by Jessica Ashe
“You said that. And I accept your apology.”
“Good. Because I love you, and when this is all over, I want to give us another shot.”
Carly looks away. That can’t be a good sign. I’ve only ever said those words to one other person and she always said them right back. Mind you, neither of us really meant it, so that made them a lot less meaningful.
This time I meant it, but I don’t think I’m going to hear it back.
“This is an emotional time,” Carly says. “I don’t want you to say something you’ll later regret.”
“My only regret is not saying it earlier.” If I’m going to be embarrassed, I might as well double down on it. “I love you, Carly Wicks.”
When she looks back up, I spot a tear in her already-red eyes. “I love you too.”
This is probably when most couples kiss or take things to the bedroom. Carly and I settle for sharing a smile. I turn my attention back to Olivia, but something next to the bed catches Carly’s eye.
“Parker?”
“Yes?”
“Did you steal a bottle of ketchup from New River?”
I look over at the bottle next to Olivia’s bed. “I guess I did. Shit, I never paid the tab. Tell your roommate I’ll settle up.”
I don’t know how much time passes before a nurse comes in to run some more tests. He leaves and Marie returns with cups of coffee for Carly and me.
I owe Marie an explanation. She’s always treated Olivia like her niece, and now she finds out that she’s not biologically related. Marie deserves to know what happened to my wife and so does Carly.
“You should take a seat,” I say to Marie, who has resumed pacing the room.
Marie sits down, but she’s full of nervous energy. “I’ve been thinking,” Marie says. “About Olivia’s real father.”
“Do you recognize the name?” I ask.
“No,” she replies with a shake of the head. “But don’t you get it? It was probably him. He must have been the man who killed Shannon.”
“No, it wasn’t him.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do. I know exactly who killed Shannon. I should have told you, but I’ve been desperate to keep it a secret from everyone, especially Olivia.”
“Why would you keep it a secret?” Marie practically screams, before remembering that she should keep her voice down. “You nearly went to prison.”
“I don’t want Olivia to ever find out,” I reply calmly. “Shannon wasn’t murdered. She killed herself.”
Marie is—for once—speechless. If the circumstances weren’t so glum, I’d cherish the moment.
The room is silent except for the noise from the machines Olivia is hooked up to. I can’t bear that noise, so I break the silence. “Someone needs to talk.”
“Yeah—you,” Marie replies. “Why did they arrest you for murder, if it was a suicide?”
“Bad luck,” I reply. “I was the one to find the body, and in my panic, I made a mess of the crime scene. My fingerprints were all over the knife and of course, I was covered in blood. Neighbors overheard us arguing a few hours before, but that’s nothing new.”
“Didn’t you tell that to the police?”
I shake my head. “I would have done if it ended up in court, but this way Olivia doesn’t have to grow up thinking her mother killed herself.”
“Yeah, it’s much better she think her dad killed her mom instead,” Marie says snarkily.
“She’ll know I’m innocent.”
“You should still tell her.”
“Never,” I insist.
“Why not?”
“Shannon was pregnant.” The words come from Carly, not me. Marie and I look over at the one person who seems capable of keeping everything together. “Olivia’s mom killed herself when she was eight-months pregnant. She tried to kill Olivia too.”
I nod. “Olivia can never know that. I’m going to feed her lovely little stories about what a nice person her biological mother was, and she never needs to be any the wiser.”
It sounds weird, but I don’t want Olivia to hate Shannon. I’ve done enough research on suicide since her death to know that it can rarely be blamed on a person being selfish or deserving of hatred. Shannon had serious mental health issues. If I’d been more attentive I might have recognized the signs and persuaded her to seek help. I doubt she bore any hatred for our unborn child. She just wasn’t well.
“The father’s blackmailing you,” Carly says, as she pieces it all together. “He knows about the suicide and he knows you want to keep it secret.”
“He has a letter from Shannon that makes it clear she was suicidal.”
“I’m not sure you can keep this from Olivia,” Marie says.
“Me either,” Carly agrees. “But I also don’t think this is the time to discuss it. I’m going to go talk to the doctor about being a donor.”
“No,” I say firmly. “Not yet.”
“We don’t have a choice.”
“Yes, we do. If I can find the father, you don’t have to go through with this.”
“And if you can’t find him?”
I don’t answer. I’m going to find him. That scumbag has hidden from me for three years. That ends now. If he can save my daughter’s life then every cent I’ve given him will be worth it.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Carly
There’s not long to go now.
It’s been ten days since Olivia collapsed. Parker still hasn’t found Olivia’s father which means it’s looking more and more likely that I will need to be the donor.
I’ve started preparing. I debated whether to tell Mom and Dad. Parker’s insurance will pay for everything, but I’m going to need regular liver function tests for the next few years, and I’m still on Dad’s health insurance so he’s bound to notice.
They didn’t take it well. Regardless of my good intentions, all they heard was that their daughter was agreeing to undergo a risky operation for her boss’s kid. I left out the bit about me being in love with the boss; they can only handle so much information in one day. They think I’m being foolish, and I can’t blame them for feeling that way. It doesn’t make any difference.
Tami knows the full story and she has my back. I told her everything, partly so she understood why I was doing this, but also so that she’d stop thinking of Parker as a killer. She’s a little nervous too, although I keep telling her that the operation is low risk for me. I’ll be under general anesthesia, so I’ll drift off to sleep and when I wake up it will all be over. Alright, there might be a bit of discomfort for a few weeks, but fortunately, I have a sympathetic boss who is happy with me taking time off work.
I haven’t been in to see Olivia today. I’ll go in later this afternoon. First, I have the small matter of a meeting with an agent.
This should be a huge moment. As a writer, the hard part isn’t selling your script, it’s getting an agent. Agents are like the gatekeepers. Once you have representation, it’s like a sign that you are worthy and people will listen. Even if I don’t end up selling my script, an agent will almost certainly get me a job as a screenwriter on a television show. That’s nothing to be sniffed at.
And yet, I hardly care. I don’t prepare at all for the meeting, and I’m almost late because of traffic. That’s not like me, but it’s hard to be excited about a job when Olivia is in the hospital. Especially because it might mean I can’t be there for her when she recovers.
I’m tempted to skip the meeting right up until the moment I walk into the restaurant where we’ve agreed to meet. The only reason I don’t is that Parker would be pissed at me if he ever found out.
“Kelsie?” I say as I approach a woman sitting alone at a table.
“Yes, hi, Carly. So glad you could make it during such a tough time.”
“It’s not a problem,” I reply. It’s almost like I’m doing her a favor and not the other way around. God knows how Tami managed to arrange this. She denies all involvement, an
d I didn’t push it too far. She doesn’t know that I haven’t gotten around to sending the script out yet, and she’s the only person who has a copy. I just wish she’d sent out my latest draft.
“I’ve read the script,” Kelsie says, after we’ve ordered drinks. “Obviously, I love it or we wouldn’t be here.”
“I’m sorry about the mistakes. The version you have isn’t the finished product.”
“I don’t care about a few typos. I care about the story, characters, and dialogue. A good movie needs all three of those and they’re equally important. Typos, formatting, and scene construction can all be easily fixed. I’m in the process of finishing my markups, but it’s nothing drastic.”
This is all too good to be true. Every book on screenwriting I’ve read says that you have to write and rewrite your script until you’re sick of it, and even then you won’t get an agent to read it, let alone pick it up. They also say that connections are everything, and apparently, Tami has connections, even though she doesn’t get much work herself.
I’ve somehow stumbled onto an agent who loves my story even with a load of mistakes. I’ve struck gold.
“Is there a chance my script will get picked up?”
Kelsie nods. “Yeah, there’s a chance. This is where I tell you that there’s still a long road ahead of you. The script has to get noticed—that’s where I come in—but it also has to be financed, produced, and released. Those three things should not be taken for granted. Some of the best scripts I’ve ever read have struggled to get financing, or gone through ten directors until the movie studio gives up and pulls the plug.”
“This is never going to be a blockbuster,” I admit. “It’s a low budget movie that might make it to theaters. I don’t have high expectations.”
“That’s where you might be wrong. This could be a big hit, but you’d need to change one major thing.”
“The sex scenes. It needs to be PG-13.”
“Nope,” Kelsie replies. “Films can be R-rated and still make bank these days. With clever marketing, it can even be a selling point. I’m talking about the ending.”
The ending is my favorite part. I made a huge change after my first round of drafts. That’s why I sent Tami back a revised script—I wanted to get her opinion on the ending.
“What’s wrong with the ending?”
“It’s too dark. I mean, it’s brilliant, but it’s dark. If you keep the ending as it is, the movie has a limited audience. That will put a lot of studios off the project.”
“Do you want me to change the ending?”
“The movie will have more chance of getting financed and making big bucks if you give it a happy ending.”
“It wouldn’t be realistic.”
“Since when have movie-goers cared about realism? It’s all about escapism. Give them what they want.”
“I don’t know. Life is dark sometimes. There isn’t always a happy ending.”
“And you don’t have to write one,” Kelsie says. “It’s not a dealbreaker. If you keep it as it is, I will still take you on as a client, and I will work hard to sell your script.”
“But….”
“But it could take a while. And you shouldn’t expect to get paid a life-changing amount for it. Here’s what I’d advise—change the ending. It will still be a good movie, and there’s nothing more exciting than hearing your lines read out on the big screen. You’ll also stand to make more money and then your next project can be darker.”
“Can I think about it?”
“Of course. Take a few weeks. Wait until all your personal issues have blown over.”
“Thanks.”
“Have you given any thought to television work? I could use this script to get your foot in the door at a couple of networks.”
“That would be good.”
As soon as the meeting is over, I hop in my car and drive over to the hospital to see Olivia. She’s asleep when I show up. Parker is by her side as always. He has to be dragged out of the hospital at night when it’s time to go home, and he’s there again in the morning before she’s woken up.
Olivia has her good moments and bad. She constantly looks tired and doesn’t understand why she has to stay in bed the entire time. We’ve told her it’s something all children do to make sure they’re well enough to go to school like big boys and girls. That has her excited.
“Hey,” I say quietly, as I pull up a chair next to Parker. “How have things been?”
Parker’s about to answer when his phone vibrates in his pocket. “That about sums things up,” he replies wearily, as he takes the phone out of his pocket.
He’s barely been in to the office since Olivia became ill, and he’s passed over as much work as possible to his colleagues. Unfortunately, he’s the boss, and for a sale as big as this one, he needs to sign off on a lot of the disclosures. There’s only so much he can delegate.
“Not long now,” I reply. I’m referring to the sale of the business, but hopefully the same can be said for Olivia. The two weeks are nearly up and Parker hasn’t come close to tracking down Johan Contra, despite putting a few detectives on the case. It’s like he doesn’t exist. If it weren’t for the checks being banked every month, I’d assume he’d given a fake name.
“I’m just grateful electronic signatures are a thing now,” Parker says. “If I had to print this stuff off, I’d have to bring the printer in here with me every day.”
“Are you signing stuff already? I thought you had another week.”
“I do. But assets need to be moved around before the sale can go through, and property transfers need to be authorized in advance. I’m effectively just tidying up before the big transfer of the corporate stock.”
“Good thing you have competent employees. You suck at tidying up.”
Parker smiles and holds my hand. “I don’t know what I’d do without you here.”
“I wouldn’t be anywhere else.” Parker squeezes my hand and I squeeze back. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard anything about Johan?”
“No. Nothing.”
“It’s okay. We don’t need him.”
I hear Parker take a few deep breaths. He’s not used to relying on other people like this. At work, sure, he has people he can count on. However, when it comes to Olivia, he thought he’d be able to keep her safe by himself.
“I can’t ask you to do this,” he says.
“Good thing you’re not asking, then. Anyway, I’ve told my parents now, so we have to go through with it. Otherwise, they’ll think I’m chickening out. Hell, even if you find the father, I’m still having a bit of my liver cut out. I’ll never be able to face them at Thanksgiving otherwise.”
Parker laughs, but only briefly. It’s better than nothing.
“They’ll always hate me,” Parker says. “I’ll be the man who made their daughter have an operation.”
“The second they meet Olivia, they’ll understand. It’s impossible not to help her.”
“She is adorable.”
On cue as always, Olivia stirs and wakes up. Parker slides his phone back in his pocket and ignores every vibration until a nurse comes with her dinner.
I’m ready. There’s not a single doubt in my mind. I’m going to do this.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Parker
I’d sleep at the hospital if I could, but the nurses insist I go home at night. They pretend it’s better for Olivia if I’m not there all the time. They just want me out of the way.
Carly and I spring out of bed at seven o’clock and get showered. When I come out of the bathroom, Carly is shoving some clothes into a duffle bag.
“Are you leaving?” I ask. She’s been staying here most nights since Olivia got sick, so I can’t blame her if she wants to spend a night at home.
“This is my hospital bag,” she replies calmly. “I’ve packed changes of clothes, and—most importantly—clean underwear.”
“What for?”
“Some of the doctors are cute.
I don’t want to be wearing three-day-old panties.”
“Very funny.”
“Well stop asking silly questions. You know what it’s for. Tomorrow’s the big day.”
As if being unable to help my sick daughter isn’t bad enough, I haven’t even been able to track down Olivia’s piece of shit biological father so that he can do the good deed. How can one man be so damn difficult to find? He clearly lives in LA, because the P.O. Box is registered here. Despite that, the private detectives I’ve hired can’t find any trace of him. I know he has a bank account, because the money comes out of my account a few days after I write the checks.
I can’t stomach the thought of putting Carly through this operation, but I also can’t bear the thought of losing my daughter. I’d do anything for her, and apparently, so would Carly. Things are shitty at the moment, and yet I still feel like the luckiest man alive. I’m blessed with the two most incredible women on this planet, and I’m going to do whatever it takes to keep them in my life.
“Leave the bag here,” I say to Carly. “If worst comes to worst, and you need it, I’ll bring it in.”
“Okay, but don’t forget. And make sure you bring my iPad. I’ll go crazy if I don’t have anything to read.”
She doesn’t sound at all scared. She hasn’t once hesitated from the second she found out that Olivia might need a transplant. I don’t deserve her.
We’re nearly ready to leave when my phone rings with a call. I recognize the number as coming from the law firm we’ve hired for the sale. About half of their office is working on this deal, so I dread to see the legal fees at the end of it.
“Don’t you guys ever sleep?” I say, as I answer the call.
“We would,” Edmund replies, “but the Pacific Technologies lawyers are on the case twenty-four hours a day. We don’t want to look lazy.”
“Fair enough. What’s up?”
“We’ve got a problem. A minor one, I think, but I need to run it past you.”
“Make it quick. I’m about to head over to the hospital.”
“Pacific’s lawyers are complaining about inaccurate information in the disclosure schedules. They’re saying they’ve found an omission, and of course, they want to make a huge deal out of it to drive the price down. You know the kind of thing: ‘we can’t trust the information so we’re going to have to increase the contingent part of the payment, et cetera et cetera.’”