
B
EEN
T
WO
W
EEKS
S
INCE
T
HE
A
CCIDENT
. Now the world knows where we’re staying in New York, and somewhere in there, the word got out about my pregnancy too. The suckage meter is at full tilt. I guess I’m getting used to the chaos when I leave the building. If Andrew’s not with me, it only lasts for twenty seconds, anyway. Tons of screams and lights popping, followed by, “He’s not with her,” followed by no lights popping, followed by one or two rude questions shouted at me, usually along the lines of “What’s it like to share Andy with Mandy?” or “When’s the shotgun wedding?”
Sometimes there’s a knock about me being too old to carry the baby. I love that one. That’s my favorite gem. I suspect the wish is that I pass on one of these remarks to Andrew. Then he might get incensed and come out and pound on someone. Boy, then those would be some choice pictures, wouldn’t they?
But I chuckle because I prefer to imagine me going hoss on one of them. The crazy pregnant lady comes out swinging—maybe pulls a few ninja moves. I say nothing to Andrew about it. It actually doesn’t bother me at all, weirdly. I think there isn’t any real feeling behind the statements, so no reason to react with feeling.
The bustle for Andrew, though, it’s scary.
Bustle
isn’t the best word. Frenzy. If we try to go out, he holds my hand tightly as we dash for the cab. There’s a sustained yelling and the flash of the cameras, and sometimes the doormen (there are two now) and even Tucker have to push back a wave, a wall of people who press closer to us. That physical swell of bodies can get intimidating.
And then there are one or two guys on scooters who dart in and out of traffic and follow us through the streets of New York.
It’s too bad, because the streets were supposed to be our anonymous hangout. Now Andrew can only go to set and back to the condo. The rest is crazy. We try to go out to eat, but it’s just not worth it. With his shoulder all torn up, he could really get hurt, and he only takes that risk to do his job.
Tonight, though, he’s home from set early. We’re going to tell the boys about no Boise. It’s going to really suck. I’m not thrilled, but there’s no way we’re going to be apart from each other for longer than a weekend. Not with Andrew hurt. I’m not leaving him alone to go through this. And this opportunity he has in LA, it’s too amazing for him to pass up. He even let me take a peek at the script, and I can tell it’ll be huge for him. It’s about a mobster who goes into hiding at a cattle ranch in the middle of nowhere. With a meaty role and a high-powered director, Andrew’ll be one step closer to the ultimate prize in Hollywood: one of those little gold guys.
The only concession I think we need to make is Hunter’s birthday. He turns fourteen next week, and he wants to be in Boise with his friends for that. There’s no way he’ll abide another four weeks in New York and the rest of a semester in LA if we don’t get back to say goodbye to his friends.
I’m making tacos to soften the blow. I cook very basic stuff, but the boys have always liked my tacos.
Andrew comes in the kitchen from the study. He’s been on the phone with the super-top-secret director for the mobster picture,
Out of Range
. He looks tired.
For the past two weeks, he goes to set every night, usually for thirteen-hour shoots. Then he and Tucker go hit physical therapy right after that, usually around six or seven in the morning. Then he comes home and sleeps.
I don’t sleep. At night, I worry. I watch the boys sleep. I pace. Sometimes I go down to the pool to swim, but at night, it’s kind of a creepy place—lots of echoes and drips and shadows. Plus I’ve been doing it without Andrew and Tucker knowing, and if they get wind of it, they’ll go ballistic. The guilt of that limits my trips to swim.
During the day, when Andrew is home, I try to nap with him. But I spend a good chunk of time afraid I’ll hurt his shoulder when I try to turn over or something. The other part of the time I spend watching him breathe.
I remember the first night home from the hospital with Hunter when he was born. I just watched him breathe, all night long. I was amazed at how tiny he was and terrified he wouldn’t take his next breath. But
that
worry ebbed after the first few nights. I got used to having a little baby around, and he was so tenacious and vocal (he was quite the crier) that he put me at ease.
Andrew, he looks so vulnerable right now. He has deep circles under his eyes, dark and worrisome. He’s lost weight since getting hurt. The pain wears on him, and when his actor’s face is slack with sleep, it shows through. He whimpers, lets down his guard when he’s sleeping, and I can tell how much he hurts.
I respect why he’s not taken anything more than an Advil. But the pain is slowing his healing.
So, I worry and watch him sleep.
I absentmindedly stir the taco meat. He comes to me, script in hand, and kisses me. We’re both tentative, more tender than usual, but it feels so good to be in his arms.
“You look tired.” He kisses my forehead.
“So do you.” I wrap my arms around his waist, rest my head on his chest to hear his heartbeat.
“You’ll burn your tacos.” He rubs my back for a minute.
“The peace offering can’t be burned. Bad karma.” I let go of him to check on the simmering ground beef.
“What peace offering?” Beau strolls in.
I give him a squeeze and then turn him in the direction of the hall. “Andrew and I need to talk to you and your brother. Can you go get him?”
Beau looks at me and turns toward the bedrooms. “Hunter! Mom needs you!” he screams. “Hunter!”
I roll my eyes. “I could’ve done that.”
Beau’s brow furrows. “The last time we had a ‘talk,’ you told us about Hiccup. What is it now?”
Hunter shuffles in. He wears soccer slides and his board shorts and that’s it.
Fourteen. He’s going to be fourteen. His feet are almost as big as Andrew’s. He looks more and more like his dad every day, though he didn’t inherit the black curls. That’s Beau’s claim to Peter’s side of the family. How did we get these young men from those tiny babies I held not so long ago?
I feel a little twinge of the sadness, but it’s a warm melancholy. Peter would be so proud of his boys.
Hunter breaks my reverie. “What’s the big deal?”
I have plates out. “Let’s do the tacos buffet-style. Then we’ll talk.”
“Uh-oh.” Hunter squints at me. “Is everyone okay? Is Ditto all right? I don’t trust those girls with him. They’re going to let him out of the backyard. They live in a busy neighborhood. He’s gonna get hit.”
The conversation isn’t going to get any easier. I plate up the tacos for the boys. “Here. Just sit, and then we’ll talk.”
They do as they’re told. Andrew sits at the end of the island. He looks at me. “Kelly?”
“Fine. Guys, Andrew’s got a chance to work on an amazing movie in LA. And since the accident, I’m not keen on us being apart. I want all of us in the same place.”
“And?”
“So, we’re going to stay in New York a little longer.”
Beau jumps up. “Awesome! We get to miss the start of school. I love it.”
“Actually, you’ll do school online this semester, or maybe with a tutor. We’re going with Andrew to LA after he’s done shooting here.”
Hunter’s up out of his seat. “No way. My birthday is this month. In Boise! All my friends. I told all of them I was having a party.”
Andrew stands too. “You still are, bud. We’ll all be in Boise for your birthday. But we’re going to stick together.”
“You can see why, with Andrew’s hurt shoulder, and the baby, you can see that, can’t you, Hunter?” My voice sounds squeaky. It doesn’t sound like much of an idea. Or much of a reason.
“No.” Hunter picks up his plate and dumps it in the sink with a clatter. “No. I’ll live in Boise with Tessa. You can’t take me away from my friends, away from Boise. No.”
He storms down the hall, and I hear the front door of the condo slam behind him.
I rush to go after him, and Andrew catches me. “I’ll have Tucker go check on him. I bet he went to the pool.”
“I need to go tell him, explain it to him.”
“What is there to explain? We promised him his life wouldn’t change that much, with me coming into it, and here it is, changing.” He lets go of me and rubs his hands over his face, frustrated. “Give him some time. And I want to be the one to talk to him. I’m the one who lied to him.”
“You didn’t lie. How could we know? We can’t be apart, Andrew. We can’t.”
“He’s almost fourteen. It’s how it feels, so it’s true. End of story.” He stalks out of the room.
Beau sits at the counter. He eats his tacos. “It’ll be fine, Mom.”
“Why aren’t you mad? What makes it okay for you?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. I’d have Mr. Kissinger or Miss Bideganeta if we were in Boise. They’re both supposed to be mean. Maybe I’m dodging a bullet.”
I give him the biggest hug I can manage. “Beau, I love you so much right now I can’t stand it.”
“I’m still in the market for a phone. Maybe there’s a phone in my future if I stay mellow.” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. He polishes off the last of his taco and goes into the great room to watch TV.
I sit at the island and look at the pile of uneaten food. That went well.