The Miles Between Us (9 page)

“Hey.” He leaned his head back, saw her face, and swiveled the chair around. Whispered, “You’ve been crying.”

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing.” He leaned over the mic, pushed a button, said, “Phoenix? Take ten. I need to talk to my wife.”

The kid’s mouth clamped abruptly shut
. With a sour expression on his face, he stomped from the sound booth, through the control room, and slammed out the door, taking all those spare people with him.

“Do I dare to ask?”
Casey said.

Rob leaned back in his chair
. Swiveling lazily, he said, “The big guy—Luther—is his bodyguard. Or maybe just his babysitter. No clarification on that yet. The others? They’re his posse.”

“His
what
?”

“You knew you’d be sorry y
ou asked. I believe in our day it was called a retinue. Basically, it’s a loosely-organized group of hangers-on who leech off the money teat, milk it dry, then move on to a new, milkier teat.”

“
How lovely. What’ll they do when his voice changes?”

“See?” Rob said to the sound engineer
—Kyle, she thought his name was. “My wife is not only beautiful, but smart, and she has a razor-sharp wit.”

“I can see that
. I’ll just make myself scarce for a few minutes.” Kyle picked up his coffee cup, nodded politely, and let himself out of the room.

“Where are the girls?” she said
. “Why aren’t they here with you?”

Rob drew her onto his lap
. “Paige took Emma to a movie.”

Fear, instantaneous and
ridiculously out of proportion to the situation, slammed into her chest and swallowed her alive. “You let them out on the street alone? In Manhattan? Are you
insane
?”

“They’re fine
. They’re just a block away. And Paige is as tough as they come.”

“My God
. What if something happens to them? What if—I don’t know. What if they get mugged?”

“Casey.”

“Or—” She scraped her hair back from her face. “Or hit by a taxi?”

“Babe.”

“Or molested by some pervert in that darkened movie theater?”

“Casey!”

He finally got her attention. “What?” she said.

“For the love of Mike,
woman, the girls are fine. Don’t you trust me?”

Her heart still hammered, double-time, inside her chest
. “I trusted Danny,” she said. “And look how that turned out.”

He muttered an expletive,
drew her closer, and folded her in his arms. She rested her head against his shoulder. And let out a hard breath.

“You’re shaking,” he said.

“Just hold me. Just shut up and hold me.”

For a time, they were both silent as
her breathing gradually slowed, smoothed, until it matched his. He picked up her hand, kissed the knuckles. Said, “Why were you crying?”

“Nothing
. I—I don’t really know. It just hit me, and—you’re sure they’re all right?”

Tenderly stroking the hair at her temple, he said, “
One hundred percent sure. Do you think I’d let anything happen to Emma?”

She took a breath, wet her lips
. Said, “I’m not being rational, am I?”

“Truthfully
? Not really.”

“Oh, God.
” She drew a sharp, ragged breath. “What is wrong with me?”

“Maybe I should take you
home. Cut this thing short for the day, and pick back up tomorrow.”

“No.
” She sat up straight, smoothed her hair, pulled her dignity around her like a suit of armor. “You have a job to do, you have studio time booked, and I’m being ridiculous. I just—I want my little girl, that’s all. I want to hold her in my arms and never let her go.”

He took her hand in his and gently rubbed her knuckles
. “The girls are due back anytime. How’d it go with the doctor?”

“It went.”

“Everything okay?”

“I’m fine
. Nicely healed. Fully cleared for playtime activities.”

He waggled his eyebrows
. “Good to know. So, did you have the Big Talk?”

She looked at him blankly, and he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear
. “Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. The birth control talk. What did she have to say about that?”

“Exactly what you’d expect her to say
. Don’t even try for at least six months. Decide on a birth control method that’s workable. Don’t take too much time deciding, and be damn careful in the meantime.”

His eyes narrowed
. So did his mouth. “She didn’t put you on anything?”

“I told her I had to think about it.”

“Is that a good idea? Jesus, babe, we don’t need any accidents.”

She sat silent, tight-lipped and stiff
. “Or,” he said, “maybe you’re hoping for an accident.”

“The clock is ticking
, Flash. I’m almost thirty-eight years old. I don’t have that much time left.”

He leaned his head back and, staring at the ceiling, let out a
pained sigh. “Did you talk about this obsession you have with getting pregnant again?”

“It’s not an obsession, and I resent you calling it that.”

“I’m sorry, but that’s how it looks from my side of the bed.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“I don’t want you to say anything. I also don’t want you to die. Because facing life without you beside me? Not a place I’m interested in visiting.”

* * *

On the way back to the apartment, with Emma safely tucked into her stroller, Casey stopped at
Oh, Baby!
again. Determined to not make an ass of herself this time, she avoided the newborn department, instead marching directly to the 18-month-size clothing for girls. She thumbed through racks of dresses, with their ruffles and lace and girly, flowery prints. “Look, Emma,” she said, holding up a pretty little aqua-colored number with loads of ruffles and a big, puffy bow on the bodice. “You’d look beautiful in this, don’t you think?”

“Gah,” Emma said.

“That’s what I thought, too,” Casey said. “Do you want Mama to buy you this pretty dress?”

“No,” Emma said,
usually her default response to any question.

“
Maybe this one, too,” Casey said.

“Mum mum.”

“We can dress you up all pretty and surprise Daddy when he comes home.”

“Da.”

That sounded like agreement to her, so she bought two dozen dresses, six packages of tights, and a pair of shiny white patent-leather shoes that took her back to Easter mornings and summer Sunday school when she was a girl not much older than Emma. As she paid for her purchases, she told herself there was no rational excuse for her earlier meltdown. It wasn’t as though Emma had grown up overnight. She was still a baby. And if, while she was shopping for Emma, she happened to take a peek at the newborn items as well, it didn’t mean she was psychologically unstable. She liked baby clothes. Liked baby toys. Liked
babies
. What was wrong with liking babies? It didn’t mean she was obsessed. Rob was, once again, blowing things out of proportion, worrying about phantoms that only existed in the darkest regions of his mind.

Back at
home, she dropped the bags on the couch, left Emma’s stroller in the entryway, and settled in the rocking chair, where they spent some special mother-daughter time. With Emma cuddled on her lap, Casey read
Pat the Bunny
to her wide-eyed little girl. “See how soft the bunny is?” she said. “Does Emmy like the soft bunny?”

“Da.”
Emma reached out a tiny hand, touched the furry creature with eager little fingers, then looked up at her mother and grinned, a grin so like Rob’s that Casey found it a little disarming. It was a sure bet that by the time she was fifteen, Emma would be turning members of the opposite sex into a warm puddle of goo, just like her father still did.

Casey buried her nose in Emma’s velvety-soft neck, eliciting
squeals of delight. “My sweet baby,” she said, breathing in the heady scent of little girl, “I haven’t given you enough Mom time lately.”

“Mum,” Emma said.

Guilt nibbled at the edges of her consciousness. Emma wasn’t the only one she’d been neglecting. She’d always been a good wife, a good mother. But lately, she’d been too encased in her own cocoon of misery, too spent, too empty, to expend any of her time or energy on Paige or Rob. She really needed to make a little more effort, even if that effort did feel like wading through a sea of molasses.

So she picked up the phone and called Rob.

After the miscarriage, he’d bought them matching cell phones. It had seemed silly to her at the time. What on earth would they do with the things? At home, tucked into the rolling hills of Western Maine, the phones barely worked. Cell towers were few and far between in Maine’s rural areas. Nobody she knew had a cell phone, and she’d lived almost forty years without carting one around. Why was Rob so insistent that she needed one now?

But she had to admit that here in New York, where there were no problems with reception, the phones came in handy
. With Rob working so many hours, it was nice to be able to reach him at any point in time without having to go through Sheila.

He answered on the second ring, sounding a little distracted
. “Hey,” she said.

“Hey
. What’s up?”

“Emmy and I are going through Daddy withdrawals
. I thought if you could get out at a reasonable hour, I’d make a nice dinner for the four of us.”

“Are you sure you’re up to it
? You’ve had a long day. Paige and I are perfectly fine having pizza brought in.”

“My day just got better
. Emmy and I have been shopping. And you can’t live on pizza. I thought that since I’ve been neglecting my family lately, I’d try to make it up to you tonight. Are you game?”

“I can manage it, if you’re sure
. What time do you want us home?”

“Eight
-thirty?”

“Eight
-thirty works for me.”

So she loaded Emma back in her stroller and went to the market on the next block, where she picked up fresh salad greens and a roasting chicken
. Back home again, she stashed her groceries in the fridge and gave Emma a bath.

Bath time
was Emma’s favorite time of day. She splashed and played, poured water from one plastic teacup into another, babbled contentedly while her mother shampooed her hair and washed every inch of her with a soft terry bath mitt. Casey rinsed Emma’s hair, then plucked her from the bath water, wrapped her in a soft towel, and carried her into the bedroom.

Diapered and powdered, Emma
lay on the bed, giggling when Casey pressed her lips to her belly and blew a raspberry. Casey had picked out the aqua dress with the bow. The dress went on with relative ease; the tights, not so much. While Emma squirmed and fought, Casey struggled to pull them up straight and smooth.

The white patent leather shoes finished off Emma’s ensemble, and Casey sat her daughter in her lap and brushed Emma’s yellow, baby-fine hair
. Pulling it into a topknot, she clipped it with a barrette, and the transformation was complete. “You look so beautiful, Miss Emmy Lou Who,” she said. “You could pass for a movie star.”

“No,” Emma said.

“Oh, yes. A glamorous blonde. Daddy will be so impressed.”

“Da?”

“Later, baby. Let’s go set up your playpen in the kitchen. Right now, we have to cook.”

R
ob

As soon as he stepped out of the elevator, he heard the music. Sheryl Crow, singing
All I Wanna Do
, from her album
Tuesday Night Music Club
. He’d bought it for Casey last Christmas. She wasn’t playing it loud enough to bother the neighbors, just loud enough to be recognizable. Rob exchanged a glance with Paige, then unlocked the apartment door and held it so she could go in ahead of him.

His olfactory nerve
s went crazy the instant he walked through the door, teased by a smell so wonderful that at first he thought he’d died and gone to heaven. He wasn’t even sure what he was smelling. Chicken, maybe, with one of those wonderful rubs that she made from her secret mix of spices. If he hadn’t already been crazy in love with her, he would have married Casey Fiore for her cooking skills alone. He found her in the kitchen, humming along with Sheryl as she stirred a little taste of heaven in a large cooking pot with a wooden spoon. Her cheeks flushed, her hair messy, she looked like something cool and sweet that he wanted to pour over himself, dive into, and take a deep swim in. The table was already set, with a tablecloth and fresh flowers. She turned from the stove and said, “Hi,” with a saucy smile.

“Hi,” he said.

“Dinner’s almost ready.” For the first time in weeks, she seemed like herself: calm, competent, sexy.

In the playpen, Emma reached up her arms and bounced up and down, saying, “Dadadadadada
da.”

Rob bent down, swept her up,
swung her high over his head, and said, “Who is this hot young chick, and what happened to my Emmy Lou Who?”

His daughter squealed in delight
. He lowered her, propped her in the crook of his arm and, waggling his eyebrows, said, “You’re quite the vamp in this get-up, Emmy. Something new?”

“I told you,” Ca
sey said, “we went shopping.” Wooden spoon in hand, she stretched on tiptoe, past their squirming daughter, and he leaned down and kissed her. “Wait till you see the rest,” she said.

“There’s more?”

“Much, much more. Right, Emma?”

“Am I going to have to revoke your credit card privileges?”

“Very funny, Flash. Get yourself a drink and wait. Ten minutes. Out of my kitchen. Shoo! Paige, want to stay and help?”

He did what she said; he didn’t dare not to
. He settled on the couch with Emma and a cold bottle of Heineken, picked up the remote and switched on the television with the sound muted because Sheryl was still singing. Flipping silently through the channels, he settled on
Seinfeld
. But he couldn’t focus on the show. Muted, the visuals gave no clue as to what the episode was about, and with
Seinfeld
, it was all about the dialogue. Besides, he was too distracted by Casey’s behavior. He was probably overreacting, but this perky, enthusiastic goddess didn’t quite gibe with the anxiety-ridden woman he’d seen just a few hours ago. One of these opposing twins was a Stepford wife, but which one?

Every so often, when there was a break in the music, the quiet murmur of voices floated from the kitchen
. He was grateful that his wife and the daughter who’d come to him as a surprise package two years ago had bonded almost from the beginning. Paige had given them a run for their money. Penance, he supposed, for the stupidity and single-mindedness of his youth. His wife had been born with the kind of patience he lacked. There were times when he’d been ready to give up on the kid, but Casey remained cool, calm, constant in her love for his daughter.

He’d grown a few gray hairs last winter, when
Paige and Mikey Lindstrom had cooked up some cockamamie scheme about eloping. Thank God they’d realized how crazy the idea was before it was too late. Now, on the verge of her senior year, she’d settled down, was gradually losing the chip from her shoulder as she evolved from resentful teenager to smart, beautiful young woman. She’d inherited some of that single-mindedness from him, but she wore it much better than he had. In his younger days, he’d been so focused on his music that the rest of his life had been in tatters. If it hadn’t been for Casey, he probably would’ve crashed and burned years ago. She’d been his rock, the one solid thing in his life. It hadn’t mattered that she was married to Danny, not back then. She was Danny’s rock, too. Among many talents his wife possessed, that was arguably her greatest.

But now, he was seeing the rock
begin to crack, and he had no idea how to fix it. Or even whether it could be fixed. So he sat here, beer in hand and his daughter in his lap, and brooded over it, because that was his greatest talent. He was a world-class, grand champion brooder.

A few minutes passed before Paige came to the doorway and said, “Dad
? Dinner’s ready.”

Casey’d gone out of her way to make dinner something special
. Fresh flowers on the table. A salad with fresh organic greens and homemade poppy seed dressing, followed by a roast chicken with cornbread stuffing, creamy mashed potatoes, peas, and a side dish of cinnamon-flavored pink applesauce. Nothing elegant, just good, old-fashioned home cooking. While Emma played in her potatoes with her plastic spoon and chased peas with her fingers, Rob and Paige shoveled in the first real home-cooked meal they’d eaten since they came to New York, and Casey kept up a steady stream of bright, cheery patter. She seemed so light and airy, he knew that something was off.

“While I was out,” she said, “I picked up
some movies. I thought we could watch one together after Emma goes to bed.”

Paige raised her head. His eyes met hers, and she shrugged
. “Fine by me,” he said, reaching for a second dinner roll. He just wanted his wife to be happy, and if he had to sit through a chick flick to accomplish that, it was a small price to pay.

While Paige and Casey cleaned up the kitchen after dinner,
he got Emma washed up and in her pajamas, read her a bedtime story, then settled her in the crib with a bottle. The women were just finishing up when he came back. “Why don’t the two of you pick a movie and get it started?” Casey said. “I’ll make some popcorn.”

He’d eaten so much
already that he wasn’t sure his stomach would hold anything else, but if it would make her happy, he’d eat popcorn until it came out his ears. While the microwave hummed in the kitchen, he and Paige checked out the movies, argued a little, finally came to a compromise. Paige settled into the recliner that she’d claimed the day they moved in, and he got the TV and the VCR ready. Halfway through the previews, realizing he’d stopped hearing the sound of popping corn quite some time ago, he headed to the kitchen to see what was taking her so long.

The room was dark, lit only by a single night light.
A dark figure set against its illumination, his wife stood at the sink, her head bowed, her hands gripping the counter so hard that even in this faint light, he could see the taut tendons in her wrists, the whiteness of her knuckles. “Babe?” he said softly.

She raised her head, straightened her spine
. But still didn’t look at him. “Casey?” he said, taking a step toward her.

His wife
finally turned, and he saw the sunken eyes, the pallor. “I’m just so tired,” she said. “That’s all.”

He muttered a curse under his breath, and she reached out a slender hand and touched his face.
“I’m fine,” she said. “Really.”

“Like hell you are.
” Before she had time to protest, he scooped her up in his arms. “Change of plans,” he told Paige as he carried his wife through the living room and down the hallway toward the master bedroom. Casey didn’t argue, and that was what frightened him the most. The Casey he knew would have been making sassy remarks and issuing orders. This Casey was limp and compliant. The wife who was the center of his universe was disappearing right in front of his eyes, piece by piece, like the Cheshire Cat.

He sat her on the edge of the bed, knelt and took off her shoes, set them aside
. Peeled off her socks, her jeans, her tee shirt. Sitting there in just her underwear, she said, “I’m so sorry, Flash. I’ve been neglecting you, and all I wanted was to make things festive for one night.”

“Don’t be ridiculous
. There’s not a damn thing to be sorry for. You’re exhausted, physically and emotionally. You’ve been through hell, and today, you pushed yourself to the point of collapse. Paige and I appreciate everything you do for us, but it’s more important to us that you take care of yourself.”

“
If that’s so, then why are you taking care of me?”

“Hey,” he said
. “Remember that jazzy little thing they put in the wedding vows?
In sickness and in health.
Remember that?”

“
I’m not sick.”

“You’re heartsick
, babe. Add exhaustion to that, and what you have is a volatile cocktail.”

“You make me sound like something that’s about to explode.”

Except that she wasn’t exploding. She was imploding. “Come on,” he said, drawing back the covers and patting the mattress. “Let’s get you into bed.”

Like a
n obedient five-year-old, she scooted into place, rested her head on the pillow, dark hair falling all around her, and he drew the covers up to her chin. “There,” he said. “You get some sleep. I guarantee you’ll feel better in the morning.”

She ran a hand up his arm
. “Are you coming to bed?”

“In a few minutes
. I need to talk to Paige first. Go to sleep.” He leaned and kissed her forehead, then reached to turn out the light. “That’s an order.”

He closed the
bedroom door softly behind him. Paige was waiting in the living room, the movie on pause, her eyes wide with concern. “Is she okay?” she said.

“I don’t know.
” He sat down hard on the couch, braced his elbows on his knees. Scraped his fingers through his hair. Lifted his head, met his daughter’s eyes. And sighed. “I honest-to-God don’t know.”

“I don’t understand what’s going on
. She was fine, right up until she wasn’t.”

“She wasn’t fine
. She was faking it. Eyes a little too bright, chatter a little too enthusiastic. I don’t know who that woman was, but she wasn’t my wife.”

“Her hormones are messed up
. She was pregnant, and now she isn’t. I don’t think it matters that she didn’t deliver a full-term baby. She could still be going through post-partum depression.”

“She just saw the doctor
. You’d think Deb would’ve noticed if something was wrong.”

“I don’t know
. She’s pretty good at hiding it. I live with her, and I didn’t see through that bright and bubbly façade.”

“True.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Just
help me keep an eye on her. This is bound to pass. Eventually.” He rose to his feet. “I’m going to bed. Don’t stay up too late.”

In the bedroom, he undressed in the dark and crawled into bed, silently, so he wouldn’t wake her
. But his wife wasn’t sleeping. She rolled onto her side, slipped an arm around him beneath the covers, and rested her cheek against his chest. Her words slurred from exhaustion, she said, “Hey there, hot stuff.”

“Hey.” He gathered her closer,
that warm body pressed hard against his. “I thought you’d be asleep by now.”

“I’m too tired to sleep.”

“And I’m the King of Siam.”

She let out a sleepy sigh and said,
“Yul Brynner.”

“What?”

“
The King and I
. The movie?” She cleared her throat. “Yul Brynner played the King of Siam.”

Her words conjured up a vague image of a broad-shouldered man with a shaved head, but he didn’t think he’d ever seen the movie
. “Forget Yul Brynner,” he said. “You need to sleep.”

“And you need to stop worrying about me.”

“Like that’s ever going to happen.”

“I overdid today
. It’s my own fault. I’m probably still anemic from blood loss. It’s only been a couple of weeks.” She yawned, settled more comfortably against him. “Flying up and back in one day was too much for me. I should’ve stayed overnight and flown back tomorrow. Stupid.”

“You don’t have a stupid bone in your body, Fiore.”

“I love you, too, MacKenzie.”

“I didn’t say it because I love you
. I said it because it’s true.”

“Mmn hmn.”

The silence between them was comfortable, the silence of two people who drew their sunlight and oxygen from each other’s presence. After a time, deciding to dip a single toe into the water, he said, “Babe?”

“Mmn.”

“There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

“Mmn hmn.”

“You know that little guitar store down on Broadway, near 43
rd
?”

Silence, punctuated only by her deep and even breathing
. He carefully brushed the hair away from her face and adjusted the blankets around them.