Family Tree (37 page)

I
t was remarkable how quickly Alvin Danziger, the talent agent, flipped his loyalty from Martin to Annie. Equally remarkable was how seamlessly she rejoined that world. The culture was familiar—endless traffic and small talk, catered events and schmoozing, New Age cafés full of whispering vegans and sitar music, the brash nightlife of trolling paparazzi and loud, close-talking hopefuls. At the end of the whirlwind of meetings, the offer appeared before her in a hand-delivered parcel, like an invitation to a formal ball.

Annie found herself at a crossroads. Finally, her own show, reflecting her own vision. Everything would be exactly as she wanted it, right down to the last detail.

She promised an answer and then went to find the hired driver furnished by Empire. Before she could consider the next step, she had to take care of something on her own. There was no way to move on until she revisited the past.

She found Martin and Melissa doing a gig in Pasadena, one of those episodes so larded with sponsors and product placements that the whole thing seemed like an infomercial. Annie had never liked those episodes, although they were necessary to stay on budget.

The shoot was taking place at a rather lovely old-California mansion, probably to garner publicity for the place as a wedding venue.

Melissa was by herself, fishing a mike wire out of her blouse. She was pregnant and glowing. Annie nearly threw up when she saw the graceful, distinctive belly.

Setting her jaw, she walked over to Melissa. “I'm looking for Martin.”

Melissa looked from side to side as if seeking an escape route. Then she set down the mike wire and battery pack. “Annie, I'm so glad you're better.”

“Thanks. Where's Martin?”

“I think he went to the terraced garden in back for a photo shoot.”

Fighting a wave of nausea, Annie went toward a wide outdoor staircase.

“Hey, wait. Please.” Melissa came after her, slightly breathless from exertion. “There's something I want to talk about.”

Annie eyed her belly. “It's pretty self-explanatory.”

“I feel so bad about everything that happened.” Melissa spoke in a desperate rush. “I know there's no excuse and I don't expect forgiveness. But I have to tell you, I made a terrible mistake—not just sleeping with Martin, but
choosing
Martin. He's not in love with me. He's in love with himself. I'm afraid . . . oh God. We're not going to make it. I just know I'll end up going it alone.”

“Your point?”

“When I got the note that you wanted to meet with us today, I couldn't help wondering about things. I woke up this morning thinking, What if neither of us teamed up with Martin? What if the team was you and I?”

“Me,” Annie said automatically.

“What?”

“You and
me,
not you and
I
. It's an indirect object.” She realized Melissa was not getting it.

“I'm trying to say I'd like to partner with you on something entirely new. Just the two of us. Just us girls.”

Oh. Goody. “Sure, Melissa. Have your people call my people.”

“I'm serious. We could come up with something fantastic, I know we could. We don't need Martin. You and I have a history. A bond of trust.”

Annie felt no anger. She simply felt . . . depleted. “Melissa, see if you can understand this. The person I mistrust the most is the one who tries to steal from me behind everyone's back.”

“That's not what I'm suggesting.”

“Have you run your idea by Leon? By Martin? By anyone?”

Melissa's silence was the answer. Annie wasn't the least bit surprised. “And speaking of Martin . . .” She turned her back and hurried away.

Annie walked down to the garden of California autumn splendor—asters and mums, Chinese lanterns and colorful grasses whispering against a terra-cotta wall. Her ex-husband was yukking it up with a couple of ridiculously attractive girls in neoprene sheath dresses and expensive shoes. He was the picture of studied elegance in skinny jeans and a navy jacket over a black T-shirt. He'd been freshly made up for the shoot, and his skin looked strangely smooth.

When he saw Annie, he didn't miss a beat. “You'll have to excuse us,” he said to the two beauties, and they drifted away.

“Let's get one thing straight,” Annie said to Martin. “I'm not here because you summoned me.”

“I take it Alvin already called you.”

Annie wasn't about to say anything to Martin about that.

“I had to see you. Annie, I need to level with you.”

“How exciting.”

“I don't blame you for anything you're thinking right now,” he said. “Nothing's been the same since the accident. I lost something so special that day.”

It was all about him, she observed. Always.

“I'd do anything to turn back the clock and start again,” he continued.

“Anything?”

“I want us to be
us
again. The team we've always been.” He offered his sweetest, blue-eyed sincerity.

The old Annie might have been tempted. That Annie had honed self-deception
to a fine art. She could encounter any problem and convince herself that it didn't matter. The new Annie had lost that technique. She simply couldn't lie to herself anymore. She couldn't lie and pretend she could be happy with her life in L.A., with Martin and the show.

“And what part of ‘team' was it that had you making a grab for my share in the production and my accident settlement on the grounds of common property?” The look on his face told her Gordy had been on the right track. “Oh,” she said, “you weren't expecting that, were you? I was so much easier to deal with when I was on life support, wasn't I?”

“That's not fair. I was destroyed, Annie. Every expert I consulted told me you'd never recover.”

“And how inconvenient for you that I did.”

“Please. Can we start again? I know you don't want me to be your husband anymore, but let's partner again on the show. Together, we won't just turn it around. We'll reinvent it and make it bigger and better than ever.”

“Are you serious?”

“Completely. I need you again, Annie. Without you, the show veered off track. The production budget is bleeding us dry, sponsors are pulling out. Somebody said the C-word.”

“Cancellation.”

“Don't let them take you down, Annie. You built this show. Together, we can keep it from failing. I need you. I made a stupid mistake, and I'll do whatever you want me to do in order to make it right.”

Martin. Begging. It was a wonderful thing. Annie recognized the opportunity for gloating or even retribution. Then she surprised him—and herself—by simply saying, “Good luck with that.” She turned away.

He hurried after her, planting himself in her path. “I didn't want to have to bring this up, but we signed a multiyear contract for the show. You're in breach of that.” He handed her a copy. “But let's not get into a legal battle.”

“Good idea. Let's not.”

“Work with me, Annie. We're the dynamic duo, remember? We can make it.” He offered a smile she knew all too well—the persuasive, charm-your-socks-off Martin smile.

It was amazing to Annie that he still thought it would work on her. “Martin,” she said. “On the very first day I met you that day in Washington Square Park, you showed me exactly who you are. A user, an opportunist, a narcissist. I just didn't see it. You stole from me, not only in the material sense, but you appropriated ideas, anything that would advance your career.”

“Whoa. That knock on the head rattled your brains. I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“You wouldn't. You don't even recognize what you're doing, what you've always done.”

He clenched his hands into fists. “After the accident, I was a wreck. I felt sorry for you. I grieved so hard. Now you've woken up and you're bitchier than ever.”

“Bitchier than ever. Was I ever bitchy? I don't remember that.”

“Why do you think we grew apart?”

“Oh, good. You're blaming me.”

“Come on, Annie. Work with me here.”

“I'm done with this conversation.”

“So that's a no.”

“That's a hell no. I won't make a deal with you.”

“I wanted to do this cooperatively,” he said. “I don't have to. When was the last time you went over your contract? There's a noncompete clause—remember that? The only way around it is if I release you from it. You can't do your show without me.”

Ah. So he knew about the Empire offer. There were no secrets in this business.

“I can, and I will.” She tried not to show fear. He was up to something. She just knew it.

“Then you'll regret it.”

“Ah, regrets. I think I get it. Is that Martin-speak for ‘See you in court'?”

The confrontation left Annie shaken. Why did she let him have power over her, even now?

Because he did. All the things he'd taken from her had left her empty. Creating a new production was not going to fill her up.

She asked the driver to pull off the highway at the Colorado Boulevard Bridge viewpoint in Pasadena. Still agitated from the meeting, she got out of the car and looked up the contract on her phone. What Martin had said appeared to be true. How ironic that after all that had happened, he still wielded his power over her.

And how ironic to find herself standing here at this bridge. The hundred-year-old structure had a grim nickname—Suicide Bridge. Generations of troubled people had flung themselves to their deaths from the graceful steel-and-concrete arches, making one final plunge into the arroyo below.

Why here? Annie wondered. There were plenty of high places in the area—skyscrapers, scaffolds. But jumpers were drawn to the bridge. There was something mesmerizing about it, she realized, wandering along the figured stone railing. Barriers had been put in place, but if you jumped wide enough, you could clear them.

Swimmers, take your marks.

It would be so easy.

But that was for cowards. Annie knew what she had to do. She resolved to find a way to make this work.

T
he fly rod made its familiar whip-snap in the clear evening air. Then the blue-winged olive fly popped onto the surface of the water in the ring of the rise, precisely where the wily trout had surfaced to feed.

“Nothing,” Fletcher muttered. “That was a perfect cast, and I got nothing.”

“Try being imperfect for once in your life,” Gordy said, casting a few feet downstream from him. His fly tangled briefly in some weeds, then popped free. There was a flash of movement as a big trout latched on. Gordy tried to reel it in, but the line went taut and then slack as the fish got away.

“What's that supposed to mean?” Fletcher knew he could have hooked that fish, no problem.

“Just psychoanalyzing you,” Gordy said cheerfully. “And reminding you that there's much more to life than being Teddy's dad and being good at your job.”

“Thanks, Gord. I had no idea.”

“Why'd you let her go?”

“Because she doesn't need my permission.” He sent out another cast, aiming for a calm meander in the stream. For the third time, Annie had left, heading off to L.A. in search of a dream. He finally got it. He just needed to make his peace with it.

“That's not what I mean, and you know it,” said Gordy.

“What I know is that she's left me three times.”

“There's where you're wrong. See, she left. That doesn't mean she left
you.
”

“What difference does it make?”

“Damn, if you don't know that, I can't help you.”

“Who says I need your help?”

“Maybe it's Annie who needs your help. And since I'm speaking as her lawyer, that's all I can say at this point, although—holy shit!” Gordy's line went taut. The trout leaped, its underbelly flashing in the twilight. It was a big one, a fighter, but Gordy was determined. He struggled and slipped on a rock, letting out a yelp as the frigid water filled his waders. He kept fighting, refusing to let go of the rod.

Fletcher set down his gear and hurried over. “Hey, don't float away on me,” he said.

“I got this . . . Jesus, it's cold.”

Fletcher tossed him the net. Gordy flailed, then managed to net the fish and slog ashore. His lips were blue, though he was grinning from ear to ear as he inspected his fat, shiny catch. “Now, that's a fish,” he declared, shivering as Fletcher took a picture with his phone.

Fletcher noticed an incoming message—from Annie's brother. “Good timing on the fish,” he said. “We have to go—now.”

Annie landed with both feet on the ground. She had left L.A. with her dignity intact and a sense of what lay ahead. She wanted to get back to a place where food was real. And love was real. Yet when Fletcher showed up in the chill of early evening, her stomach pounded with apprehension.

“My brother shouldn't have called you,” she said, meeting him on the porch. She resisted the urge to throw her arms around him.

“You should have called me.”

“I was going to. You're freezing,” she added.

“Gordy and I were fishing.” He hung his coat and left his boots by the door.

“Come on in. I made coffee.” She went into the kitchen and filled two mugs.

“So, your meeting in L.A. . . .” he prompted. His expression hardened as though he was bracing himself.

She had asked him to trust her to make this work out, and he hadn't done that. “I'd have carte blanche to write, produce, and host my own show.”

“Wow.” His smile was forced. “Congratulations, Annie. I'm happy for you.”

“You are not. You want me barefoot and pregnant in Switchback.”

“I'd be lying if I said I didn't fantasize about that.” He wrapped his hands around the coffee mug. She loved his hands—the shape and strength of them, the way they touched her.

Focus, she told herself. “I'm staying here.”

His eyes lit up. “That's great.”

“I don't have a choice. There's a legal entanglement with my ex that would force me to share the production with him. It's complicated.”

“I'm a lawyer. I can do complicated.”

“I'd have to take him to court. I'm not up for that. Just the thought of having to deal with him on any level makes me ill.”

“Hand everything over to lawyers. A good one will protect you.”

“I wish. If it was anyone other than my ex, I'd be up for a fight. But Martin . . . I just can't. He's toxic to me. He helped himself to my life's work, and then he cheated on me. Oh, and did I mention he and Melissa are having a baby together? God, Fletcher. I hope you never have to deal with a betrayal like that.”

“I'm sorry, Annie.” He studied her for a long moment. “Suppose he wasn't standing in your way. Would that mean you could go ahead with your show?”

“I imagine it would, yes.”

“And what would that look like? Doing your own show?”

“I could finally create the program I always wanted.”

“In L.A.”

“Well, yes.”

“You miss it, then. You miss L.A.”

“I miss the energy. The creativity. The excitement of making a show. But—”

“You should have what you want, Annie. You should have everything you want.”

After only a few days amid the congested freeways of L.A., Annie felt soothed by the slow pace of Switchback as she went to pick up the champagne for tonight's celebration. They had probably ordered too much, but champagne would keep. It was always better to have too much than to run out.

Even though it was good to be back, Annie worried about the question Fletcher had planted in her mind. What would her life here look like? Would she languish, unfulfilled, as her mother had for so long? Or would she flourish like the maples in the sugarbush, coming into her own the way Gran had as a young bride? If she was honest with herself, if she went back to her reasons for leaving Vermont in the first place, were they about fulfilling someone else's dreams, or her own?

“Annie! Hey, Annie!” Teddy Wyndham waved and ran over to her as she wheeled the flatbed cart of champagne from the liquor store out to the truck.

“Hey yourself.” The sight of Teddy always made her smile. He was as
bright and cheerful as a song. Over the summer, she'd fallen in love with him, too, coming to care about him in ways she hadn't expected.

“Let us help you with that.” Fletcher lifted a case and Teddy quickly grabbed the other side. Annie knew Fletcher could have hoisted the box by himself, but he was the kind of dad who gave his kid every chance, big and small, to succeed.

“Do me a favor and take the cart back.”

“You got it,” Teddy said.

“He's so great,” Annie told him. “He seems completely happy and secure.”

“Thanks.”

“I understand why you want his life to be here, Fletcher.”

“Sometimes I wonder how much this place has to do with it.”

“It's a factor. But there are other things. I mean, Degan Kerry grew up here . . .”

“Then again, so did the inventor of roll-on butter and bacon spray.”

He shut the tailgate of her truck. “I like running into you on a Saturday morning. I'm glad you're back.”

Flustered, she dug for her keys.

“All set, Dad.” Teddy joined them again. He looked at Annie. “We're going skating at the ice rink, and then there's a game after. Wanna come?”

The feeling of almost-tears persisted, but Annie forced a smile. “Thanks, but I need to get going. I have a wedding to attend.”

“Yeah?” Fletcher eyed the cases of champagne in the truck. “Who's getting married?”

“My parents.”

Snow flurries danced through the sky as Annie loaded up the empty bottles, along with flattened boxes and packing material to take to the
transfer station. The sun was just coming up, so Fletcher's arrival startled her.

“I'm busy,” she said without pausing in her work.

“I can see that.” He lifted the second blue bin into the truck, then climbed into the cab next to her and buckled up. “That was a lot of champagne for a small wedding.”

“It was. We had quite a celebration.” Clearly he had something on his mind, so she put the truck in gear and drove down the mountain.

“That's good. Your folks deserve to be happy.” He flopped a thick envelope onto the console between them.

She glanced at it. “What's that?”

“A draft of the new settlement with your ex. All you need to do is sign, and you can go ahead with your new production. He won't stand in your way.”

Annie nearly choked with surprise. She had just made her peace with the missed opportunity. “Are you serious?”

“I'm a judge. I'm always serious. Haven't you heard the expression ‘sober as a judge'?”

She turned on the wipers to bat away the flurries. “What made him change his mind?”

“He didn't. He would have kept his hooks in you any way he could, if that was possible. But it wasn't, because he made a stupid move after the accident.”

“I don't get it. I mean, Martin made a lot of stupid moves. Which one are you referring to?”

“He divorced you in the state of Vermont.”

Annie didn't think that was so stupid. “He won a more favorable settlement than he would have in California,” she said. It was old news.

“Yes, but it also means Vermont statute applies to the settlement, and he'd never win in Vermont. You'll want to go over it with Gordy,
of course. You have to authorize everything, but that's just a formality. Once you sign off on this, Martin Harlow will be out of your life, and you can do whatever you want with your show.”

The bottles in the back clinked together as she drove over the gravel road to the transfer station. She didn't say anything for a long time. She was trying to figure this out. After conceding that the new deal wasn't an option, she had been prepared to stay in Switchback. Now that it was back on the table, the decision was in front of her once more.

They were the first ones at the dump. The attendant was Degan Kerry, sitting in the gate kiosk with his morning coffee and cigarette. Since high school, he had grown soft and surly. He scrutinized her load, raised his eyebrows when he saw her passenger, then waved them through.

She backed up to the deep steel-walled container, and they both got out. Grabbing a big green glass bottle, she hurled it into the container. It bounced, but didn't break.

“I don't get it,” she said to Fletcher. “You wanted me to stay here, but now you're fixing it so I can go to L.A. after all.”

“I want you to have a choice. You shouldn't be here by default, but because you choose to be here.” He helped himself to a bottle and shot it into the container, where it shattered.

Annie threw her next one harder, and was rewarded by a satisfying shower of splintering glass.

“Good shot,” he said. “You smashed it to smithereens.”

“Smithereens. Where does that word come from, anyway?” She hurled three more bottles in quick succession. “I told you to trust me and you didn't.”

“I told you I loved you and you didn't listen.”

“When?” What a stupid question. In one way or another, Fletcher Wyndham had been telling her he loved her since they were in high school. Yes, things had happened.

“I'm telling you now. And what you need to know is that I never really
stopped. I know what I want from life and from you. From us. And you should have what
you
want. But I understand your caution.”

“You think I'm being cautious?”

“It's a lot, I know. Teddy and I . . . we're a lot.” He broke another bottle. Snow flurries swirled around him.

“Yes. You are.”

They hurled the last of the bottles, one by one, until the truck bed was empty. The flurries thickened into flakes. Annie grabbed his cold hands in hers. “Listen. Everything that's happened to me has led me back home. Back to you. Back to the big dream I had a long time ago, the one that got lost along the way.”

“
The Key Ingredient,
” he said.

“The key ingredient before it was a TV show. The key ingredient when I knew exactly what it was.” She pressed herself against him, and his warm lips touched her forehead, the sweetest of benedictions. “I'm starting from scratch, Fletcher. I want to start from scratch with you. With
us.
And Teddy. Forget what we did in the past. Forget that I ran and that I didn't listen to myself and I was afraid. Start from scratch with me.”