A Road Through Mountains (Love's Encore Book 1)

by Miranda MacLeod

  “Really?” Cecily felt dazed. She turned to Rorie, hoping her apprehension didn't show. “I didn't know about the Academy Award.” She searched Rorie's face for some clue as to where they stood, but none was forthcoming.

  Rorie shrugged. “It was a few years ago.” She said it quietly, without expression, and Cecily couldn't tell if it was from modesty or a desire to end the conversation. After the initial progress they’d made, Rorie was once again as cold and unreadable as she’d been the very first day.

  “Mom, I can't believe you actually get to work on a show with Rorie Mulloy,” Tyler gushed. “That’s so amazing. You’re so much more awesome now than I thought you were.”

  “Thanks a lot, kiddo.” Cecily rolled her eyes at her son. “He's a big film enthusiast, in case you couldn't tell,” she said to Rorie by way of explanation.

  This time Rorie chuckled with what appeared to be genuine amusement. “Oh, believe me, I noticed. He's already asked me at least three questions that I'm going to have to look up the answers to when I get home.” She turned to Tyler. “I'm impressed. Most kids your age have never even heard of half the films you mentioned.”

  Tyler's cheeks flushed pink. “Ah, well, thanks,” he said with a grin. “My mom's the one who introduced me to them.”

  “Oh?” Rorie gave Cecily an enigmatic look.

  “Sure,” Tyler continued. “We watched movies together all the time when I was growing up. Hitchcock, of course. Ones from Preminger, Nichols, you name it. She even set up a whole media room in our house, like our own private screening room.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Rorie asked, raising one eyebrow as she caught Cecily's eye.

  Cecily felt her cheeks begin to tingle and burn under the scrutiny. They’d made that plan together once, and she had the sudden, irrational fear that Rorie would accuse her of stealing her idea.

  “Yeah,” Tyler answered. “You should see it! Actually—wait, I know! You should come over to our house and have dinner.” He flashed a goofy grin at Cecily. “Mom, can Ms. Mulloy come over for dinner when I’m home this weekend?”

  Cecily felt her heart race, pumping adrenaline through her veins. “I'm sure Ms. Mulloy has better things—”

  “I'd love to join you for dinner.”

  Cecily stared at Rorie for a moment in astonishment. She nodded silently, then turned toward her son and tried to effect a neutral expression. “Tyler, you'd better catch up with your class, don't you think?”

  “Oh, right. So you'll set everything up for Saturday? Promise? This is the only chance since I probably won't make it home on the weekends again until Thanksgiving break.”

  “Ugh, don't remind me! I miss you already. And yes, I promise. Now go, kiddo!” Her eyes lingered on the door for a moment after he left, a faint smile on her face.

  “So, that's your son.” It was more a statement than a question.

  Cecily's breath caught at the sound of Rorie's voice. “Yes,” she answered. “That's Tyler.”

  Rorie nodded. “He's got good taste in films. Hitchcock, Preminger, Nichols? Weren't those the same ones we watched . . . ”

  “. . . In your living room when you set up that screening room? Yeah. Sorry. I didn't know any others, except the ones you showed me.”

  “Don't apologize. You taught him well.”

  There was a softness in Rorie's eyes that made Cecily's heart flutter. “Well, I learned from the best, apparently. According to my son, you are. He memorizes IMDb profiles like some kids memorize baseball stats.” Cecily studied Rorie's face for a moment. “I really had no idea about the award. Susan said something about an Academy Award, but I had no idea it was you. I didn't even realize you'd gone to Hollywood. I thought you had your heart set on New York.”

  “Yeah, well, New York didn't seem as appealing . . . ” Without you. The unspoken words hung in the air between them.

  Cecily swallowed. “I feel bad. For not knowing.” Her voice was faint.

  “Well, why would you know?” Rorie shrugged, her face unreadable. “We didn't exactly exchange Christmas cards all these years. I mean, I didn't even know you had a son.”

  Cecily felt her cheeks flame crimson. “Look, about dinner. You don't have to—”

  “No,” Rorie interrupted. “I want to, if you don't mind.”

  “You're sure?”

  “Yeah. Will it just be the three of us, or is there anyone else . . . ?” Her voice trailed off, questioning.

  Cecily shook her head. “Chet's in Malaysia until Thanksgiving.” She said it evenly, noting how Rorie's lips tightened into a thin line at the mention of her husband's name. “And Tyler's an only child, so . . . this Saturday, then?”

  Rorie nodded. “Saturday.” She studied Cecily for a moment, then glanced away. “Sorry, I’ve got a meeting I need to—”

  “Oh, yeah, of course,” Cecily replied. “Actually, I’m supposed to be back in the rehearsal hall in a minute for the read-through, so … .” She smiled awkwardly as Rorie walked away.

  Dinner on Saturday. Cecily’s stomach fluttered nervously at the thought of Rorie in her home. What had her son gotten her into? And why on earth had Rorie accepted the invitation?

  12

  A sign on the side of the road read ‘Welcome to Darien’, and from the moment Rorie crossed the town line, she couldn’t shake her sense of unease. She felt like an impostor, a brash tourist in a rarefied world where she’d never be allowed to live. She recognized the feeling from her college days, and it was no less unpleasant now. She took in the sparkling clean streets, with flower baskets hanging from the lamp posts. It was charming at first glance, but creepy the longer you looked. Like something out of The Stepford Wives. Rorie chuckled. Of course her film-buff brain would leap to make that connection. This was, after all, where the movie had been filmed. That didn’t make it any less creepy.

  Rorie surveyed the classic Colonial with its white clapboard and black shutters as she turned into the long, curving driveway. Unlike what she’d grown accustomed to in Los Angeles, the Parker’s house was anything but flashy. It was solid and stately, the type of house that assured passersby that its occupants had been so rich for so long that they didn’t see any point in shouting about it. Which made it infinitely more intimidating.

  She took a deep breath, her fingers brushing the cold, polished brass of a knocker shaped like an animal head. She nearly jumped as the sound of it reverberated against the heavy wood door. A moment later she heard the doorknob turn, and for an instant she expected to be greeted by a butler in livery. It was just that kind of place. Instead, Tyler’s gawky frame filled the open doorway, the grin on his face making him resemble an eager puppy. Rorie felt herself smile in return, the tension easing from her.

  “Ms. Mulloy!” Tyler cried, throwing his arms around Rorie. “I can’t believe you’re actually here!”

  Rorie laughed, taken aback. An enthusiastic bear hug from a teenage boy was about the furthest thing possible from the formal greeting she’d imagined. She wrapped her own arms around him and patted him firmly on the back.

  “Tyler!” Cecily scolded as she approached. “You're not a boa constrictor. It’s not polite to squeeze the life out of our guests before dinner.”

  “It’s okay, really,” Rorie said as Tyler released her from his grasp. Actually, she felt grateful for the boy’s hug. The unexpected warmth of the gesture had chased away the lingering nervousness that had plagued her since accepting this invitation. She’d surprised herself by saying yes and thought about canceling, though in the end her curiosity at seeing Cecily’s home was greater than her compulsion to back out.

  “Hi, Rorie,” Cecily said shyly.

  “Hi.”

  Rorie studied Cecily for a moment, thinking how strange it was to see her in her natural environment. So, this is Cecily at home. She’d never experienced her that way before. She looked beautiful, and somehow both relaxed and impossibly elegant at the same time. It was technically fall but the weather was still warm and Cecily wore a li
ghtweight cotton dress with a ruffled apron on top. The effect was very 1950s housewife chic, like something Donna Reed might have worn, and for the second time that day Rorie found herself thinking of The Stepford Wives. Cecily certainly blended into the affluent surroundings with ease. Of course, as the daughter of a wealthy politician, she’d been born to it. Rorie wondered how much of the real Cecily, if any, had survived the years. Or if she'd ever known the real Cecily at all. Which one had been reality and which one just a role?

  A buzzer sounded from the other room. Cecily jumped. “Oh! That’s the oven timer.” She stole another nervous glance at Rorie, then quickly shifted her focus to her son. “I still have a few things to finish in the kitchen, so Tyler, do you think you could show Rorie around the house?” Cecily scurried down the hall, the ties of her apron trailing behind her as she went.

  “Do you want to see the screening room, Ms. Mulloy?”

  “First of all, Tyler, you can call me Rorie. And yes, I’d love to see it.”

  Rorie chuckled at his enthusiasm and wondered what passed for a screening room in suburban Connecticut. An extra large television, perhaps, and an assortment of DVDs? Whatever it turned out to be, she’d do her best to look impressed. Tyler was a sweet kid and obviously proud of his hobby.

  As they walked through the house, Rorie took it all in. The place was like something out of an architectural magazine or a museum. Rorie’s professional eye was immediately drawn to every finely crafted detail: arched doorways, coffered ceilings, oriental rugs. It had all the old money sensibilities, the type of room she might design to belong to the Rockefellers or the Kennedys in a film, and struggle to recreate even on a Hollywood budget.

  Clearly Chet had done well and was providing exactly the life Cecily had been raised to expect. Rorie swallowed the bitterness that accompanied the thought. Perhaps she should try to feel happy for a friend whose life had turned out so picture-perfect, but when it came down to it, she couldn’t. Since Cecily had opted for this life over being with her, the least she could’ve done was suffer a little for the choice.

  “It’s down here,” Tyler said, opening a door and switching on a light to reveal a set of basement stairs.

  At the bottom was a huge room, easily half the size of the entire upstairs. Patterned fabric covered the walls, giving the impression of an early twentieth century movie palace. There were at least twenty framed posters from classic movies. A quick glance told Rorie that these weren’t cheap reproductions. They were the real deal, some of them dating back to the days of silent film. The artwork alone was easily worth tens of thousands of dollars, and then there was the state of the art projection system, the professional surround-sound audio system, not to mention a dozen custom leather sofas arranged to face the massive screen that filled the far wall.

  Aware that her mouth had dropped open, Rorie shut it quickly, affecting a mildly impressed smile that she hoped was convincing enough to fool a teenager. The truth was, she’d been in the homes of more than a few Hollywood directors whose personal screening rooms barely qualified for the title by comparison. It was obvious that more than just money had gone into creating this room. Unlike what she’d seen in the rooms upstairs, this space was personal and created out of passion.

  “So, your parents had this put in?” Rorie asked.

  “Yeah. Well, Mom and I did.”

  “Your dad’s not into movies?” She didn’t particularly want to talk about Chet, but a certain morbid curiosity about her old rival got the better of her.

  Tyler shrugged. “Not really. I don’t know. He’s not around much.”

  “Oh?” Rorie tried to sound nonchalant. “He travels a lot?”

  “That, plus even when he’s around, he isn’t really. His firm has an apartment in the city and he stays there when he has to work late. Which is, like, all the time.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” Rorie regretted prying, realizing that Cecily’s life might not be as picture perfect as it seemed.

  “It’s not a big deal,” Tyler said with another shrug. “I feel bad for Mom sometimes, especially living on campus this year and leaving her here alone. But she’s going to have to get used to the idea eventually. I’ll be in college next year, and not just a few miles away where I can come home every time she calls. I just kind of wish she’d figure out a way to be happy on her own before I leave.”

  It had been obvious when she first saw her that Cecily wasn’t happy, but hearing her own son say it made it impossible to ignore. Rorie’s heart sank. As much as she didn’t want to, when it came to Cecily, Rorie couldn’t make herself stop caring. “Have you started looking at colleges?” she asked, glad for a way to change the subject.

  Tyler nodded. “Yeah, I … um, Rorie, can I show you something?” Tyler’s voice was hesitant, his expression a mix of excitement and nervousness.

  “Sure,” Rorie answered, intrigued.

  “Okay, cool,” Tyler said with a relieved sigh. “Go sit down on one of the couches and I’ll have it ready in a minute.”

  Rorie took a seat, sinking into the buttery leather of one of the loveseats. She pressed a button and the seat reclined to offer a perfect view of the screen. As she settled in, the lights overhead dimmed and the screen in front of her flickered to life. What followed was a five minute documentary with black and white footage alternating between the pristine Yale campus and the gritty streets of surrounding New Haven. It had a raw and powerful quality that was rare for a student film, with an insight into the dynamics of privilege and poverty that frankly, given his age and the place he’d grown up, Rorie would never have expected. When the lights came back up, she looked at her friend’s son with a new measure of respect.

  “You did that all by yourself?”

  Tyler nodded, his eyes wide with nervousness.

  “It’s outstanding. Is that what you’re planning to submit with your film school applications?”

  The boy bit his lip, uncertain. “Well, I … I’m not sure. Dad expects me to go to Yale just like he did, and join him at his firm after law school. And, I mean … I don’t even know if I could get into film school, so … .”

  An image of Cecily flashed through Rorie’s mind, sitting in the school cafeteria and explaining her family’s expectations for her future. She sighed. Apparently, little had changed in a generation. “You’d get in.”

  Tyler’s face broke into a grin. “Really? You really think so?”

  “Well, I’m only a lowly production designer, not an almighty director, so don’t quote me. But, yeah. I really think so. Look, I have a few friends who’re connected to some of the film schools in the LA area—USC, Chapman, UCLA. I can write you a letter of recommendation, especially if you’re interested in any of those.”

  “Really? You’d do that for me?”

  “If you decide to apply, I’d be happy to write the letter.”

  Tyler nodded, clearly thinking it over. “I’m not sure yet. My parents … but if I do, I’ll definitely take you up on that.” He hesitated, then added, “You’re not just saying this because you and my mom are old friends, are you?”

  Rorie looked at Tyler in surprise. She hadn’t expected Cecily to mention anything about their history to her son. “What makes you say that?”

  “Well, I mean, I know you went to college together.”

  “Your mom told you that?” she asked cautiously.

  “Nah, I read your bio on IMDb, so I know you guys graduated the same year. And I could tell right away in the shop the other day that you’re old friends. Which is cool. Mom doesn’t have too many friends. She’s kind of out of practice. Why do you think I insisted on her inviting you over tonight? I mean, other than to hopefully show you my film, and because your work is awesome.”

  Clever boy.

  He had a strong personality, that's for certain. If he did decide to apply to film school, she was pretty certain Cecily would be no match for him. His father might be another story, although maybe if Cecily could be won over . . . As Rori
e pondered Tyler’s revelations, the basement door opened and Cecily’s voice called down, letting them know dinner was ready.

  The dining room was a grand affair, with a table large enough to seat a dozen or more people. It seemed like overkill, what with a family of three. Especially with a father who was rarely home and few friends to entertain, if the picture Tyler had painted was accurate. Rorie had a sudden image of Cecily on one end of the table and Tyler on the other, yelling at one another to please pass the salt, like the old comedy gag. But in real life it felt lonelier than in a movie. Depressing instead of funny. Rorie wondered what she could do to draw Cecily out of her shell.

  She stopped mid-thought, wishing she could give her brain a good shake. Helping Cecily overcome her loneliness, getting Tyler into film school instead of law—the Parker family’s troubles weren’t any of her concern, so why did she keep feeling as if they were? It was hardly her responsibility to fix them. Cecily made her choice a long time ago.

  It’s not my job to clean up her mess.

  The table was set with three places grouped together on one end. A few serving bowls were already on the table, fancy china that most people would save for special occasions. Is this a special occasion, or do families like this just eat off china every night? Rorie felt more of the insecurity she thought she’d left behind at the Louisiana border. Though, speaking of Cajun country, beside one of the bowls was a small bottle of Rorie’s favorite red pepper sauce, still in its plastic wrapper and obviously purchased just for her. Rorie smiled, feeling most of the self-doubt melt away. No matter how much of an outsider she’d been in their college days, Cecily had been the one person who’d made her feel like she belonged.

  Rorie took a seat on one side of the table and Tyler sat across from her, leaving the head spot for Cecily. She entered the dining room balancing a platter in each hand. The apron was gone, but the full skirt of her dress still gave her a vintage air. It suited her. Her accent might sound clipped and northern now, but deep down Cecily had always been the perfect southern lady. It was part of what made her so charming. And infuriating. As she set the platters on the table, the garlicky aroma of roast lamb and potatoes tickled Rorie’s nose and made her mouth water.