The One That I Want

by Marilyn Brant

  “Is he a possessive stalker-type, too?”

  She shook her head. “Not that, but he’s hardly as perfectly put together as he tried to appear during the reunion. I found out from one friend that Ben’s wife divorced him five years ago for allegations of multiple acts of infidelity. That he has two young sons who actively avoid him. And that he was tangled in a dicey scandal last year that the school district tried to hush up, involving a former student, who’s barely nineteen now. Someone other than the young blond woman, incidentally, who was hanging all over him at the reunion downtown.”

  “Oh, great.”

  Vicky sighed. “Maybe Ben would be upfront with you about all of this if the two of you got together in person. I don’t know. Or maybe there’s an explanation for the student scandal, but the divorce is a verified fact. And, unfortunately, so is the infidelity. One of my college friends was someone he’d slept with while he was still married. His wife was a detail he’d avoided telling my friend until after the fact.”

  I buried my head in my palms. “I am obviously a terrible judge of character. You guys have proven your point—I shouldn’t be allowed to date anyone.”

  “Now, that’s where you’re wrong,” Rosemary said. “I worked with Dane Tyler almost every day for over a month. He is as kind, as trustworthy, and as professional as they come. He’s very protective of his privacy, yes, but he’s been honest from the first about what he needed and why. He didn’t ask for much when he came into town to do this production, but he did insist upon excellent hotel security. So the breach at the hotel last week, particularly as it related to you, Julia, hit him very hard. He feels responsible for the pictures that were taken by the elevators and any information from the staff that may have been leaked, but I know for a fact it wasn’t his fault. Once the play ended, the Knightsbridge relaxed the security detail we’d had on him, which unfortunately opened the door to that tabloid reporter and her buddies.”

  I glanced up at the stage manager and tried to form the question that had been haunting me ever since Caryn Dizinger’s article had been posted online. “I know the Tinseltown Buzz lied outright about a lot of things, but they also quoted ‘sources’ from the Knightbridge crew. Someone who said Dane was flirting with all of the actresses in the cast and—”

  Rosemary cut me off with a loud laugh. “Listen to me when I say this, I know actors. I’ve worked with them for decades. They can put on a spectacular front for hours at a time, but they can’t keep up an act indefinitely. Dane was nice to everyone, cast and crew alike. Lots of women, including a number of the actresses in the play and more than a few theater donors, flirted with the poor guy. A few women threw themselves at him in a way that was embarrassing to watch. He wasn’t rude to them, but he also didn’t encouraged them. Except for you, I never saw him invite anyone back to his hotel room. Except for you, I never even saw him entertaining someone else in his private dressing room. He was unfailingly professional. The only woman he so much as looked at with longing was you, Julia. You. And that’s the truth. His relationship with you wasn’t a game, at least not to him. I’d stake my career on it.”

  “It wasn’t a game to me either,” I whispered.

  “Then maybe you need to reassure him of that,” Rosemary said. “I talked with him on the phone early this morning, and he’s depressed as hell.”

  I swallowed. I had a million unanswered questions. About where he was now. About what he was doing next. About anything else he may have said to Rosemary. Did she know about his daughter in New York? If she did, she hadn’t let on, although I got the sense that he trusted her more than most people. And, yet…I couldn’t help but believe that Dane had trusted me even more than that.

  “What about Analise, though?” I asked the group. “She’s coming home from camp tomorrow. Even if Dane and I could work out some sort of long-distance relationship—which still just seems like an adolescent fantasy—nothing changes the fact that I’m a mom and can’t drag my daughter into such a chaotic lifestyle.”

  “You know I have three boys at home,” Olivia piped up. “And I love them with my whole heart. I’d never do anything that might hurt them if I could prevent it.” She paused, bit her lip, and then smiled sweetly at me. “But children are more resilient than you and I might think. They usually can adapt to changes in the world around them faster than their parents. They just have to be assured that they’re loved, that their needs will be met, and that they can count on their mom or dad to help them work through whatever unknowns the future holds. A happy, well-adjusted, and emotionally healthy parent is the best advocate and best role model for his or her child. So, I think it’s our responsibility to show our kids that we value happiness, healthiness, and balance in our lives. You’ve shown Analise tremendous courage in the face of tragedy and loss, sweetie. Now you have the chance to show her the same courage in the face of love and hope.”

  Tears filled my eyes. “I don’t know…” I murmured. “What if I try it, and it all falls apart?”

  “What if you try it, and it doesn’t?” Shar said, reaching for my hand and grasping it tight. “You know better than anybody that there are no guarantees in life. But I know you wouldn’t wish away your wonderful years with Adam just because they ended too soon, would you?”

  I shook my head.

  “Then,” she said, “if you find happiness—no matter how unexpected the source—you need to grab ahold of it for however long you can. And, girlfriend, once you’ve got it, don’t let go.”

  Chapter Twenty

  My daughter rocketed herself into my arms the next afternoon, clinging to me the way a koala clings to a eucalyptus branch. For a long, long moment, we just held each other—time suspended—and let ourselves feel the reunion. Mother. Daughter. Our little family of two.

  “I missed you so much, Mommy,” she whispered into my shoulder. Then Analise let go, stepped back, and smiled at me. “But camp was awesome,” she said. “You know, overall. Promise me I can go back next summer, okay?”

  I swallowed back the lump in my throat and nodded. “Okay. You can go back. Are Brooke and Lindsay planning to go next summer, too?”

  “Yeah! We talked about it on the drive home.”

  Yvette, who’d been trying in earnest to be of help to me, had insisted that she and her husband could pick up all of the girls from Camp Willowgreen this morning. And I, admittedly, hadn’t wanted to be around a crowd of curious onlookers after all of the press intrusions of the past week. So I agreed, and thanked her profusely.

  “Oh, Julia,” my neighbor had said. “Honestly, it’s the least I can do after the craziness you’ve been dealing with.” She squeezed my arm quick and blew me an air kiss before driving away.

  And, with that simple exchange, I felt as though I’d reclaimed just a tiny bit of my trust in humanity again. I didn’t want to live in a world where I perpetually worried that someone sweet like Yvette would turn on me. Where a publication like the Tinseltown Buzz could strip me of my ability to have confidence in my own perceptions about people I’d known for years.

  “I’m glad the three of you had so much fun together,” I said to my daughter now.

  “It was great but—” Analise paused and my heart paused with her. “I didn’t just hang out with Lindsay and Brooke, you know. I made other friends, too. And they didn’t…I mean…they weren’t, um… Everyone I go to school with here knows all the details about Daddy dying. Most of the kids at camp didn’t know anything at all about it, unless I told them. So, it was really different being there.”

  “You felt that they were seeing you, not just your family’s story,” I said.

  She nodded. “At least until the Dane Tyler thing.”

  I winced. “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry about—”

  “It’s okay, Mommy. Mom,” she said, testing out the shortened form of endearment. It made her sound suddenly stronger, surer, more grown up. And I more than suspected she knew it. She immediately smiled as though she liked what she’d heard.
“It didn’t bother me that much and, two days later, almost everyone had forgotten about it.” She shot me a curious glance. “How is Dane doing anyway?”

  It was my turn to trip over words. “I, um…I don’t actually know.”

  Her thin eyebrows rose. “Did he have to go back to Hollywood to make more movies?”

  “Probably.”

  “But you have his phone number, right?”

  “Well, yes, but—”

  “So, call him,” my daughter said, as if this were the easiest and most obvious thing on the planet. “Or text him. If he’s still in Chicago, maybe you could invite him over. He’s nice.” She paused. “And he’s pretty cute, too. Don’t you think?”

  “Uh, yeah…I do think that. But it’s rare that he visits this area. Most of the time he lives far away.”

  She rolled her eyes at me, the way only a ten-year-old could. “You’ve heard of Skype, haven’t you? And there are phone calls and emails. It’s easy to keep in touch with people—if you want to.”

  She pulled out her own cell phone, checked for texts, and smothered a giggle while reading through them. “I’ve got messages from some of my camp friends,” she informed me. “I’m gonna text them back and then go for a bike ride. Okay, Mom?”

  “Yes, that’s fine.” I hesitated asking this next thing, but I had to know. “Analise, let’s say I were to invite Dane over to our house, as you suggested, and some press people start snooping around, taking pictures, or posting articles about all of us—”

  She shrugged. “Yeah, so? They did that already.”

  “But they might do it again. I don’t know what they’ll post on the Internet or what they’ll say about me on some entertainment show. I’m worried that it might be upsetting to you, though, sweetheart.”

  She squinted at me. “You know how I said the kids at camp mostly forgot about you and Dane two days later? This one boy, Frazer Jamison, got the stomach flu that same week and threw up in the middle of the rec hall. The other kids talked about it for, like, another two days. And then one of the counselors—not mine, but my friend Lesha’s—fell asleep during movie night and started snoring!” She laughed, remembering, and all at once I caught a glimpse of the beautiful, radiant, and confident woman she would grow up to be. Just a hint, but that lightning flash of illumination was enough for me to realize the changes I’d sensed in her during Parents’ Day were taking hold. “Most people have a pretty bad memory,” she added. “Unless it’s about something really important.”

  “All right,” I said. “Maybe I’ll try to call him.”

  She grinned at me. “Good. You looked happy when you guys were talking at camp. He was funny and cool. You should stay in touch with him.”

  And with that, she meandered away from me and down the hall to her room where, a moment later, I heard a squeal of delight. “Thanks for the new bookshelf, Mom!” she called out.

  “You’re welcome,” I called back.

  And, of course, I was unable to think about that bookshelf without also thinking about when I got it, with whom, and what happened afterward…on the sofa…downstairs.

  Either I had an unusually good memory, or my relationship with Dane Tyler was, as my daughter would say, “something really important.”

  Analise closed her bedroom door and, apparently, lost herself in the wonderful world of texting.

  I sat at the kitchen table, closed my eyes and lost myself in the memories I had of Dane from the past month.

  I also thought of Shar’s words from last night, when we were all at Elsie’s house. And, for the first time in years, I had the urge to do something at least vaguely poetic. I shuffled the phrase Shar had used around in my head until the words formed a haiku:

  Finding happiness

  is an unexpected gift.

  Never let it go.

  Then I picked up my phone and texted Dane.

  “So…Happy Birthday,” I wrote because it was August first and today was the big day—his fortieth. Funny. I’d fantasized about personally sending him birthday greetings almost every year since I’d first seen him on the silver screen. I only wished the reality could have been less bittersweet now.

  “I don’t know where you are,” I continued typing, “but I still owe you a homemade birthday cake. Any chance you’re within driving distance and want to collect on that?”

  No response came. Not after five minutes. Or ten. Or even twenty. An eternity of silence.

  I got up to make myself some coffee—something, anything, to distract me from the despair I felt, not just at losing Dane as a lover but, even worse, for being so stupid as to let our friendship slip away because of my fear. I’d pretended it was all because of wanting to protect Analise, but the truth was that it was equally about protecting my heart. My friends saw through my charade in an instant, and my daughter had just proven that she was more courageous than I was. More open to change.

  The coffee maker had just begun to gurgle and drip when my phone finally buzzed.

  He didn’t bother with preliminaries. He wrote only, “Warm cake? With ice cream?”

  I did a quick scan of the pantry. Flour, sugar, baking soda, powdered sugar, cocoa? Check.

  And then the fridge. Eggs and butter? Check.

  And finally the freezer. Rocky Road… Check.

  “Yes,” I texted back.

  “I can be there in an hour,” he replied. “Too soon?”

  “Not soon enough,” I wrote. “But drive the speed limit, okay?”

  “Fine. Maybe just a little above it?”

  “No. And no texting on the road either.”

  I got back a weird emoticon that looked like a grimacing face. Then: “All of these rules. You sure you want to see me?”

  “Yes. But I want you in one piece.”

  “You want me?”

  I smiled and just typed, “Yes.”

  There was a long pause before he responded. “Already in the car,” he wrote, which was exactly what he’d said that day at camp. It made me hopeful.

  No. That was a colossal understatement.

  It made my heart soar like a feather-light kite on a breezy afternoon.

  I was just finishing up Dane’s homemade chocolate birthday cake when I heard voices out in the front yard. Analise had her bike leaning up against the garage door. She was putting on her helmet while talking with Dane, who’d pulled into the driveway with his rental car. Still dark blue in color, but a different model than he’d driven before. So, maybe, he had gone somewhere else this week? Hmm.

  I watched the two of them through the front window, surprised at the funny, warm, natural way they interacted. Their body language was so relaxed, so unaffected, so without tension, as if they’d known each other for ages. I knew Analise had hit it off with Dane but, until I saw them chatting like old pals in the middle of our driveway, I hadn’t fully understood what my daughter had been trying to tell me today. Yes, he was nice. And he was cute. And he was funny and cool. But the important thing, I realized, that she’d been trying to convey was that he was trustworthy. That, in fact, independent of whatever I might think, she trusted him.

  I tiptoed back from the window so they wouldn’t see me, but I cracked the front door open in order to hear a little more of their conversation.

  “…and I ended up having to do two more skits after that one when you and my mom were there,” Analise was telling him.

  “But the techniques I showed you carried over to those performances as well?” he asked.

  “Yeah, it was awesome, Dane. I mean, I had to practice my lines a bunch of times before I could remember them. I still don’t know how you memorized your parts that quickly. But the ridiculous connections trick really helped.”

  He nodded. “That’s one of my favorites.” He pointed to the bike. “So, where are you off to?”

  “Just riding around the neighborhood. I feel like I’ve been away forever.”

  “Ah, you wanna see what’s changed, huh?”

  “Exa
ctly!”

  “Your mom inside?”

  “Yeah. She made you a cake.” Then Analise clapped her palm across her mouth. “Oh, no. Maybe I shouldn’t have told you that. Was it a surprise?”

  Dane laughed and shook his head. “She already gave me the heads up on it. But I don’t know the flavor.”

  “Well, I won’t tell you that, then,” my daughter said, “but I think you’ll like it.”

  “I know I will.”

  There was more to their conversation, but I had to step away. Tears had been pooling in my eyes as I eavesdropped, not because the two of them had said anything especially touching or poignant, just because their driveway discussion was so beautifully, hauntingly normal. Like the conversations Analise used to have with her dad.

  Dane eventually knocked on the door, and I motioned him inside.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Hey.”

  “You’ve, um, got a very cool daughter.” He thumbed in the direction of the street, where I could see Analise already halfway down the block on her bike.

  “She thinks you’re cool, too.”

  “Really?”

  “Oh, yeah. She told me. And you’re nice and funny and even cute.”

  “Wow. Glad I made a good first impression on someone, which is more than I can say for our first meeting, eh?”

  “Well,” I said, “you kind of grew on me.” I paused. “I missed you so much, Dane. I’m sorry I panicked like that. I just—”

  And before I knew it, he had his arms wrapped around me. Another koala hug, and I buried myself in his embrace.

  “Julia,” he murmured. “I’m sorry. I knew what could happen. I should’ve prepared you better. Told you sooner. But damn them all. I’m not letting anyone wreck this. Wreck us. No one gets to come between us again.”

  He kissed my forehead, my right temple, my cheek, before pressing his lips to my mouth and pulling me even closer to him. Every part of me followed along. Every fiber of my body and soul was drawn to wherever he would lead.