Seven Books for Seven Lovers

by Molly Harper, Stephanie Haefner, Liora Blake, Gabra Zackman, Andrea Laurence, Colette Auclair

  “Look, this is going to sound worse than I intend, but . . . Maybe it’s not your fault. Maybe you haven’t recovered as much as you think you have. After all, you had that panic attack when Solstice sprained her ankle. What if that happens again? What if it happens when you’re driving them somewhere. On these mountain roads? You could get in an accident.”

  “You’re starting to sound like your mother.”

  “I’ve screwed up with my kids for ten years. I can’t risk doing any more harm. I’m not blaming you. I just think there’s a chance you’re not as capable as you think you are.”

  This was insane. If anyone in this room was psychotic, it was him. Amanda pierced him with her stare. “Name one time—just one time—when your kids weren’t completely safe with me.”

  “Solstice sprained her ankle.”

  “You still haven’t forgiven me? As we discussed at length that night, it was an accident and I did not put her at risk.”

  “Beyond that, how would I know? I’m not there.”

  “Grady, I don’t understand why you’re being like this. I’m not going to hurt your girls. I love them. I haven’t done anything wrong.” Tears of frustration burned behind her eyes and her nose tingled. Don’t cry. You have to appear exceptionally strong and sane. But she couldn’t help it.

  “I can’t afford to screw up anymore. I’ve wasted so much time already. Look, for the time being, just teach them to ride and take care of the horses and the barn, okay? Don’t spend any extra time with them.”

  “What? That’s . . . that’s . . . ludicrous. Why are you doing this? This isn’t like you.”

  “They’re my kids. They mean everything to me. I need time to figure this out.”

  “You mean figure me out. How are you going to do that? Have me evaluated? Have a psychiatrist test me?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “Me? You’re being ridiculous. You’re being absurd. Do you hear what you’re saying? Do you think I’d ever do anything to hurt your daughters?”

  “No. But you might not realize what you’re doing.”

  Amanda couldn’t stand near him anymore. She crossed the room and sat on the couch. Tears crept down her cheeks as she soundlessly cried. She was staring at the cover of a horse magazine on the coffee table as she said, “You think I’m crazy.”

  “No. But let’s face facts. You were hospitalized. Hospitalized! You didn’t think this little item was important enough to mention?”

  Oh, this was too much. Amanda shot up from the couch, gesturing broadly as she marched at him. She faced him from across the counter. “For one night! For observation! After I OD’d. One night. That was it. You know why I didn’t tell you? Because I forgot about it. I’ve had teeth cleanings that were more serious! You act like I was in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest! You’ve said yourself, I’m better with your kids than all those nannies combined. And sometimes, I’m better with them than you are. And by sometimes, I mean all the time. And you can’t take it.”

  He looked at her, calm as could be. She wanted to smack him. He said, “This isn’t about you. It’s about Solstice and Wave. I just need time to think.”

  She planted her palms on the counter and leaned in so that her face was inches from his. Her voice was low and barely audible. “No. It’s not about them. It’s about you. It’s about you being jealous of how your kids listen to me. It’s about your gargantuan overprotective streak, which stems from your guilt over Annie’s death. Getting rid of me isn’t gonna bring Annie back and make it all better. And don’t forget your mother’s role in all this. You don’t have to be a shrink to see how she’s been eroding your confidence as a father since Solstice was born. Hell, she’s been eroding your confidence since you were born. You need to blame someone and I’m handy. Fine. But it’s not going to solve anything.”

  Grady didn’t move. The two mugs of now-cool coffee sat untouched on the counter behind him. Amanda backed off, looked at the rug on the floor, and sighed. Her heart, though pounding, felt like it weighed a million pounds. She went to the front door and held it open. “Please leave.”

  He closed his eyes. Muscles bunched along his jawline. He opened his eyes, crossed the small room, and stopped in front of her. “Let’s say you’re great with my kids. Let’s say you’re better with them than I’ll ever be. But the difference is, I’m staying and you’ll leave. This is just a job to you.” He closed his eyes again. Opened them. “I’d prefer you stay in a hotel. Where you won’t be near the girls.”

  “A hotel? Christ, you make it sound like I’m a child molester. So, Captain Overprotective, we’re back to that, are we? If you want me to leave your daughters alone except for when I’m teaching, you have to fire me. I won’t seek them out, but if they come down here, sorry, guess what, I’m going to talk to them. I won’t punish them because you’re being weird.”

  “I don’t want to fire you. Jacqueline will let you know about sleeping arrangements.”

  He left.

  Amanda found she was trembling. She melted to the floor and curled on the homey rug. In the middle of her cozy living room, she allowed herself to cry as hard as she wanted.

  17

  Grady plodded down the stairs. Everything, it seemed, had just turned to shit.

  Restlessness made it impossible for him to merely walk, so he eased into a jog, then full-out sprinted out of the barn. He had to burn off this . . . whatever it was, this confusion, this pain.

  He was wearing sneakers, so he kept right on running, across the driveway, easily clearing Jacqueline’s flower beds. He ran to the edge of the aspen and evergreen forest that covered much of Aspen Creek, then turned right and ran downhill along the edge of the trees until he found the trail. He plunged headlong into the cool alpine woods with its sharp perfume of pine and earth.

  He ran as though being chased by a ghost, and in a way he was. Annie was there, reminding him how he hadn’t done enough for her, for their marriage, and how self-centered he had been when he ignored his wife and children in favor of his career. His mother was there, too, reminding him that he wasn’t good at anything—especially parenting—and that his success in Hollywood was a fluke.

  Annie was right. He hadn’t done enough for her, and he hadn’t done enough for his kids. Somewhere along the way, he had decided it wasn’t his job to raise his daughters. When he decided to try to be their dad, he was afraid he’d ruin them for life.

  His quads burned, but he kept running as fast as he could push his long-limbed, distance-runner’s frame. He liked the pain. He liked that his lungs felt like they were on a charcoal grill and his heart was ricocheting off his ribs. The worse he felt, the harder he pistoned his arms and pounded his feet into the rocky ground covered with decaying aspen leaves. He ran all-out, like an elite trail runner, for what had to be at least a mile when he tripped on a rock and slammed onto the path. The impact knocked the wind out of him and he lay on his stomach, gasping. An Albert’s squirrel, with its jaunty tuft of black punk-rocker fur on its ears, sat up and stared at him, then shot up a tree.

  He didn’t mind the fall. It knocked the punishing thoughts out of his head. Something sharp dug into his left side and his palms burned from skidding over rocks. He tasted warm, salty iron from a cut on his lip. Gulping the stingily oxygenated air, he pushed himself up to sit, then leaned his forearms on scraped, dirty knees. He sat for long moments, blood pounding in his ears, listening to his own heartbeat and alpine birdsong. Close to the ground, the mossy smell of long-dead aspen leaves and pine needles fragranced the air.

  Images from the morning played on the busy movie screen in his head. His mother looking smug. Amanda looking so damn vulnerable. Amanda looking bewildered, then angry, then defeated.

  She had been through some brutal events in the past months. She was brave, no question about that. She had come a long way from trying to kill herself. But she had tried to kill herself. And she’d been hospitalized for mental illness. He hated to admit it, but his mothe
r might be right—Amanda might have a relapse and endanger his daughters. What kind of father would he be if he trusted her with his kids?

  Still.

  Something wasn’t right about this logic, even though it seemed to make sense. He suspected Amanda wasn’t completely wrong when she’d said this was really about his parenting fears, his issues with his mother, and guilt over Annie. However, he didn’t want to think about this now. In less than twelve hours he’d gone from nearly making love to Amanda to wondering if he could trust her. With the demands of the press tour almost upon him, his mother and Priscilla in residence, and that stupid fake engagement, he couldn’t waste time thinking about a riding instructor who would be out of their lives after Labor Day anyway.

  He stood, wiped his tenderized palms on his shorts, and walked home.

  An hour later Solstice thrust a small lavender piece of paper at Grady. They were in his bedroom, Solstice having waited outside his door until he was done showering. Now he stood before his daughter, a dark-brown towel around his waist. The paper had “Priscilla Mason” engraved at the top, a name and phone number written on it, and smelled like perfume.

  “It’s Priscilla’s stylist’s phone number!” Solstice said. “I bet she’s even better than Madison’s.”

  “Sweetie, I’ve been thinking about it and, I’m sorry, but you’re not getting a stylist. If you want a stylist, you have to pay for her yourself.”

  “I don’t have any money.”

  “You could get a job.”

  “I’m eleven!”

  “Then I guess you’ll have to wait.” After the rocky morning he’d had, he was happy with how this dialogue was going.

  “Daddeeee! Come on! I swear I’ll never ask for anything else, ever.”

  “Look, honey,” he said gently. “You don’t need a stylist. You look like a movie star already. You’re so pretty, and you have lots of clothes. You read those fashion magazines; you know more than any stylist already. Okay?”

  The pretty brunette had storm clouds all over her pretty face. No stylist on earth could have made her expression look fashionable. “You’re a bad father. You don’t know what it’s like to be a girl. I wish Mommy were alive. She’d let me have a stylist.”

  “You’re stuck with me. You’re not going to head-butt me any more about this. I’m just saying no to a stylist.”

  “Priscilla says I should have one.”

  “Priscilla would say you should have your own house.”

  “Please, Daddy? Please?”

  He heard Amanda’s voice in his head: “Give her a choice.” “How ’bout this. You can have a stylist.”

  “Really?”

  “But you can’t have Rainy and a stylist. You can have one or the other.”

  “But I love Rainy!”

  “It’s your choice. Horse or stylist. Before you decide, think about how Madison looks. Does she really look all that great?”

  She stood there, chewing on her lip. Her lip, which a stylist would, no doubt, coat with some kind of Parisian lip goo that cost two hundred dollars an ounce. She chewed for about a day. Then she jammed her hands in the back pockets of her shorts. “Um, I guess I don’t really need a stylist. Madison’s kind of spoiled and gets whatever she wants because her parents are divorced.”

  And ridiculous, Grady added in his head, remembering one year-long evening with them. They’d brought their own flavored salt to the restaurant and spent the entire time describing every single porthole and fabric swatch for their new yacht. The yacht, it seemed, was the last thing they had done together.

  Grady smiled at his daughter. “I’m glad, sweetie. Just because Madison has something doesn’t mean it’s right for you. Rainy’s a lot more fun than a stylist. I think you made the right choice.”

  Amanda’s afternoon limped by. She took a long trail ride on Smooch because her apartment felt claustrophobic, weeping had supercharged her headache, and she needed to avoid Grady. After settling the horses in for the night, she couldn’t face her room at The Little Nell alone, so Harris met her at the bar in the hotel’s Montagna restaurant, where she sat nursing a vodka martini. He wore all black, all designer, and looked beautiful. She wore jeans and a baggy long-sleeved T-shirt, bloodshot eyes, dark circles, and looked terrible. He walked up to her.

  “Come on.” He nudged her off the stool and hugged her, long and warm. She inhaled his signature expensive cologne. “Let’s get some dinner.” He lifted her chin with his index finger and surveyed her complexion. “And you can tell Uncle Harris all about why you’re a blotchasaurus.”

  They sat at a table for two near the windows that overlooked the courtyard and Aspen Mountain. The gondola she had taken with Solstice and Wave drifted up and down the slope like a sentry. She leaned back in the red-and-cream-striped wicker-backed chair, the dark wood and quiet luxury of the bar wasted on her. Harris ordered a martini.

  A server in a cream shirt and black pants and graced with spectacular cheekbones asked if they were ready to order. They weren’t.

  “Now then. Tell me what put those bags under your eyes, and I’m not talking Chanel.”

  Amanda related her tale, starting with the night before, when she and Grady had danced and kissed, and ending with the morning’s disaster.

  “For once—and only once—I don’t want to make this all about me, but why didn’t you tell me?” Hurt marred his handsome features and Amanda’s heart, already sore, ached harder. Her eyes filled.

  “Please don’t feel bad. It simply never came up. When we talk, it’s usually about him, or if not, it’s about fun stuff. I have the best time talking with you. I don’t think about when I tried to off myself. I promise, it wasn’t intentional. If we were on some kind of suicide tangent, I would’ve told you in a heartbeat.” She wiped at her eyes.

  “Oh, gumdrop. I hope you know you can tell me anything. If I saw my best friend leave the planet, I’d crawl inside a magnum of Veuve and never come out.” He covered her hand with his warm, manicured one.

  The server with the cheekbones returned, and they sent her away. Drool-worthy aromas from grilled steaks, warm bread, and savory pastas from neighboring tables wafted their way, but Amanda didn’t care.

  “I think it’s safe to say there is absolutely nothing between us . . . except distrust and frustration.” Her eyes started to get glassy. Again. “He thinks I’m nuts, Harris. He doesn’t trust me with the girls.” She sniffed and pressed the cloth napkin to her eyes. It felt starched and unsympathetic.

  “Untrue!” Harris’s smooth, tanned forehead wrinkled. “He trusts you. He’s confusing being crazy about you with thinking you’re crazy. He’s a befuddled little lamb. When Hurricane Estelle comes to town, he gets crazy. He’s never mentioned anything like this, which is why I’m certain there’s something else afoot. And I, for one, intend to find out.” He shook his finger at her.

  “When you find out, let me know. Because according to Grady, I’m too emotionally unstable to sleep above a stable.”

  “Don’t worry, bella. I’ll get it out of him, but it might not be until he gets back. But I’ll do it. This is merely the most minuscule of speed bumps on the boulevard to your happy ever after with Brunzy. Count on Harris to pave the way.”

  Two martinis later—bringing her total to an uneven three—Amanda’s liver frantically waved a white flag and her brain declared itself officially impaired. She and Harris went to her room and watched movies—scrupulously avoiding love stories—and he forced her to drink water in a feeble attempt to mitigate the inevitable hangover. She cried, and Harris held her if she wanted or left her alone if she wanted. He slept in the other bed and cajoled her through the next morning’s cranium-cracking headache.

  “I get to jump blindfolded?” Solstice asked. “Cool!”

  Amanda smiled at the girl’s enthusiasm, even though her head still hurt. It was later that morning, and Amanda had set up a jumping chute, four equally spaced jumps along the fence and a series of poles set up as a barrie
r parallel to the fence line. The horse goes down the “chute” of jumps and the rider doesn’t have to worry about the horse running around the jump instead of jumping it.

  Solstice jumped through it several times without the blindfold. Amanda told her to tie the bandanna around her head and go again. She made it through, but it was ugly because Rainy wasn’t confident and cantered with short, choppy strides.

  Amanda said, “She didn’t believe you were there for her—keep your leg on and trust her.” Noticing movement in her peripheral vision, she glanced up to see Grady emerging from the front door. Shit. She continued, “This is all about trust—you trust her and she’ll trust you. If you trust her—and I mean really trust her—everything else will be easier.”

  Solstice pulled the bandanna over her eyes, picked up a canter, and jumped down the line perfectly.

  “Beautiful!” Amanda yelled. “Well ridden! Did you feel how much more sure of herself she was?”

  “Yeah,” Solstice said, and beamed.

  “She felt your trust.”

  Amanda saw Grady jogging down the hill but kept her attention on her student. “There’s an old saying about jumping—throw your heart over the fence and the horse will follow. That’s exactly what you did! Now do the same thing again, but no reins.”

  “Awesome!” The girl sounded ready to take on the world.

  “Hold on, Solsty,” Grady said. “Amanda, come here.”

  Amanda gritted her teeth and marched to the fence.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he asked in a quietly sinister tone.

  “Teaching your daughter to ride.”

  “With a blindfold?” She could hear him controlling his temper.

  “It builds confidence.”

  “She could fall! You want an example of you putting my daughter in danger? Take a look, lady, because here it is.”

  “She could fall without a blindfold. I know what I’m doing. I’m most certainly not endangering your child. And she happens to love it.” Why was he here? Why did he have to come and piss all over her morning like this? “Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to continue her lesson.”