He never made it to his hotel that night. He emptied out, so to speak, within a few hours, but Chef Bart and Maggie sat up with him all night, keeping him hydrated and making sure he stayed warm. She couldn’t help but feel sorry for him.
But responsible? That was a stretch. Sam Tamblin himself chose to eat that whole bowl of pan-fried beans. As well as the triple-quadruple helping of hummus and falafel and purple cabbage.
Eventually, Maggie coaxed Sam out of the bathroom and onto the couch. He slept well into the next morning and by the time he woke up, he was looking much better. She timed his morning restroom visit and found no reason for concern.
He joined them in the kitchen, and she put a glass of water in front of him first thing. Chef Bart was there, too, cleaning up from the night before.
“So,” Sam said, “that was mortifying.”
“Stomachs can be very unpredictable.” Because really, Maggie thought, hadn’t he just proven that?
“How are you feeling now?”
“Good. Fine. Well, not hungry. That’s for sure.” He blushed.
“You’re going to need your rest,” Maggie said. “I called the hotel and extended your reservation by a day. We’ll have a car bring you over as soon as you feel up to it.” She pushed the glass of water toward him. “Hydration is going to be your best friend for the next few days.”
“Yeah. All right.” He took a conciliatory sip.
Maggie saw her opening. “Before you go back to the hotel to rest, perhaps it’s best we get the issue of the podcast settled?”
He answered her with a glare that said Don’t push it, lady.
“Yes. Of course.” Maggie wished she’d been pumping him full of Gatorade and rehydration salts to speed his recovery. “Sam,” she started again. “I do hope you don’t blame us for anything that happened last night.”
He drained the last of his water and looked at his watch. “Any chance you can call me that car?”
Maggie fought a crushing sense of defeat. They hadn’t gotten Sam to admit anything.
They’d have to come up with a Plan B.
* * *
After Sam Tamblin left, Maggie closed the door behind him and surrendered to the shortcomings of the past twenty-four hours. She was losing her touch.
She stood in the empty entryway and surveyed the moment. Bart had left for groceries, Thomas was out with Nadine and Katherine Mansfield, and Savannah was upstairs in her room, the sound of her Underwood striking letters into words into pages.
As for Maggie, she figured she had one more apology to deliver.
She closed Bess’s door behind her and sat down on the bed.
“Well, Bess, you know how your old mom feels about regret. Keep looking backward and you’re likely to smack into a tree. Isn’t that what I used to say?
“This time, though, I almost screwed up horribly. Letting Thomas and Savannah loose on this journey. What was I thinking? I let myself believe they were ready for so much more than they were.”
She waited a moment but was met with silence.
“Wonderful. Now you’re quiet.”
She tapped her fingers on her leg, piecing together her thoughts. She didn’t know if there was even any reason to be in this room. Bess didn’t live here any more than she lived in Maggie’s head. Only, how would Maggie survive if she let her daughter go?
Maggie took a deep breath and continued. “My point is, I should have been smarter. There was a teddy bear hanging from a noose on our fence. A noose, Bess! Who does something like that? I should have stopped the whole thing the first time we talked to Sam Tamblin. But I was thinking of Savannah and Thomas. These amazing, driven, bright, shining children of yours.
“And you know me. I just couldn’t let myself think that anything bad would happen. They’re McClairs, for Pete’s sake! McClairs don’t shy away from the hard stuff. As if I didn’t know better. I lost my husband before I turned sixty and my daughter before I’d even hit retirement. It’s like, Hello! Are you awake, Maggie? Terrible, horrible, awful things happen.”
She felt the first tears beginning to knot behind her eyes.
“If you can hear me, baby, I need to say I’m sorry. I’m so, so, desperately sorry. I can’t promise I won’t ever screw up again because we both know I will. I’m probably always going to be one to let out too much rope. But I won’t turn my back again. I know better. I owe you more.”
She blew out a long, tear-laden breath. She didn’t want to cry. Emotions were just too exhausting—and she was wrung dry. In the silence, she felt her heart begin to play. Was that...the Bee Gees? Ah, ah, ah, ah...
“Very funny, Bess!” Her tears had all but stopped. “‘Stayin’ Alive.’ Did you do that? Is that your idea of a joke? I’m sitting here apologizing to you and—” She pointed to the ceiling and scowled. “You know what? I just realized something. I’m mad at you—if you even care, wherever you are. But I am. Because this wasn’t all my fault.”
After everything the McClairs had been through, Maggie finally felt brave enough to begin this long-overdue conversation.
“Why didn’t you tell them, Bess? Why didn’t you at least tell me? That’s what you do when you’re a single parent. You make plans for In Case of Emergency, Break Glass scenarios. And you didn’t.
“You know what’s worse? You left your kids. And yes, yes, I know, you didn’t plan to die. But that afternoon, we both know where you were going. You were going to see him.”
Maggie rested her head in her hands and rubbed her thumbs across her eyebrows. She felt thoroughly exhausted. Drained. Even her toenails hurt.
“The kids still think you were headed to the funeral. But someday, when they’re ready, I’m going to have to tell them that to go from your office to that church, you don’t go under the 46th Avenue bridge, which is on the way downtown. Where the fancy hotels are. And where I can only assume Tad was waiting for you.”
She sat up straight and took a deep breath. “You know what? Let’s play a game. Your favorite. Let’s imagine you didn’t reconnect with that man. That you hadn’t said to me, ‘What can I do? There’s an electricity between us.’
“You know you sounded like a cliché, don’t you? I think I said as much. In fact, I know I said, ‘You’ve been fine without him for thirteen years, Bess. You’ll survive without him again.’
“Ha!” She couldn’t help but laugh. “Survive. The irony.” Bitter bile rose in her throat and sorrow spread like a poison into every bone and muscle. She flopped back onto Bess’s bed. The comforter used to smell like her, of Bess’s elderflower shampoo. The same bottle Maggie had thrown away just last year when the plastic finally crumbled into pieces on the shower floor.
Maggie inhaled, putting her nose deep into the fabric. All she smelled was dust.
“You know what he did after you died? He sent me a card. Mailed it all the way from California. He let Hallmark do the talking and signed his name to the bottom. As if that was enough. As if signing his name to a card could make up for what he’d taken. Where’s the moral character in that, I’d like to know?”
She waited for Bess to reply. But there was nothing. All that came were Maggie’s tears. Running down her face until there was nothing else to do but welcome them.
She cried for Bess.
She cried for George.
She cried for all the nights she wanted to laugh with them, and hold their hands, and have their assurances that all was good. That they were there, and they were family.
She cried for Savannah and Thomas. That they were growing up with Maggie instead of Bess. That she’d be gone long before they were done needing a mother or a grandmother or someone, anyone, who loved them so desperately.
She couldn’t control her tears.
She couldn’t control anything.
She lay down on her daughter’s pillow and let it all go.
/>
[BEEP]
Hello, McClairs. This is Saj in New York. Don’t worry, I’m not calling on Sam’s behalf. Or anyone at Guava Media, for that matter. I’m calling to let you know, in fact, that I’ve been fired. Sam called my work with you “unprofessional” and “failing to meet Guava Media standards of excellence.” I’ll let you decide if that’s true or not. But before you make that judgment, I’d like you to consider one more piece of information. I think you may also find it pertinent to your future working relationship with Mr. Tamblin. And it is this: I have irrefutable proof it was no accident that Eaton Holmes stood in as the last-minute replacement for your final interview in New York. Sam secretly recruited her, himself. And somehow—I suspect a bribe but cannot prove that piece of the puzzle—he also convinced the show’s producer to swap Ms. Holmes for their previously scheduled guest host. Mr. Tamblin, it seems, has developed quite a reputation for himself in our industry as being willing to do just about anything to gin up publicity. I have confronted Sam about this, and he denies it, of course. But I am willing to provide you with my evidence, should you decide you want to know more. You have my cell number. Again, this is Saj in NYC.
[BEEP]
Forty-Nine
Jack
Given the mess he’d made of things on Tybee, Jack wanted to do right by whatever move he made next. He helped some on the farm, made sure his dad got back and forth to his hospital visits and watched carefully for the subtle signs it was time to go.
One afternoon, over a chicken salad sandwich his mom was busy complaining had too much mayo, he found an interesting listing on a real estate website.
FOR SALE
Fishing guide business. St. Vrain. House/office, website, client list. Work-to-own offers OK.
St. Vrain, Colorado, was known for its fishing. It sat farther on down into the heart of the state, near the bottom of the Rocky Mountains’ eastern slope, where the creeks spilled and swelled, forming tributaries into the South Platte—the southern branch of the very same river his granddad taught him to fish all those years ago.
He could already see the sign he was going to hang: St. Vrain Fishing Expeditions. Right then, he reached out and scheduled a visit.
The next day, he drove down. He was standing on the porch of his could-be home when he took the call about recording a final podcast episode. They wanted him in Minneapolis.
“I’m not much of a talker,” he said. “Not sure if I’m comfortable being broadcast.”
Right. But would he reconsider? They had a plan. It allowed him to stay anonymous.
There wasn’t any question in Jack’s mind that he wanted to meet Thomas and Savannah. He was ready to take a paternity test, answer any questions, go where they wanted him. But doing that in private versus doing it for the world to hear were entirely different requests.
He did promise, however, to think on the offer.
“Trouble at home?” Lou, the woman showing him the St. Vrain property, came around the corner. She’d given him a moment of privacy to take his call. Lou reminded him immediately of Janie, not so much in appearance, but in that Jack could tell she belonged right where she was. Janie, with her painted nails and bikini body, looked like Tybee. Lou, on the other hand, had sun-specked freckles and pink-gray dust at the hem of her jeans—all Colorado.
“Nah. Not the end of the world.” He tucked the phone back into his pocket. “Just something I wasn’t ready to think about is all.”
Lou’s eyes sparkled in the sun as she smiled and climbed the porch steps to unlock the door.
Trigg:
OMG!!!!! [screaming cat face emoji] I made out with Kyle Larson [kiss emoji] [lipstick lips emoji]
Trigg:
He came over after I got home from the airport and we went for a walk and well...
Trigg:
Are you EVER GOING TO ANSWER MY TEXTS?????
Savannah:
I’m here. Congrats. You and Kyle will be great together.
Trigg:
I know, right? Are you mad? You’re not mad, are you? [praying hands emoji] [lipstick kiss emoji]
Savannah:
Not about Kyle.
Savannah:
I’m mad because I don’t feel like you really care or understand what I’ve been going through.
Savannah:
I’m mad because I think you like that I let you tell me what to do.
Savannah:
I’m mad because you always talk but hardly ever listen.
Savannah:
I’m mad because I don’t think you’ll even understand why I’m mad.
Trigg:
Seriously???? Text me when you’re not jealous [green heart emoji] [red-face emoji] [green heart emoji] [red-face emoji] [green heart emoji]
Fifty
Savannah
Savannah was a nervous wreck. She’d barely left her house since the humiliation in New York, and now here she was, on the verge of altering her entire life.
They were going to record the final podcast.
With Jack.
It was quite possible she might throw up all over his shoes.
This wasn’t going to be the final episode she and Thomas and Maggie had originally hoped for. She’d written four drafts, every one of which Sam Tamblin rejected.
“You have to meet live. In the broadcast. Pure, immediate emotion.” Every argument was the same.
Savannah wrote an episode where they met first, off mic, then came together to discuss the experience.
Sam Tamblin hated it.
She wrote an episode where they wrote letters back and forth to get to know each other. They’d read those during the podcast, and then meet.
Sam Tamblin said it muted the immediacy.
She wrote an episode where they called each other on the phone and put that on the podcast. “Let us at least dip our toes into the relationship before jumping in cold.”
“Not a chance.”
Finally, after a particularly tense negotiation, Savannah had a stroke of genius.
“He’s always wanted this to feel like a reality show. So, let’s give him one. A prefinale reunion special. Like they do on Survivor, or whatever. Those shows always make the final episode a two-hour special. The first hour is all the contestants who got ejected. They get together to gossip and talk about the behind-the-scenes experience. The second hour is when the reveal happens.”
The three of them were sitting at the kitchen table, Savannah and Thomas and Maggie.
Thomas played with the pencil in his hand, spinning it on his thumb as he considered. “Could work. Except, that still doesn’t solve the problem of the big reveal. Which is the part we all want to avoid until the right moment.”
“Oh, but we can avoid revealing too much!” Savannah swept her hand in the air. “If we play our cards right.”
She described the last bit of her plan.
“Brilliant,” Maggie said.
“Yeah,” Thomas agreed. “Let’s do it.”
In one last act of negotiating prowess, Maggie convinced Sam to record the final episode at their house. “Give the kids the comfort of home, at least.”
“Fine,” he said. “Whatever it takes.”
That was already a month ago. Now Savannah put on her best jeans and the new white shirt Nadine helped her pick out at J. Crew. They’d just gotten word that the flight from LaGuardia landed ten minutes early, and Sam Tamblin was on his way from the airport.
She stepped into the bathroom for her final, zero hour preparations. She smoothed her hair—though, who was she kidding, her waves never lay flat—and brushed her teeth.
“Hey.” Thomas joined her at the sink and drew his toothbrush from the holder. “You ready?”
Savannah bobbed her head—not yes, not no. “Why do I feel like this is going to blow up i
n our faces?”
“Because it probably will.” He flashed her a freshly white smile. He’d gotten his braces off a few days ago and the gap that had so clearly connected him to Jack was nowhere to be seen.
“Your teeth look great,” she said. “But I do sort of miss your gappy smile.”
Thomas laughed. “Oh well. At least the DNA speaks for itself.”
Fifty-One
Thomas
Sam Tamblin arrived holding a Styrofoam cooler. “Brought my own food this time. Don’t want to take any chances.” He handed it to Thomas as he welcomed himself into the house.
“Good to see you, too, Sam.” Thomas followed him into the dining room and placed the cooler under a buffet table loaded with appetizers. There were no pan-fried butter beans.
He and Sam had already consulted on the audio setup, and though the dining room had never been ideal for recording, they’d minimize the room’s inherent noise with clip-on microphones and a rented overhead boom mic. Sam Tamblin agreed to dual task as both audio tech and producer.
“Pretty choice setup, dude.” He ran his fingers along Thomas’s soundboard. “Good old Maggs has some money, huh? Your granddad must’ve been loaded.”
“Good old George had an eye for investments.” Maggie stepped in from the kitchen just in time to hear. “He left us in good financial standing, yes.”
Thomas watched the color drain from Sam’s face. Not unlike how he looked the last time he visited.
“Uh, hey, Maggs,” said Sam. Then, as if trying to level their social standing, he pointed to the cooler under the table. “Brought my own provisions this time.”
“I see that,” she said, and excused herself back to the kitchen.
“All right.” Clearly relieved Maggie was out of the room, Sam clapped his hands together. “Here’s the plan. We’ll have you, Savannah and Maggie mic’d before the guests arrive. Who’s confirmed, again?”
“My mom’s friends, Kristen and Elise, plus Abe, the guy who runs The Mine.”
The Kids Are Gonna Ask Page 30