Here Without You (22 page)

‘Now I’m really afraid to ask.’

She leans closer and whispers, ‘You put a drop of your blood in his coffee.’

‘Ugh!’ I look down at the latte in my hand, appalled.

‘Right?’ she chuckles. ‘I overheard Mawmaw telling my
momma to do that to Daddy when I was little. And my ordinarily sane legal-secretary mother
was
listening
. I never asked her if she did it … If she did – it didn’t work. If she didn’t – well, who’d want to keep a guy that way anyhow?’

‘But using an
amulet
is a-okay,’ I laugh.

She shrugs and smiles. ‘That’s the first time I’ve heard you laugh in a few days.’ When I pin my lips together and sigh, she says, ‘Amulets are about warding off bad stuff, not binding people to do things they might not otherwise do. But I’m with you. If and when I get a guy I’m interested in keeping around, I want him to stay because he wants to stay. Not because I poked a voodoo doll of him in the junk with a pin.’

During a show we were watching online last night, an ad for the MTV Movie Awards popped up, which is on next month. Reid and his
School Pride
co-star, Emma Pierce, have been nominated for Best Kiss. As the clip played, Shayma gave me a sidelong glance, but didn’t say a word. An unwelcome mental image of the two of them re-enacting the lip-lock that made every girl I know swoon (Claudia excepted) at the upcoming awards show made me feel temporarily homicidal.

‘Maybe I should tell Mawmaw to make a gris-gris for Emma Pierce,’ Shayma suggests now, and I suppress an actual growl. ‘Though supposedly, she and Graham Douglas have been a legit couple for months. They went to the Vancouver Film Festival together last fall, and she popped up for a romantic weekend in Dublin a couple of months ago, when he was filming there. They’re spotted together all
the time – alone or with friends, sometimes with his daughter. In particular near NYU, where they’re rumoured to be
condo-shopping
.’

I narrow my eyes. ‘You looked all of that up last night, didn’t you?’

‘No! I looked it up this morning.’ Shrugging, she counts out tokens to a tired woman with two small children in tow, all three of them holding a basket of clothes, and I plop a trial-sized box of detergent in each of their baskets. ‘You looked like you might go postal when that ad came on, is all. A little abnormal for such a peaceful girl, if you ask me.’

Rats. My non-existent poker face betrays me again.

River doesn’t speak a word during the visit, of course, but he seems curious enough that he doesn’t signal an end to our stay. The first hour is spent under Wendy’s supervision, and he never ranges far from her. Brooke and I sit side by side on the worn sofa, our legs wedged behind a coffee table that – while smelling of wood polish – has been crayoned and scratched and generally battered to hell. Propped next to his foster mother’s chair, River leans his thin frame against her as though her bodily support is necessary to his ability to remain upright.

‘We made a book for River to keep – well, Brooke made most of it.’ I remove the book from Brooke’s lap and lean over the table to put it into Wendy’s hands. River inclines closer, eyes a little wider and head angled to study the cover, which depicts a beach view of the western horizon over the Pacific at sunrise. ‘It has some pictures of Los Angeles, where we live – parks and other cool places. And a few pics of us.’

I reach over and squeeze Brooke’s cold hand as Wendy turns the pages, reading the descriptions to River, who doesn’t take his eyes from the book until she’s done. And then he reaches over, turns back to page one, and looks at her expectantly until she begins to read it again. Brooke clutches my hand as if she is hanging over a deep gorge, her eyes never moving from him.

Handing him the book after the second read, Wendy says, ‘River, why don’t you show Reid and Brooke your room? And put this with your other books.’

He eyes us for a moment before hugging the scrapbook to his chest and leading the way down a short, dim hallway, and into a cramped bedroom that contains a set of bunk beds, one separate twin bed, a dresser and a bookcase. There is no room for anything else. While we stand in the doorway, he walks to the single bed and slides the book beneath his pillow. The pillowcase is covered with cartoon depictions of cars and trucks in primary colours, and it occurs to me that here is a boy who would have loved my yellow Lotus.

Going to his knees on the tiny wedge of open carpet, he pulls a box from beneath his bed. I tug Brooke into the room by her elbow and urge her to sit down on the floor beside me. ‘What have you got there? Ah, Legos – they were my favourite thing in the world when I was your age. I wanted every set that came out.’ What I don’t say: I
got
every set that came out. All stored somewhere in my parents’ house, no doubt.

The three of us are sitting on his bedroom floor building
things when Wendy appears in the doorway and announces that it’s time to wash up for lunch. I check my thick-banded watch and am dazed to find we’ve spent nearly two hours here. My eyes meet Brooke’s and she nods, subtly. Time to go.

I clear my throat. ‘We should go and get lunch too.’ River finishes snapping a plastic brick on to what appears to be a spider the size of my hand that he’s fashioned out of the black and grey rectangles. He’s used two red squares for eyes – at least I think they’re eyes – on a creature that only exists in nightmares for most little kids.

With an intense blue gaze, full of his hesitation and all the reasons for it, he examines me and then Brooke, alternating between us. Brooke seems as guarded as River, and almost equally quiet. I have no idea what she’s thinking; I can’t read her. It’s not like we’re all that familiar with each other now, as weird as that is, considering the fact that we’re attempting to adopt a child together.

‘Thanks for letting us come and play, bud.’ Still sitting cross-legged, I hold a fist towards him – something I might do with John or any other guy under twenty-five. He considers my knuckles, his pale brows drawing together, and for a moment I’m sure I’ve made a careless miscalculation, but after a quick glance at my face, he raises a very small fist and bumps mine lightly with it.

And then he smiles. It’s fleeting and subdued, but it’s definitely a smile.

‘It was so nice to meet you, River,’ Brooke says then, her voice soft. After a glance at me, he offers his knuckles to her,
and she bites her lip and bumps them gently, her eyes glassy. At which point I figure I’d better get her out of here.

Brooke and I walk to the truck in reflective silence. At the kerb, I turn and look back at the house. River is standing with Wendy in the doorway, his expression disturbingly stoic. I wave, and Wendy waves. River stands like a toy soldier, straight and unblinking, but the fingers of his right hand wiggle.

Neither of us speaks a word during the twenty-minute drive to my hotel. The enormity of what we’re doing is too staggering. We need time to select the words and formulate their order. When we arrive, Brooke parks the truck and automatically follows me inside, and I’m vaguely aware of fellow guests identifying us between the door and the elevator.

Brooke and I both released box office hits almost three weeks ago, and I’m the lead in the in-production film version of one of the decade’s most popular novels. Our STARmeter ranks are glowing green, and our days of occasionally roaming around in public sans bodyguards are all but over – especially when we’re together. It’s clear we’re about to be together a lot.

Following me from the elevator to my room, she collapses on the small sofa next to my open suitcase and stares out of the lake-view window at the cloudless sky.

I got a late checkout approved, but it’s already noon.

‘Lunch?’ I suggest, and she nods.

Grabbing the room service menu, I ask what she wants, and she waves a hand, mumbling, ‘I don’t care.’

After calling in sandwiches and fries, I grab a couple of bottled waters from the mini fridge and slump into the armchair next to her. While she sips silently, I swallow half my bottle.

‘So what now?’

Her eyes shift to mine and I blink, hard. She looks wrecked. ‘I want him, Reid. I’ve never wanted anything so much. Is it wrong? That I want him?’

For the space of a breath, I wonder why she’d think that wanting River could be wrong. And then it hits me. ‘You don’t trust your own intentions.’

She shakes her head, her eyes welling up.

I lean up and take her hand for the third or fourth time today. It’s still so cold that it feels bloodless. ‘Brooke, I’ve never seen you be less sure of yourself, and yet more on a mission. I knew when you said you were going to give up
Paper Oceans
to get him that you’d rocketed past my preconceived notions about Brooke Cameron.’ The image of River thumping his small knuckles against mine knocks the breath out of me. And that brief, barely-there smile. ‘But I guess I’m drinking the Kool-Aid, because I want him too. I can see that he’s good there with Wendy, but she’s a short-term solution and always was. My dad was right. If we don’t do this, we’ll live to regret it – sooner rather than later, I imagine.’

She frowns in confusion. ‘Your dad said that?’

‘Yeah,’ I chuckle. ‘Shocked the shit out of me.’

‘So he’s really … okay with you doing this?’

I shrug, thinking about the fact that my parents’ house is
in an uproar of make-ready for a four-year-old they didn’t even know existed a couple of weeks ago. Dad wore his courtroom face this morning at her attorney’s office, though Brooke’s counsel was genial, and by the time we’d left, the two of them were strategizing together as if they’d always done so. Evidently, there’s a potential issue with the fact that I’ll only be twenty, and the minimum age to adopt is twenty-one. They plan to carefully approach the judge with the contention that I was fifteen and had no legal counsel when I effectively gave up my parental rights.

‘He’s more than okay, and so is Mom. It’s bizarre. In their defence, I think I set their expectations of me quite low in the past few years.’

She laughs softly, one tear escaping and trailing down her cheek. I reach to wipe it away, but that simple touch erases her smile. She swallows and sits back abruptly. ‘Thanks for upending your schedule on such short notice to come with me today.’

My elbows on my knees and my hands clasped, I sigh. ‘You don’t need to thank me any more. We’re in this together. I’m not doing you a favour. I’m doing what I should have done in the first place – taking some fucking responsibility.’

I finish packing while we eat, and she agrees to drop me at the airport so I don’t have to bother with calling a car. When we exit the hotel, there’s a single photographer waiting outside. Snapping up from leaning against his van, he hollers our names, but neither of us takes the bait.
Nice try, dickwad
.
Luckily, the truck is parked in the opposite
direction, and since there’s only one of him, he doesn’t get too close – though I’m sure his zoom lens does.

My cell recorded a missed call from Reid, though I never heard it ring or felt it buzz. It figures that when I fully intended to answer it, my phone goes on hiatus. When I try him back, his phone is off – the call goes straight to voicemail – and I presume he’s somewhere between Texas and Utah. I leave him a message telling him I’ll be studying in my room tonight.

‘Call me when you’re back to your – trailer, I guess? Talk to you later. Bye.’

I try to imagine Reid in a production trailer, but having never been inside one, all I can picture is the interior of a motorhome purchased years ago by a pair of retired neighbours, after they sold the home they’d owned for forty years. They were very proud of the cramped, nomadic house and the miniature everything – from the fridge to the shower to the ‘bedroom’ that was little more than a wall-to-wall bed at the back of the vehicle.

During the ‘tour’, Deb leaned to me and murmured, ‘What happens when Oscar slams on the breaks to take a sharp corner and Ethel is in bed … or in the shower? Naked, wet, pissed-off old lady tumbleweeding up to the cockpit, that’s what.’

I nearly choked to death trying to contain my giggles.
When Mom turned and bestowed a narrowed look on the two of us, Deb blinked and appeared angelic, angling her head towards me. ‘She swallowed her gum.’ She slammed a hand on my back several times. ‘Cough it up, Dori, cough it up.’

In between devising a citations page for my Intro to Psychology paper and studying for a test in Intro to Sociology, I text Aimee, who is incensed that she and Kayla won’t get a normal spring break because UCLA does quarters instead of semesters.

Aimee:
We only get TWO DAYS of your spring break before we start another quarter! What about the college experience??? This is false advertising.

Me:
Didn’t you look at the academic calendar before applying? Or registering?

Aimee:
Obviously, no.

Me:
I’m sorry.
I’ll be home all week, though, and you go to school in LA.

Aimee:
But you’ll be making time for REID, I’m sure (not that I blame you). And … Nick?

Me:
Nick’s spring recess is a week before mine, so we’ll only overlap the first weekend. And Reid, if he’s in town, yes. He’s filming, though. So I’m not sure of his schedule yet.

Aimee:
DUH. He’ll be filming at Universal, so he’ll be in town. I have it on Perez authority.

Me:
I’m rolling my eyes at you so hard right now.

Ten minutes later, I get a text from Kayla.

Kayla:
Hey, check out the link I just messaged you. I don’t want to be the bearer of bad news, but there are some things you have to KNOW!

Me:
Ok.

The link goes to one of those websites I wish didn’t exist, where the lives of people like Reid are dissected and displayed. It’s there that I find a somewhat indistinct photo with the caption: ‘Reid Alexander and Brooke Cameron! Together again?’ They’re entering a hotel elevator. And if that isn’t conclusive enough – there’s an incontestable photo of the two of them a couple of hours later, exiting the same hotel and climbing into a pick-up truck.

Brooke Cameron is beautiful. This isn’t an envious or unrealistic statement – it’s just the incontestable truth. She’s one of the prettiest girls I’ve ever seen. Who had Reid’s baby. And was with him in Austin on Saturday. Entering and leaving a hotel.