The Miles Between Us (4 page)

“Just o
ne more bite,” he urged, as Emma vigorously avoided the spoon he was trying to tempt her with. “Just one more bite, Emmy.”

“
No!”

“Are
n’t you hungry, kiddo? I know you want your mom, but she can’t come home until the day after tomorrow. You need to eat.”

“Mum
!
Mum mum mum
.”

Oh, boy
. He’d just reopened the can of worms he’d been desperately trying to keep the lid on. “Shit,” he said.

“
Sit,” Emma repeated.

If Casey was here, she’d be giving him the Death Glare
right about now. She was adamant about him cleaning up his language around Emma, who was already beginning to repeat everything he said.

“Bad word,” he said.
“Bad Daddy.” Emma looked at him as though he were spouting Martian. To illustrate his point, he slapped his own hand. “Bad Daddy,” he repeated. “No naughty words in front of Emma.”

His daughter stared at hi
m with the absolute certainty that he was deranged. “Mum,” she said, and a fat tear trickled down her cheek.

This situation was
rapidly deteriorating. He thought about calling Paige, putting Emma on the phone with her sister, but then he’d have to answer questions he wasn’t ready to answer. And it might make things worse instead of better. Emma still didn’t get the concept of how a telephone worked, and she’d probably be looking for her sister once she heard Paige’s voice. She’d suffered enough trauma today. Besides, he didn’t want to ruin Paige’s camping trip. She’d been there since Saturday with her friend Tina’s family. He had the phone number for the campground, but he’d probably scare the kid half to death if he had the office track her down with a message to call home. Besides, there was no point in spoiling her week by telling her that Casey had lost the baby. When she came home would be soon enough to give her the news.

So h
e was on his own. He took Emma out of her high chair, washed and changed her, and cleaned up the remains of her supper. When he was done, he tried rocking her in Casey’s favorite Boston rocker. That usually did the trick. But Emma squalled and squirmed and refused to close her eyes.

The phone rang
. He rose, propped Emmy on his hip, crossed the kitchen to the wall phone, and answered it.

“What in bloody hell are you doing, disappearing like this?” said an all-too-familiar voice
. “We have a record to finish, in case you hadn’t heard.”

Phoenix Hightower, teen idol and all-around pain in the ass
, had been a London guttersnipe with a modicum of talent when he was “discovered” and turned into a pop star a couple of years ago. He had a pretty face and great hair, a sweet, girlish voice, and a truckload of attitude. Teenage girls adored him. Record company executives feared him. He’d sent more than one record producer into meltdown mode.

And right now, he was all Rob’s.

In resignation, he said, “Hey, Phoenix.”

“
Hey, Phoenix? That’s not an answer, mate.”

Bouncing his daughter on his hip in an unsuccessful attempt to silence her,
Rob squared his jaw and said into the phone, “I had a family emergency.”

“This is very unprofessional behavior
,” Phoenix said. “And what’s that god-awful, bloody noise?”

“That
god-awful, bloody noise is my daughter.” And if Phoenix Hightower wanted a picture of unprofessional behavior, he needed only to look in the mirror.

“Well, for
the love of Christ, shut her up.”

On his hip, Emma continued
wailing. “Was there something you wanted, Phoenix?” he said. “Because I really don’t have time for this right now.”

“I
want you back here. You disrupted my plans. I need to be recording tomorrow.”

“Not gonna happen, buddy
. I told you, I had a family emergency.”

“What
sort of family emergency?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but my wife had a miscarriage
this morning.”

With utter disbelief, Phoenix said,
“And you went all the way home to—wherever the hell home is—for something like that?”

“Home is
in Maine. And yes, I did. I suppose you think I should’ve blown it off?”

“I’ve never heard of Maine,
and you need to think about your priorities.”

Rob’s eyebrows went sky high
. With a calm he was far from feeling, he said, “This
is
my priority. There are times when family comes first. This is one of those times.”

“I need that album finished on time.”

“It’ll be done on time. I already talked to the record company. Who gave you my home number, anyway?”

“
The record company’s run by a bunch of wankers. I need this done now. I have things I need to be doing, places I need to go, and the longer this drags on, the more of a time squeeze it places on me. I have a tour coming up. I need time to get ready for it.”

A headache sprang to life beneath his right temple
. “Phoenix,” he said, “how old are you?”

“I’m seventeen
. Why?”

“I presume this means
you’ve never had a wife, or a kid, or even, I suspect, a serious girlfriend you really cared about?”

“What’s your point?”

“My wife just lost a baby. We lost a
child
, Phoenix. A child we had hopes and plans for. A child we’re currently mourning. In the process, my wife almost died, too.”

“
Sorry. But she obviously didn’t die. So why are you there instead of here?”

Jesus, Mary and Joseph
.
Rubbing at his temple, he said, “This might surprise you, but the world doesn’t revolve around you.”

The kid
actually laughed. “My world does. It’s not my problem that yours doesn’t. You work for me, and—”

“
Hold it just a minute, kid. I don’t work for you. I work for the record company. Maybe you should take it up with them.”

“Maybe I will
. Maybe I’ll order them to fire you for walking off the job.”

One could only hope
. “Are you unhappy with my work?” he said. “Do you have a problem with it? Because if you do, I have no problem with tearing up my contract and walking. There are plenty of producers out there. I’m sure you and your friends at the record company can find somebody else to finish the album. Eventually.”

“
Whoa. I didn’t say I had a problem with your work. Just—”

“Fine
. Then I’d like to suggest that you take a step back, retract the claws, and try to acquaint yourself with the concept of compassion. I’ll be back in a few days. In the meantime, put on a pair of dark glasses and a wig and spend a few days playing tourist. Take a boat ride to the Statue of Liberty. Ride the escalator to the top floor of Macy’s. Pretend you’re on vacation.”

“I don’t need a bloody vacation
! What I need is—”

“Goodbye, Phoenix.”

The kid was still sputtering when he hung up the phone.

It took him a moment or three to recover from
the steaming mass of sheer audacity that was Phoenix Hightower. That wasn’t even the kid’s real name. His real name was Russell. He’d been dubbed Phoenix by his manager, who’d thought it sounded more appropriate than Russell for a future teen idol. “Can you believe that, Emma?” he said. “That goddamn—I mean, bleeping—little monster? Talking to Daddy like that?”

Emma
studied him through tear-filled eyes, but her only response was a whimper.

So he let it go
. When he found out who at the record company had given Phoenix his unlisted home number, heads would roll. But for now, he would let it go and focus on his daughter instead of that condescending British twit. He turned on the stereo, found an oldies station, and began dancing his daughter in swooping circles around the kitchen, singing with Doug Fieger of the Knack as he danced. This was his favorite thing to do with Emma, and usually it elicited peals of delighted laughter, especially when he sang off key with great gusto, butchering the lyrics. Sometimes, she even tried to sing with him in her charming, non-musical way. But tonight, Emma was having none of it. Tonight,
My Sharona
wasn’t her cup of tea.

The song ended
, and he said, “This isn’t working, is it?” Sobbing, her eyes wide with accusation, his daughter just stared at him. “You want to go for a ride?” he said.

She bobbed her head up and down and
, through her sobbing, said with exquisite clarity—at least to his ears, “Car?”

Emma never failed to surprise him, never faile
d to delight. With fatherly pride, he said, “That’s an offer I can’t refuse,” and grabbed his keys.

It was getting
late, but the lights were still on at Trish and Bill’s house. Together, they greeted him at the door. He handed over his daughter to her adored Uncle Bill, then allowed himself to be enveloped in a warm, motherly hug from Trish. “How are you doing, hon?” she said when she released him.

“I’ve had better days.
” It had finally caught up to him. The exhaustion. The stress. The terror.

“Ice cream,” Bill said to Emma,
opening the freezer door and pulling out a carton of Häagen-Dazs. “Drizzled with chocolate syrup. Sound good to you, Emmy?”

“Kee,” she said
. “Kee.”

“Works every time,” Bill said, closing the freezer.

“Little brat wouldn’t eat anything for me,” Rob said.

“Uncle Bill has the magic touch,” Trish said
. “He’s been spoiling the grandkids for years.”

“I never met a kid who’d turn down ice cream
.” Bill took a spoon from the drawer and adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses with a knuckle. “How’s my sister doing?”

“I talked
to the doctor before I left. They’re keeping her an extra day, just to be safe. As long as everything goes okay tomorrow, they’re releasing her Sunday morning. She’s coming home with some strict rules, and they’re giving her iron supplements to boost her blood. Right now, I’m counting my blessings. This could’ve been so much worse.”

His stomach growled, and a frown crossed Trish’s face
. “When was the last time you ate?” she demanded.

He opened his mouth to answer, realized
for the first time that he hadn’t eaten all day. He’d been too focused on Casey to think about food. “Breakfast,” he admitted. Breakfast had consisted of an Egg McMuffin, eaten at God only knew what time, and washed down with a cup of black coffee. No wonder the exhaustion had crawled inside his brain and left him drained and empty.

“Sit here
.” Trish pulled out a chair. “How do you like your eggs?”

“Right now,” he said, “I’m so hungry I could eat the damn things raw
. But over easy will do.”

“Coffee
? Tea? Beer?”

“I’d love a cold one.”

Emma and her Uncle Bill retreated to the living room with their ice cream, and Rob nursed his beer and watched Trish bustle about the kitchen. Damp curls ringing the edges of her upswept hair, his sister-in-law swung a cast-iron frying pan onto the stove and lit the burner. His grandmother had owned one of those pans. She’d called it a spider, and the food she’d fried up in that spider, swimming in lard, was one of his fondest memories from childhood.

Trish moved to the fridge, took out a package of bacon and three
enormous eggs. Beneath the blond curls, she had a sweet face, softened and enhanced by the twenty extra pounds she carried. When he’d first met Trish Lindstrom Bradley, he hadn’t been sure he liked her. Trish had made knowing everybody else’s business her life’s work, and she wasn’t shy about expressing her opinions. Sometimes, her assertive and overly maternal demeanor grated on him. Tonight, he found it comforting. When she plopped a huge plate of perfectly fried eggs, bacon, and toast in front of him, he almost wept. “Anything else I can get you?” she asked.

“Ketchup
? And coffee, if you don’t mind.” After the day he’d just gone through, he would have loved to ask for another beer or six, but he had precious cargo to transport, and with Casey away, he needed all of his faculties. So he settled for coffee instead, generously poured ketchup over his eggs, and wolfed down the meal as though he hadn’t eaten in six months.

When he was done, he set down
the fork, sighed in satisfaction, and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Thank you,” he said. “I had no idea I was so hungry.”

“You have to take care of yourself,” Trish said
. “Casey and Emma need you right now. When will Paige be home?”

“Sunday.”

“Good. Casey’ll be running on empty for a while. Paige should be a big help to both of you.”

“I swear to God, Trish, I’ve never been so scared in my life
. If I lost her—” To his acute embarrassment, tears sprang to life behind his eyelids. It was the exhaustion, he told himself as he leaned forward on his elbows, hands covering his eyes in mortification.