It's too bad, Becca thought, as her heart thumped, that the kids were asleep. But then again, would the owl have flown over excitable children?
No. This moment was hers.
In the morning, Becca lingered over breakfast, scrolling through the Twitter feeds, the Facebook comments, the Instagram photos. God, she loved some of those photos. They were funny, if you really knew Celia. Through the open kitchen door she caught site of Mack, grabbing his breakfast before going out the door that led to the stables, avoiding the dining room.
She barely knew him. He was a summer crush.
All my life, I've wanted to act. And then: How is this leading to acting?
Posting this stuff, the revenge plot, it was drama. The kind of drama her mother adored. It fueled the gossip flames that fed the world Hollywood in all its messy glory.
"Are you freaking kidding me? You double-crossing, slimy, little, two-faced, bottom-feeding rat shit!" It was Celia, storming across the dining room, her hair flying, not a stitch of makeup, waving her phone like a weapon.
Becca cringed. Holy shit. This is happening. I need to sit here and take it. Or fight. What do I do? Help. Daddy!
Celia wasn't breathing hard, even though she'd run from her tent. All that kickboxing and Pilates had paid off. It wasn't fair, Becca thought with the part of her brain that wasn't scared to death, that Celia could still look amazing while abusing her body with Doritos and gallons of wine. It's all genetics.
"How do you think it feels to have a freakin' ranch hand tell me that my own employee is running a one-woman war against me, using my effing children as targets?"
All the blood drained from Becca's body. He'd told her. Of all the things she thought Mack was capable of—saddling an obstinate horse, reaching a sulky, jaded teen, managing to get into Stanford (Stanford!)—she'd never thought him capable of this betrayal. It knocked the fight right out of her. She deflated, not bothering to even be scared. She'd really, really liked him. Why was it that she recognized these things when it was too late? Why was it that attraction, one of the most elemental of all human physical reactions, was so goddamned hard to understand?
How could he have been such a complete shit?
"I didn't use your kids, Celia. I was mad because you were blackballing me. All I wanted to do was act. You do understand that, right?"
Celia grabbed a piece of bacon off Becca's plate and sat down across from her, seemingly chastened. "Yes."
Becca stared in shock at Celia, who blithely nibbled bacon like an elegant, teeth-bleaching chipmunk until the last bit was down her delicate throat. That accomplished, she raised her perfectly arched brows. "You know you're fired, right?"
Becca nodded. This was such an anticlimax, she thought, without really caring.
"Brooklyn is talking to me," Celia explained, dumping more cream into Becca's coffee, drinking it. "She's asking me questions about freaking trees." Celia squinted out the windows at the lovely view. "I mean, come on, trees."
"She didn't know there was a difference between coniferous and deciduous trees," Becca said, not bothering to mention that it was Mack who'd shared his love of all things green.
Celia waved her graceful hands. "Yeah, whatever. Anyway, that kind of stuff is boring as shit to me but I want to learn about it, you know. Just because we finally have something to talk about. I mean, all she ever asks me for is the next Prada bag or Gucci suede jacket or whatever, which is totally fine, but it's like, since you started taking her on those trail rides, it's working for me. Which is awesome because horses freak me out."
"I can take her riding." Becca didn't have a horse but she knew the Griffith Park stables well and could help them find a nice Quarter Horse or Appaloosa.
"Fired. Remember?" Celia said, daintily patting her celebrated lips with a napkin. She waved over the waitress and ordered an egg white omelet, telling her to keep the coffee coming, another thing she'd warned her followers off.
Becca nodded. "I know. It's just, she could be like my little sister or something." She stopped, embarrassed. "No, that's dumb. Sorry."
"No, it's not. You're an only child, right?"
Becca was shocked that Celia knew anything about her other than she had a powerful father. She nodded.
"So it's a great idea. You can be like her big sister and maybe, I don't know, help her get a horse or something." She squinted, looking outside. "They smell so effing bad. Seriously. I had to ride one in Frenemies Forever and I thought I was going to hurl. They had a stunt double do almost all of it, and it was still too much."
Becca couldn't believe how everything had panned out. She wanted to get away from Celia and think about all of it for a while. At the same time, she worried that if she left, Celia would have time to look online and realize how badly she'd been portrayed. And then there was Mack, who she wanted to 1) have a long cleansing angry confrontation with or 2) never see again.
"Do you want me to stay until tomorrow or leave now?" asked Becca. They were supposed to leave tomorrow late in the afternoon.
Celia was digging into her omelet. "I don't care. It's up to you. I don't mind spending more time with the kids, but Brooklyn just loves those trail rides. She had breakfast in the tent this morning so she could take a shower and be ready for it."
The trail ride.
"Dex is excited too, but he's such a spaz. We're going to come back next year. I love this place, don't you?"
Becca nodded yes, but no, she didn't. Suddenly she hated it here. She hated everything except the owl. And Brooklyn. Maybe riding with Brooklyn in Griffith Park would help her forget Mack.
* * *
It was him. They'd said in the lodge that the van would pick her up, but there he was in the beat-up old truck that he'd picked her up in six days ago. Except this time, he wasn't a stranger. This time she picked up her bag, marched away from the cabins, past the barn and corral, wondering how on earth Celia could find the smell of horses, dirt, and manure offensive. It calmed her even as she rushed away from Mack, evoking early mornings in the Griffith Park stables, currying the ponies, bringing them endless buckets of water, escaping from the arid luxury at home and her parents' stale marriage.
Horses would always love you. Now Brooklyn knew too.
"Becca, wait!"
Mack was behind her, his boots thudding on the dry ground.
"Fuck off!" She didn't turn around.
He stopped. "Wow. You sure found your inner anger somewhere."
Becca twirled around, dropping her bag. "I thought you'd at least leave it to me to tell Celia you—" She was thinking jerk, but the word didn't come out. No word came out. She was terrified.
"What are you talking about? I didn't tell Celia. I wanted to talk to you and tell you that even though I disagreed I could see your point of view and—"
Becca was stuttering, her eyes wide as saucers. "B-b-b—" was all she could manage.
Six feet away from Mack a bear had lumbered out from behind one of the cabins. He was thick with muscles and lush, silver-tipped fur, swaying slightly as he swung his huge head. He surveyed the scene, sniffing in the direction of the horses. A grizzly, Becca thought, wondering how she knew, but she was dead sure. The most carnivorous of all bears. The airport. She'd read the plaque on the airport grizzly. That's how she knew.
The horses had caught his smell five minutes earlier. But no one in the stables paid attention. Occasionally something would spook the horses, maybe a nearby wolf or bear, but they never materialized, usually.
Mack turned deadly serious. He kept his eyes trained on the bear, speaking in low, measured tones to Becca, who was sheet white, frozen. "Walk backwards. Stay calm, and do not run. Go into the barn, and climb anything you see. Do not worry about the horses. They'll be fine."
Becca couldn't move.
"Please, Becca," he said softly. "Please move."
She did as he asked, watching Mack cautiously step in the direction of the bear, who rose up on his hind legs, studying Mack, who was walki
ng toward him, seemingly unafraid. Once Mack was around the side of the corral he walked backward, away from the grizzly, toward the barn. There were two horses in the corral, whinnying in terror, stamping the ground in agitation, huddled to the far side, close to where Becca approached the other barn door. It took every ounce of willpower not to stop and release the horses from the corral. She knew that in their terror there was a small chance that they'd run a familiar path that might lead directly toward the bear.
That was when she saw Brooklyn, perched on the side of the corral where she'd been spying on Becca and Mack, angry that her trail ride had been delayed. Brooklyn was staring at the bear, mesmerized in horror and admiration at Mack's proximity to the bear.
"Come on, Brooklyn," Becca whispered.
Brooklyn ignored her, her knuckles white from gripping the fence.
Mack was waving at the bear and yelling, telling him to go away, trying to make himself look bigger and more threatening, doing exactly what he'd told them to do before the first trail ride. The bear was advancing slowly on his hind legs, not charging but moving forward unafraid, towards the horses. Becca was tempted to stay outside with Brooklyn but knew it was time to grow up and take care of someone else first. She dragged Brooklyn forcefully off the fence, went inside the barn and pushed the kid up the wooden ladder into the hayloft where she hugged her, reminding her over and over again that everything was going to be okay.
"You promise?" Brooklyn said shakily.
Becca kissed the top of her head and shut her eyes. "Yes."
A shot rang out. Becca, still holding Brooklyn, was staring at the dust motes peacefully suspended in a sunbeam. She pictured Mack unlocking the rifle case on the barn office wall, stepping outside into the cool shadow of the barn. He'd lowered his rifle and shot, without considering the bear. He was thinking about the horses. She waited to hear the thud of the bear on the ground, not sure if the sound would travel this far, crying because the magnificent animal was dead, like the one in the airport.
There was another shot. And another. Becca couldn't stand it. She told Brooklyn to stay put. She'd be right back. She promised. Brooklyn nodded and sniffed.
Becca rushed down the ladder, ran through the barn, ignoring the skittering horses, pausing only to tell one of the ranch hands to get Brooklyn. She ran to where Mack stood, staring into the woods. She stood beside him, breathing hard, looking for the bear carcass.
"Where is it?"
He pointed into the woods, smiling. "He took off."
Becca's entire body was flooded with gratitude. She threw herself at him, hugging him hard. He pulled back. "What?"
She spoke through her tears. "I thought you killed him."
He laughed. "No. He wasn't going to charge."
"How did you know for sure?"
Mack looked up at a hawk circling lazily overhead. She was still in his arms. "I don't know. I just did. He was just curious."
She lifted up on her tiptoes and kissed him. The ranch hands fussed over Brooklyn and pretended not to stare. One of them told Becca that he was taking Brooklyn to her mother. She thanked him and turned back to Mack, who still clutched the rifle in one hand.
"You're going to miss your flight," he said.
"Good," she said, kissing him again.
* * *
He hadn't told Celia. It was another ranch hand, a long time fan of Celia's movies who thought she might reward him. Instead of money she handed him a bottle of wine, which he opened before he was ordered to leave. Mack managed to get that out at some point, after they'd spent a good long time talking and kissing and talking. Finally they'd gone to bed together in her cabin on the narrow bed. At some point someone brought sandwiches and beer from the kitchen, knocking discreetly. It was embarrassing, she thought, having everyone who worked at the ranch acutely aware of exactly what had transpired in the little cabin. That post-grizzly sex was happening, she'd told Mack.
"Don't worry about what other people think," he said, offering her a pull on the beer they'd elected to share.
"That's the weird thing," Becca said through bites of grilled vegetable focaccia. "Celia doesn't seem to care what I did. I mean, she fired me, of course, but her whole life is wrapped around what the public thinks. She didn't mention one thing about the fact that I let everyone know that she's a lying hypocrite."
Mack grinned, wiping a smear of pesto from the edge of Becca's lip. "She doesn't care because people love it."
Becca frowned. "What the what?"
Mack's grin crinkled his eyes, understanding the 30 Rock reference. One more thing they shared. "It makes her human. The person who told Celia—" he caught her angry look, adding, "Who shall remain anonymous. Anyway, this person told me that after the initial backlash, people started realizing that if Celia was human, it made her, I don't know, more like everyone else. And the tide started to turn."
"So I actually did her a favor?"
He frowned, eating a potato chip. "Have you learned nothing here?"
She kissed his bicep. "I've learned that you're as good in the sack as you are easy on the eye." She blushed. "I can't believe I said that. Can we just strike that comment?"
He rolled his eyes. "Anyway, who cares about Celia? I don't see how you live in that whole world."
She studied him, realizing that this might be the only time that they would be together. "So what world do you want to live in, when you graduate from your fancy-schmancy college?"
He picked up the sandwich plate, moved it onto the floor, and leaned in to kiss her deeply. Pulling back, he said, "I want to live in a world with girls like you."
"Girls like me?" she said playfully.
"You." He kissed her again.
* * * * *
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Ellyn Oaksmith is an award-winning screenwriter and novelist. Her books include Adventures with Max and Louise, Family Secrets, and Fifty Acts of Kindness. Ellyn is at work on her first YA novel, Finding Nirvana. She also is part of the GirlfriendsBookClub.org, which has been featured in the New York Times and USA Today.
Her writing partner is a dog.
To learn more about Ellyn, visit her online at:
http://ellynoaksmith.com
BOOKS BY ELLYN OAKSMITH
50 Acts of Kindness
Family Secrets
Adventures with Max and Louise
MOTION FOR MISFITS
(Jamie Winters Mysteries)
by
Kelly Rey
* * * * *
CHAPTER ONE
MONDAY
"Slow down," Curt said. "The light's yellow."
"Speed up," I said at the same time. "The light's yellow."
Curt's niece Maizy stomped on the gas, and my antique Escort lurched through the intersection with a puff of white smoke. Curt was in the passenger seat. I was in the back, right in the center, where I could catch Maizy's eye rolls in the rearview mirror. There'd been a few of those in the seventy-mile trip to the Jersey Shore.
"Will you two knock it off?" she said. "I know what I'm doing. God."
Curt turned around to glare at me. "She'll never pass her driver's test with you coaching her."
"For your information," Maizy told him. "I plan to pass it next month." She locked eyes with me in the mirror. "No thanks to that dink Brody Amherst."
"She's right," I agreed. "Brody Amherst is a dink. I think it's the next left, Maiz." I nudged Curt. "Shouldn't you be a little less tense? You're about to spend four rent-free days at the shore."
"With your girlfriend," Maizy added. "Right, Jamie?"
I shrugged. Curt and I hadn't actually gone there yet. We hadn't actually gone there yet either, but we'd come close. I was sort of hoping a few days of sea air and salt water and lazy days on the beach might push us over the edge, in a good way.
It was mid-July—the time of year when the New Jersey air was thick enough to eat and wet enough to drink. Not to mention hot. Fire of Hades hot. There was no better time to be on the beach, ne
ar the ocean. Provided you weren't me. I burned like a cigarette in the sun, and my body wasn't exactly built for show. Nothing screamed wear a cover-up on the beach more than a 31-year-old, ninety-pound legal secretary with brown hair, so-so looks, and a body that made sea grass look curvy. Still, once we'd dropped Maizy off at her friend's house, it would just be Curt and me for four glorious days, during which I planned to reveal nothing in anything brighter than a night-light. Okay, I had a few issues with my body. Mainly that I was built like Mick Jagger in a Sofia Vergara world.
Curt grimaced. "I have a feeling I'm the designated boy-toy this week. Maybe I'm not tense enough."
I grinned at the back of his head. I'd never had a boy-toy before, and I couldn't imagine a better one. His dark hair was mussed, with little curls arching over the back collar of his T-shirt. Curt's hair was usually mussed, and it worked for him. Everything worked for him, including the fact he was wearing faded jeans gone white at the knees and at the back pockets, even though it was pushing upward of ninety degrees at one o'clock in the afternoon. He didn't even look hot. Well, of course he looked hot, but…
"You're sighing," Maizy told me. She winked at me. Maizy had once informed me that I sighed whenever I got lost in thought about her Uncle Curt. It was my tell. Turned out she was right. I hoped to do a lot of sighing this week. "So where are you two staying?" she asked. "In case I decide to drive over for a visit."
"You mean ride over," Curt said. "On a bicycle. Why do you think your father wanted us to drop you off?"
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