This Much Is True (47 page)

But Rob was there. And I owe Rob. I still do.

I tap the table in a steady rhythm. “Nobody is supposed to know about it yet, especially the NYC Ballet. But I’m considering it. It would be nice to be home. I’ve only seen my family a couple of times since I moved here. I’ve missed three Christmases in a row. It’d be amazing to dance for the San Francisco Ballet. They’re up and coming. Sasha thinks the dance company is a little more reasonable.”

“You mean you might get to have a life?”

“Almost.” I laugh and so does she.

After a few minutes, she asks, “Do you think you’ll ever go back?”

“Go back? What? To Moscow?” I shake my head side-to-side. “Not a chance in hell of that happening.
Ever
. I hate that city now.” My voice is low, so we won’t be overheard. “I turned down the European tour. I’ve paid my dues. More than my fair share. They want to extend my contract, but I want to see what SFB comes up with. Sasha can help me make that happen; hopefully, by some unexpected miracle or twist of fate.” I frown. “The thing is you have all these plans, and you hope that things will turn out differently because you sacrifice so much and then
nothing
turns out the way you thought it would…” I force myself to smile. “Just know that if Sasha comes through with an offer, I hope to be able to take it.”

“That’s what he says about the sacrifices he made, and that nothing turned out the way he planned,” Kimberley says with a little sigh.

I can feel her sympathy from all the way across the table between us. Now I’m wary and wondering what her true purpose is, so I glare at her because I refuse to take that particular bait. I’m not talking about Lincoln Presley with Kimberley Powers.

“I don’t want to talk about
him
,” I say with a dismissive wave of my hand. “Look. I just want to move on. Be off the front pages of the newspapers for a long while and get on with my life.
With Rob.”

“I can see that,” she says thoughtfully. “He wanted that for you, too.” She looks conflicted. “But he wanted to make things right for you. He didn’t ask me to give you this. I found it one day, when I recently met with him at his place in L.A., I thought you should see it.” She draws her iPhone out of her bag, pulls up a photograph, and slides it over to me.

I stare at the image of a bank deposit slip in the amount of six hundred thousand dollars for a long time. It is Robert Garrett Thorn’s bank account that received the transfer.
Over four months ago. Right after Moscow.
The deposit slip date—December 3
rd
—all but slams into me. “Why would Linc transfer money to Rob’s account?”

“He wanted to be the one to buy your freedom, not Rob. When I saw it, I thought you would want to know, especially, when, after a while; it became obvious that Rob never told you, since you didn’t reach out to Linc. You have the right to be set free and not feel obligated to a guy, who basically keeps you for six-hundred-thousand different reasons.” She frowns. “Rob’s a nice guy, but I think he tries too hard. And when he feels threatened he doesn’t play fair. Linc always plays fair, sometimes to his detriment. And I’ll say it again, because it bears repeating; you have the right to be free. You don’t owe Rob. And you don’t owe Linc. You
do,
however, owe it to yourself to get what you want and to have a life and to be able to live it as you choose.”

“Is this some kind of
payoff
?”

“No! He doesn’t even
know
that I found out about this. He just wanted to make it right. He knows that it looks like he chose baseball over you again but allow me to tell you
the whole story
.” She takes a deep breath. “He went back that day in Moscow after they released him. I talked him into leaving the Moscow Police Headquarters. I cajoled him into leaving to catch the flight back, so did his lawyer, but he insisted upon coming back for you only to learn that you were already gone and had left with Rob. He had a press conference. Have you seen it?”

I shake my head. “No. I try to avoid watching the news at all costs now.”

Kimberley grabs her iPhone and brings up a video. Seconds later, I’m staring at Linc as he goes on about how great I am and how brave I was and then the camera shifts away from Lincoln Presley to the Moscow Police Chief, who is busy giving his own speech about how fair they’d been and how the witnesses’ statements cleared everything up. I wince upon hearing these lies, but the man’s words drift away from me as I start to put things together. “
When
was this?”

“That day—the day you gave your statement to the police--we’d left for the airport and then Linc insisted we go back, and as you can see he gave his own statement to the reporters. Then the police chief came out, and that’s when we found out you were already gone. Rob called my cell and told me that you two had left the police station, and that he’d paid six hundred thousand to the crime victim’s fund for the chief to ensure your freedom. We knew it might go down that way. I’d told you and Rob that earlier; and, I tried to tell Linc that, too.” She takes a deep breath. “I just want to say how sorry I am and for my role in all of this. I probably contributed to the misunderstandings between the two of you, although Rob Thorn and Nika Vostrikova both seem to be doing their best in their own way to keep the two of you apart at almost…”

She stops talking. I follow her intense gaze toward the restaurant’s front entrance, where two familiar faces saunter in together and make their way to a back table. Rob Thorn and Nika Vostrikova don’t even glance our way as they quickly move through the bar to their private table. I’m stunned beyond words.

“Well, I guess their hook-up at Marla’s wedding was more than a casual thing,” Kimberley says softly.

“They were together at Marla’s wedding?” I ask listlessly.

She nods. “Look, I know you think I’m the enemy here, but I’m not. I always look out for the best interests of my clients.
All of them.
You’re one. Linc’s one. I see and hear about things all the time. It’s my job to know about them.”

“So…you were going to tell me about Rob and Nika?” I glance over at their table again, bizarrely fascinated at learning that my relationship with Rob is on the rocks. This numbing sensation envelops all of me as I watch the two of them together. They seem to share an intimate conversation, laugh at each other’s jokes, and obviously don’t see anyone else beyond each other. I wince and feel all these conflicting emotions—anger, jealousy, and relief—all at the same time.

“No. I didn’t see the point. A lot of stuff went down at Marla’s wedding.” She looks at me pointedly.

“Right.” I nod. “I broke it off with Linc then; and he got together with Nika. Come to think of it; I broke it off with Rob, too. And then there was Moscow.” I let the words hang in the air between us.

“Like I said, she left him while he was in jail in Moscow. Nice; huh? It turns out; there was never a baby, and he got tired of her lies. And he loves you. He has always loved you.”

“What are you a relationship broker?” I ask in exasperation. Nervous now, I guzzle the remainder of the cocktail in front of me and somewhat slam the glass back down on the Formica and glare at her.

“No,” she says wanly. “I
wish
. You two are impossible.
Really
.”

I grab her phone again, replay the press conference, and then re-examine the bank deposit slip.

Then, without my asking her to, Kimberley dutifully sends them as attachments directly to my phone.

“I don’t understand any of this at all. Why would Linc send the money? And why didn’t Rob tell me?”

“I imagine Rob wanted to keep you in any way he could. But you have to ask yourself…don’t you, Tally? Why is that? When did being honest get to be such a hard thing to come by in a relationship?”

“I haven’t been exactly truthful in mine,” I say with a sigh. Kimberley is being cagey, and I know instinctively she’s holding something back from me.

“What do you really want? What does
he
want?” I ask.

“He knows about your baby, and from the things Sasha said to him when he was looking for you…he thinks it might be his. We’ve all but confirmed it is. It’s his, isn’t it, Tally? You had a baby girl on the 31
st
of January, three years ago; and Linc’s the father.”

I stare at her without answering, but my eyes sting with new tears and I slowly nod.

“Look,” Kimberley says gently. “It’s my fault for some of the stuff that went down with you two. I’m sure that you felt you had to give up this baby to protect his career and his reputation. He now knows what you sacrificed. We all do. And he just wants to do the right thing for her and for you.”

I close my eyes. “I wasn’t expecting that part of the story to ever come out,” I whisper under my breath. “And this is not a conversation to have here.”

“Why? Because our waitress Elissa knows about this baby, too? Secrets are hard to keep.”

I shake my head slowly. “It doesn’t change anything. The adoption is iron-clad other than the unlikely event that the adoptive parent dies or something and then custody reverts to me. There’s nothing he needs to do, in fact.”

“Regardless, he just wants to make it right for you and for the baby—support you with this in some way.”

“Wow,” I finally say drawing a breath inward. “Just wow. I…I don’t what to say. It doesn’t work quite like that. First of all, I don’t know where they are. The adoptive mother—Allaire Tremblay—has disappeared with Cara.” Kimberley winces at this bit of news. “And secondly, well, there is nothing left to say to all of that. Wow. Just wow.”

I force myself to smile and then catch my lower lip to between my teeth and bite hard enough to remind myself that I’m beginning to lose it right in front of Kimberley Powers.

She seems to sense I need a minute or two to myself. She gets up abruptly and sashays her way over to the bar, while half the male clientele watches her, except for the two lovebirds at the corner table. They don’t even look up. I hear her ask the bartender for two shots of Patron, salt, and limes.

Elissa Mantel picks that particular moment to deliver our food, and then she slips me a piece of paper with her name, address, and phone number. “Come by sometime. We won’t be moving until the end of the summer. We’d love to see you. Be friends.” I’m speechless; all I can do is nod. “Sorry about Moscow and what happened to you, Tally. No one deserves that. You’ve worked so hard to achieve all that you have in ballet. We never wished for anything bad like that to happen to you,” she says with a slight frown.

“It’s okay. Nobody does,” I finally say.

Elissa slowly nods. “I’m so sorry, Tally.”

“Yes. Thank you. Just know that I’m fine. And I’m sorry that…things didn’t work out. It wasn’t my intention to hurt the two of you. I’m so sorry.”

“I know.” Elissa looks curiously over at Kimberley as she makes her way back to the table. Kimberley laughs and winks at her as she expertly sets down two full shot glasses in front of me, while Elissa gets this relieved smile and hurries off.

Kimberley and I do a couple of shots. We covertly watch Nika and Rob for the next half-hour and split the tab after anonymously sending over a bottle of champagne for those two just before we leave. Rob Thorn doesn’t even look up long enough from Nika Vostrikova’s face to know I’m there.

Apathy settles in on me, while this overriding thought begins to beat inside my head.
I’m free. I’m really free.

Kimberley says as much to me out on the sidewalk just before she slides into a cab.

I owe nothing to anyone. I’m free.

To clear my head, I walk the long ten blocks to what I’ve come to call home. When I finally let myself into Rob’s apartment, I take a long, hard look around, realizing that I could probably move my stuff out in a matter of hours because I haven’t really put down roots here.

And why is that?

I take a bath, read NYT’s entertainment section as well as the sports page where they keep all the baseball stats for Major League Baseball like I’ve done for the past two years, and slide into bed, undone and exhausted.

It’s late when Rob slides into the bed next to me. He strokes my back from behind, and on any other night I would have turned to him and lost myself in his lovemaking. On that front, Rob has proven to be astonishingly therapeutic. However, tonight, I pretend to be asleep because now there are all these new lies between us.
So many.
And, like an unforeseeable but driving force, they pull us apart. They will not be denied—these lies. The pain of knowing that particular truth tries to suffocate me.

Still, no tears fall.

Eventually, I hear his steady breathing and wonder if tomorrow I’ll be brave enough to leave him.

After all, I’m free.

* * * *

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

Tally ~ This much is still true

“
A
gain,” Sasha says after I’ve done the jump.

I grab at my leg and rub out the sudden stiffness in the thigh muscle and flex the foot that still manages to give me trouble. The scars have almost faded, and I’ve gone back to my regular uniform of a leotard with a long skirt without the tights. It makes it easier for my partner to hold on to me, and I’m slipping a lot less. Nevertheless, it’s not perfect. We all know that. Sasha walks over to me. Her blue eyes don’t miss a thing. She watches me massage my leg with renewed interest.

“You okay? Are you sure?”

“I’m fine. It’s just tight. Let me stretch it out, and we’ll try again.”

“We’ve got a performance in four days, Tally,” she says quietly. There’s concern etched all over her face. This is Sasha Belmont’s big moment. Her secret sendoff to the NYC Ballet; they just don’t know it quite yet.
Romeo and Juliette
is her late spring production from start to finish, and I’m the principal ballerina. It’s her moment and mine. We share the spotlight and have been featured on every dance magazine and poster both in New York and Europe willing to do publicity about this highly-anticipated debut since we arrived back from Moscow last November.

“I know. I’ll be ready. I
will
. Promise.”

She nods and then jumps down from the stage taking her familiar stance with her arms crossed in front of her, while her face remains focused on the stage. The woman misses nothing. I’m reminded of Allaire Tremblay. It’s been a few months since I’ve openly thought of her. Not remembering proves to be the best way to move on. I’ve used this technique for just about everyone.
Tremblay. Cara. Linc.
I’ve put them all out of my mind. I focus solely on the present—dancing again and making things work with Rob for some unknowable reason.

Yes. I have my freedom. The cage door is open, but I still remain inside.
Nika Vostrikova burns permanent scars through all of me, but I ignore this betrayal for some unfathomable reason. I’ve come to accept that I deserve it. All of this, for the lies I’ve told. This is all there is. I’ve told myself this more than a thousand times and convinced myself that this is enough. Rob and I are moving on.
Together.

“Again,” Sasha says as if we never spoke.

We run through the routine four more times. It’s after eight o’clock at night when we finish. I wipe at my face with a small hand towel and spend a few minutes talking to Sasha, before I finally notice a guy in a creased blue suit standing over by her and nervously fingering the edge of his suit lapel.

“Ms. Landon? May I speak to you, please?” He looks uncomfortable and I extend my hand and shake his, noting the sweat from his palm. Sasha gives him the once-over but must decide he’s harmless because she finally smiles and then struts away, intent on achieving a star performance from the lighting crew as much as she does her dancers.

“My name is Everett Madsen. I’m an attorney for the Tremblay estate.”

“The Tremblay estate? What? Why would Allaire Tremblay need an estate?” I lead him farther away from Sasha and the others on stage because it’s just too awkward having a conversation with a stranger when all these dancers are within hearing distance.

That’s when I look up and notice the little girl sitting farther away in one of the last back rows just inside the theater near the aisle. She’s kicking her little legs back and forth, unattended, and obviously waiting for someone. She’s dressed in a little red dress with white tights and black patent leather shoes. She grips the arm of a tattered teddy bear to her chest as if it is the one last thing in the world she can count on.

“What’s going on?” I turn back to Everett Madsen. My hands rest on my hips in a hard stance. I’ve got no time for games. There’s this rushing sound in my ear drums. I instinctively hold out my arms to balance myself, and the little girl comes rushing toward me.

Cara?
I haven’t seen her in over a year. I automatically calculate she turned three a little over three months ago, but then my mind begins to scatter.
Rob needs me to pick up his dry cleaning. Linc was traded to the Giants. His baseball team leads the division, and he’s gotten two out of five in winning starts so far. Not great, but not horrible. Yes. This little girl needs a hug. Look how needy she is for one
. In the next minute, she runs toward me and puts her little arms around the inside of my leg and buries her face in my ballet skirt.

“Cara?” I ask cautiously as if this will make it more real. She looks up at me and eyes me closely for a few precious seconds and then returns to hug my left leg with her little arms squeezing it tight. Her sadness reaches for me from this faraway place and this unbearable need of her that I buried a long time ago rushes forth. Fresh pain engulfs me all over again. I’m staggered by it. I reach for the back of one of the theater seats to steady myself. I look over at Mr. Madsen. “What’s going on?

He gives me a grave look. “She…doesn’t…T-A-L-K,” he says spelling out the last word.

“Where’s Allaire?” I manage to say. “What’s happened?”

He winces. “There was an accident. Her car overturned on an icy road in northern Montana several weeks ago.” He gets this anguished look. “Luckily, Cara wasn’t hurt, but she had to spend a week in the hospital, and it took a while longer to figure everything out. To find you.” He shrugs his shoulders and gives me an imploring look that tells me quite a bit. He looks tired as if he’s been up for weeks. His eyes are watery. The circles beneath them are dark. He clasps his hands together for a moment and then lifts his coat sleeve and wipes at his upper lip. His general nature seems to cry out that he’s gotten a lot more in the past several weeks than even he bargained for. “Her last will and testament that we put together last spring were very specific. You’re a hard person to track down.” His lips part and he contrives to smile. “It took a while to put together the persona of Talia Delacourt as the one I was looking for. Talia Landon. That’s you.” I nod slowly, while he gets this determined look. “Anyway, her instructions—her last will and testament—were very specific. She’s
yours
, Ms. Landon.”

“That’s impossible.
This
is impossible.”

I flush at my thoughtlessness. A look of disappointment crosses Madsen’s features, too. He exhales and gives me a severe look. We’re debating this in front of a child.
My child?
I hang my head in shame.

Eventually, I kneel down effectively undoing Cara’s unyielding grasp on my leg. I look at her and recognize the sadness in her beautiful grey-blue eyes.
Oh, she’s mine all right. And Linc’s.

Her lip quivers and she grips me more forcefully around the neck and holds on to me tighter. I turn my head. I’m immediately smothered by the teddy bear, which she’s flung to one side of my face. I get a whiff of her sweet, childish scent as I breathe in both the stuffed bear and this little girl.

“Oh my God,” I manage to say with true feeling.

I need all the help I can summon up.

When I eventually look up and over at Everett Madsen, he just beams at me, apparently pleased with the child’s stranglehold on me. I give him my best
we’ll-be-talking-about-this-later
frown and turn back into Cara.

Then, the tears come for Allaire Tremblay and the little girl she’s left behind.
To me.

God, help us all.

* * * *