by Jean Stone
“Savoir?”
“Pure and simple, it sells sex. Sex and sensationalism with slick paper and chic ads. Conceal it, camouflage it, call it whatever you want, but that’s what sells. It’s probably the only thing left that’s guaranteed to sell today. And tomorrow.”
Her voice grew quiet. “No. People enjoy great photography. They love the opportunity to see into people’s faces, to see the world beyond their own. Edmund said …”
“Edmund,” he grunted. “Give me a break.” He stomped from his desk and went to the window. “Maddie, all these years on your own I thought you’d have grown up a little. I thought you’d have stopped being so naive.”
The shiver that ran through her body was not caused by the temperature in the room. Maddie stood up. “Just answer me one question, Parker.”
He did not turn around to face her.
“Did you want me—or did you want my ‘influence’ to get the photos of Abigail’s estate?”
He didn’t answer.
“And what about Sharlene?” Her words were choked now, sputtering from her lips in clipped staccato. “Were you planning to divorce her? Were you planning to divorce her and marry me again?”
With each second that passed, each second of dead air in which he did not respond, Maddie’s chill turned to hear rising many degrees.
I am disappointed for you, Sophie had said.
Can you trust him? Cody had asked.
Suddenly Maddie’s hands became fists. Her fists became balled. He was not like her father after all. He was not a kind man who loved her and left her because he had had no choice.
He was a bastard. A user. An abuser. A rotten, two timing, son-of-a-bitch.
She stepped forward. Her fists sprang open. She grabbed a paperweight from his desk. Then, with all her might, she hurled it at Parker. It missed his head by inches, bounced off the wall, and thudded to the floor.
“You bastard,” Maddie the wimp, Maddie the martyr, screamed. “How dare you do this? How dare you to this to me? How dare you do this to your children?”
He did not move. “It’s what you wanted, isn’t it, Maddie? I’ve seen the way you’ve pretended to change. The way you dress. The things you’ve done to your hair. I know you were doing them for me. I may be getting older, but I’m not an idiot.”
Acid rose in her throat. “I’ll ruin you, you bastard. I’ll make you regret the day you were born. Why I ever spent one minute wanting you back is beyond me. You’re scum, Parker Daniels. And I don’t deserve scum.”
She turned on her heel and fled from the office, her head pounding, her heart pounding, and an incredible weight lifting from her purged, menopausal soul.
• • •
Abigail sat on the porch in the cool evening, her back aching from re-covering the cushions of wicker chairs with brightly striped fabric. It had been wonderful to get her hands busy, to watch the transformation of this lovely old house into an attractive, inviting inn.
She reached for her cigarettes, then remembered she had none. She had not had any for several days; she had not even missed them. Not once. And it had been so long since she’d had a hot flash, she’d almost forgotten the heat.
The screen door creaked open and Joel came onto the porch. “Nice night,” he said. He walked over and sat beside her. His jeans were splashed with house paint; his flannel shirt was rumpled and well worn.
Abigail smiled.
“My daughter will be here next week,” he suddenly said.
For some reason she did not understand, Abigail’s neck tightened. “Your daughter?”
He grinned. “Guess I never mentioned her, huh?”
“Well, no.”
“I’ve been divorced ten years. Lacey—that’s my daughter—she’s twelve. Next week is school vacation.”
“No,” Abigail repeated. And then a vision of Sondra came into her mind. A vision of Sondra, the little girl who Abigail never knew how to love. “You never mentioned her.”
Joel rubbed his arm on the new cushion. “You did a nice job on these. I can’t believe you made the covers yourself.”
Neither, of course, could she. Just as she couldn’t believe she’d actually picked up a Martha Stewart crafts book in town and followed the directions herself. Martha Stewart, once her nemesis, before Abigail had abdicated her crown. She smiled. “I’m only trying to protect my investment.”
He nodded.
“Where does she live? Your daughter?”
“California. Carmel. With her mother.”
Abigail nodded. “Do you see her often?”
“Christmas. Spring vacation. And summers. She’s here all summer. She’ll be surprised at the changes around here. She’s always said we should get more people to come. That we should make more money.”
More money. For the first time in her life, the words were unappealing. “Well,” Abigail said as she stood, “I’m afraid it will be a while before that happens.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Joel answered. “It’s been fun just putting something together. Money or not, we never would have done it without you.”
“I think I’ll turn in,” she said slowly. “It’s been a very long day.”
“Sarah?” Joel called as she reached the door. “You don’t have any children, do you?”
Abigail shook her head. “No.” She pulled open the screen door. “I’ve never had children.”
Joel nodded and Abigail went inside.
Abigail lay in bed staring at the ceiling, wondering what she was feeling. For the past several weeks she’d relished her new project; she’d savored every moment of planning the changes to the inn, from the decor of the dining room to the reconstruction of the kitchen.
With the thirty thousand dollars she had fronted to Joel, he had been able to secure a bank loan for the remainder, and the plans were beginning to take shape. Of course, they had to do much of the work themselves to save money, but Abigail loved it. She’d even found herself telling Joel about the roses they should plant in the spring; she intended to care for them herself, the way she had learned by watching Edmund for so many years. But she was done watching. For once, Abigail Hardy was working for a living without stage directions, without anyone standing over her to scrutinize, study, then criticize.
Why did the fact that Joel had a daughter upset her so much? There was nothing between them except a growing friendship, growing from the toil of togetherness. He was several years younger than she was. And his lifestyle certainly was different from anything she had ever known. Or had expected to like.
But he had a daughter. Lacey. And a mother, Grace. Together, they were a family of three. Three, the way she and Edmund and Sondra had once been.
She thought about Sondra’s baby. Edmund’s grandchild. She wondered whose side of the family it favored—if it had Sondra’s eyes, if it had Edmund’s smile.
Then Abigail rolled onto her side and wondered why she was wondering these things.
The doctor had wanted Maddie to stay in the hospital until the results of the MRI had been reviewed. She lay quietly in the darkened hospital room, grateful that he had arranged a private room, one of the few left in this day of the managed care hospital. She suspected that Sophie and her can-do attitude had something to do with it.
Maddie had sent her mother home after the tedious clunks and clanks of the MRI tube had finally ceased and she’d been released from its coffinlike chamber of horrors. Sophie, of course, had not wanted to leave, but Maddie had insisted. Because Maddie Kavner Daniels was finally, really and truly, able to take care of herself.
Now she only had to wait.
To wait and to think—or try not to think—about Parker, about the stranger that had emerged from inside her and, for once, had stood up for herself.
She supposed it was a self-esteem thing, the kind of psychosis regularly heralded in headline-grabbing articles that appeared in Savoir. Maddie didn’t know if she’d lost her self-esteem when Parker had left, or when her father had died, o
r if she simply never had any at all.
But now she did. And it was amazing how wonderful she felt. For now it was over, it was finally over. There would be no more stalking and waiting with camera in hand, focusing her telephoto lens from atop the knoll. There would be no more vile thoughts of murder. Maddie had decided to let Parker and Sharlene live their own twisted lives and kill themselves or each other or no one at all.
She, for one, no longer had the energy to waste on them.
And if Maddie were able to make her one wish again … it certainly would not be to have him back in her life.
I’ll never work for that bastard, Timmy had cried.
Well, neither would Maddie.
She would do something better. She would tell Brian Dixon she’d shot her last Savoir cover, then she would take back her business, take back her life. She would get Our World back before Parker sold its spoils to another money-grubbing, gray journalist or simply let it rot altogether.
And she knew how she’d do it. It had been six years since the divorce—six years of two thousand dollars a month in child support. Her private little stash. Her “mad Maddie” money. There was a nice chunk set aside now, enough to get a bank to back her for the rest.
The first thing she’d do would be slash the overhead. Get rid of the pretentious Manhattan offices—maybe add on to her studio and move the operation to Westchester.
Suddenly the door to the room opened, distracting her from her thoughts, from her dreams that would not just be dreams after all.
The doctor stepped inside. He carried a clipboard and was not smiling.
“Doctor Chabot?” she asked.
“I wasn’t sure you’d be awake. The sedative often knocks patients out for a while.” He moved slowly toward the bed. He sat on the far corner and rubbed his forehead.
“Do you have the results? Can I leave now?” There was work to be done. Phone calls to make and work to be done.
He put on half-glasses. He took them off. “Yes, I do have the results. And we need to talk.”
An odd sensation moved through her head. “Why? Did you find out I have no insides, that I’m really some kind of alien being?”
He still did not smile. “Maddie,” he continued in a too-serious tone. “You said you’ve had headaches and dizziness. What about short-term memory lapses?”
“No more than usual.” Then she remembered the day she’d forgotten that Bobby was leaving for Paris. And the time she’d forgotten the Hasselblad. “Well, some, I guess.”
“Vision problems?”
“Well, yes.”
“And what about your periods? Have you noticed unusual changes in them?”
“For godssake, doctor. I’m almost fifty years old. I should be seeing some changes there, shouldn’t I?”
Doctor Chabot nodded. He placed his hand on the bed. “The episode you had last week was most probably a seizure. The MRI confirms that.”
“You’re scaring me, doctor. Save the medical jargon. Just tell me what’s wrong.”
He sighed. “It’s a brain tumor, Maddie. A tumor that began in your pituitary gland and hooked onto your brain stem.”
She closed her eyes. She tried to breathe, but no air came in. The room swirled. This is a dream, she thought. This is only a dream. But when she reopened her eyes, Dr. Chabot was still there. A vision of her twins came into her mind. “Am I going to die, doctor?”
“I won’t lie to you. This type of tumor can be tricky. It always looks nearly impossible to remove surgically, but often it can be.”
“Is it … is it malignant?”
If only he hadn’t paused, she might not be as scared.
“We can’t be certain until we go in.”
He had not said “not usually”; he had not said “of course not.” He merely had paused a heartbeat too long, then said “we can’t be certain until we go in.”
“If you’d like,” he continued, “I’ll call your mother and explain the situation.”
“You mean I can’t go home?”
“No, Maddie. The tumor needs to come out right away. I’ve scheduled you for surgery tomorrow. We’ll be moving you in a few minutes to Cedars Sinai in the city. Doctor Wilson will perform the surgery. He’s very well known …” He paused again. “We’re lucky to get him on such short notice. He’ll be in to see you later today.”
“The surgery is tomorrow?”
“It will be over before you know it.”
The first thing Kris did after walking into her penthouse was go to the phone and call Maddie. She was ready now to share her news, though not yet ready to share it with Devon. She had yet to figure out how she was going to handle that: if she was going to tell him who the baby’s father was, or if she’d pretend it was from the in vitro.
Sophie answered the phone.
“Mrs. Kavner,” Kris said, “this is Kris Kensington. Could I speak with Maddie, please?”
At first there was no sound. Then something came through that sounded like a sob. Kris wasn’t sure what had happened.
“Mrs. Kavner?”
A moment passed. “Oh, God,” the woman finally cried.
“Mrs. Kavner, what is it? Is Maddie there?”
And then Sophie told her. Maddie was in the hospital. Maddie had to have surgery. Maddie had a brain tumor and, oh, God, she wasn’t going to die, was she?
Kris stood frozen in her living room. Her legs were numb, her thoughts jumbled. She had just had the most wonderful week of her life, a week of bliss that she’d never thought possible. She had had the most wonderful week of her life while one of the few real friends she had in the world lay … dying.
“They’ve moved her into the city. To Cedars Sinai. She doesn’t want me to come tonight … I can get there in the morning … I want to see her before …”
“I’ll go see her, Mrs. Kavner. The hospital isn’t far from me. Don’t worry, she won’t be alone.”
She glanced at her watch. She didn’t want to take the time to change clothes. But as Kris hung up she knew there were two calls she needed to make before she left.
First she called Devon. She told him she was home. She told him where she’d be.
The next call was even more brief.
“Louisa,” she said without hesitation, “you may think I’m out of my mind, and I’m sorry if you do. But I only want to say that if you have any idea if Abigail is still alive, or if you have any idea where she is, then I’d appreciate it if you let her know that Maddie Daniels has a brain tumor. She is being operated on tomorrow at Cedars Sinai. She may be dying.”
The woman said nothing for a moment, then replied, “Kris, I really can’t imagine what you’re talking about.”
Abigail stood on the porch of the inn, looking off toward Seattle, trying to calm the turmoil inside.
Maddie has a brain tumor.
She is being operated on tomorrow.
She may be dying.
Abigail put her hands on the spindle railing—the freshly painted white railing that Joel had finished yesterday. A low cry came from somewhere inside her. Maddie, she thought. Not Maddie. Not one of us.
“Sarah?”
She did not turn at the sound of Joel’s voice. “I’ll be in shortly, Joel,” she said through the tears that now ran down her cheeks. She did not hear the front door close.
And then she felt an arm around her. “Sarah, what is it? Was your phone call … was it bad news?”
Abigail dropped her head and sobbed into her hands. “There’s nothing I can do about it. Nothing at all. It’s way too late.”
“I don’t want to pry, but it seems to me that it’s rarely too late to mend fences.”
“Oh, Joel, you don’t know. You don’t know how selfish I’ve been. And now an old friend is dying, and I can’t be there.”
“Of course you can. We can do without you for a few days. Besides, friends are important. We need them. And sometimes they need us.”
“But I …”
He stepped
around and looked into Abigail’s eyes. “What is it, Sarah? Is it because you’re afraid that people will recognize you? That they’ll know that Abigail Hardy is not, in fact, dead?”
Just before she rushed out the door, Kris had a thought. She raced into her bedroom and rifled through her things. Amazingly, she found what she’d been looking for. Now, as she sat in an uncomfortable chair next to Maddie’s bed and tried not to think about what lay ahead for her friend, she pulled it from her bag.
“Look, Maddie,” she said, “I brought a little something to distract you. Something to help you smile.”
Maddie turned her head toward Kris. “The photo album.”
“Yeah. I really love that you put it together for us. Look,” she said, opening the book. “Our first birthday celebration. The frosting all over our faces, remember?”
Maddie half-smiled. “Who started that, anyway?”
“Me! You don’t think Abigail would have been so …”
“So much fun?” Maddie asked. The two women giggled. And then Maddie moaned. “Oh, God, Kris. Do you think Abigail really is dead? Do you think we’ll really never see her again …” Her voice trailed off as though she realized what she’d just said. “Do you think anyone will ever see me again? After tomorrow?”
A glazed look passed over her face; a deep fear surfaced in her eyes.
Kris took Maddie’s hand—copper on white—and held it a moment. Then she looked at Maddie and quietly said, “Nothing’s going to happen to you, girl. It can’t. I need you too much.”
Maddie chuckled a little, very little. “I honestly thought you never needed anyone, Kris.”
“You were wrong, girl. And you’re not going to go and desert me the way Abigail did. You have everything to live for. Hell, you’re still in your forties …”
“Barely …”
“And you have your mother, and your sons …”
Maddie closed her eyes. “I know,” she whispered, then opened them again. “I must live. I must live for them.” Then she smiled and added, “And for you, too, of course. Besides, I have big plans. I’m going to pull Our World right out from under that jackass of an ex-husband of mine.”