Come Back to Me

by Chris Paynter

  The color drained from Meryl’s face.

  “Get out.” Meryl came from behind her desk and pushed Angie through the door. “Now.”

  “Meryl…”

  “Do I have to call security?” Meryl’s jaw tightened.

  With tears streaming down her cheeks, Angie hurried down the hallway. She pounded on the Down button for the elevator.

  “Come on! Shit!” The doors slid open. From the lobby, Angie stepped out into the bright sunshine and hailed a taxi.

  “Ritz Carlton,” she said. The driver pulled away from the curb. Angie leaned her arm on the door and put her fist under her chin, watching the bustling New Yorkers pass by. She glanced at the rearview mirror where the cab driver stared at her.

  “Everything okay?” he asked.

  She waved his question off with her hand. She knew better than to trust her voice to speak without crying.

  When he pulled to a stop in front of the hotel, Angie handed him a stack of twenties from her wallet. “Keep it.”

  “Hey, thanks, lady!”

  She pushed through the revolving doors into the opulent lobby.

  As the elevator took her to her floor, she thought how she’d hoped Meryl would stay with her at least for the night. In her magical dream, Meryl forgave her, they were lovers, and the future was all theirs. She slid her key card into the slot. Now she was paying for a room she wouldn’t even use. She sure as hell wasn’t staying in New York tonight.

  Chapter 24

  A week later, the story broke. There was a blurb about Meryl’s article on the front page of the Sunday New York Banner directing the reader to the entertainment section.

  Angie sat in the captain’s seat of The Pride of Youngstown. She’d bought the paper at a convenience store on her way to her boat slip. She opened to the article and almost fell off her chair. There was an almost half-page photo of her talking in Meryl’s office.

  The headline read, “Lesbian Author Rocks Literary World Writing as Zach England.” Sally hadn’t been too far off. She’d told Meryl that identifying her as a lesbian in the article was important. Nothing like having the headline shout it out before the reader even got to the lead.

  Angie scanned the copy. It had a few narrative paragraphs, giving a short biography of Angie and mentioning her other published work in the lesbian mystery genre. After that, the article followed a question-and-answer format. Angie had been honest in saying she and her agent had submitted the first manuscript under Zach England’s name because no publisher took her seriously in writing these types of male-dominated novels. Meryl had asked her if she had also done it for money.

  “It would be lying if I told you that it was only for the work. Yes, I thought about the money if this would somehow become a modest success. But I never imagined the Derek Barker series would take off like it did.”

  Meryl had asked if Angie thought she’d sold out and turned her back on the lesbian publishing field.

  “If I’m somehow perceived as doing that, then I take full blame. I enjoyed writing my three lesbian novels. I also enjoyed bringing Derek Barker to life. Since I was Zach England, I could make him as rough and rowdy as I wanted, and that was fun for me—very freeing.

  “But I grew tired of the deception, and with that, I believe my writing fell off. Your review of my latest Barker novel was spot on, as far as I’m concerned. You didn’t pull your punches, and I agree with everything you said. I did lose passion. Which is why I recently returned to writing lesbian fiction and hope to have a novel published soon.

  “I lost myself in doing this work as Zach England. I hope to regain my identity and my voice—as a writer of lesbian fiction and as a detective novelist who happens to be a lesbian. I also hope the latest Barker novel I’m working on will bring back the passion for my readers they so much deserve. Revealing who I am certainly has brought back my passion to write.”

  Meryl summed up the interview with, “Only time will tell if the literary world will accept Ms. Cantinnini again with open arms.”

  Angie folded the paper and carried it down to the cabin. She climbed the stairs to the deck and stood behind the ship’s wheel. Turning the ignition, she gradually shifted into full throttle.

  She needed to feel free from everything, if only for a few hours. She let the boat fly over the low waves. The wind blew her hair away from her face. Taking a deep breath, she let the salty smell of the ocean penetrate her senses.

  She was Angie Cantinnini again, both in her private life and in her profession. Whether Meryl could forgive her, well, that was another thing.

  Angie had waited eleven years. If need be, she was willing to wait for the rest of her life.

  * * *

  After her day on the boat, Angie stepped into her house in the early evening, ready for a shower to cool her off. Her cell phone rang, and there was no doubt who it’d be.

  “What’d you think, Sally?”

  “I think I love Meryl McClain.”

  “If I recall, you wanted to have her fired not that long ago.”

  “She kind of grows on you, doesn’t she? Of course I don’t need to be telling you that.”

  Angie heard what sounded like ice clinking in a glass. Sally apparently was having a celebratory drink. Angie couldn’t blame her.

  “Speaking of whom, have you heard from her?” Sally asked.

  “No. I haven’t. I didn’t really expect to.”

  Angie grabbed a bottled water and flopped down on the couch. “Have you heard any other feedback? I’m aware it only hit this morning, but I’m curious.”

  “You of all people should know how fast the proverbial shit hits the fan in the media. Have you been online?”

  “I’ve been out on the boat all day.”

  “Fire up your computer, darling.” Sally slurped her drink. “And discover what your words hath wrought.”

  Angie opened the cover to her laptop, switching it over to receive WiFi. She clicked on the Internet browser and typed in a major news URL. It popped up with a large photo of her and a link to the New York Banner piece.

  “Holy shit.”

  “Yeah, ain’t it, though? Go to another one. I’ll wait.”

  Angie opened several other cable news and major newspaper Web sites. Her story was the lead on every one of them.

  “Oh my God.”

  “I told you this was big, but I don’t think you understood the magnitude.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Well, Ms. Cantinnini, trust me when I say you can’t stave off the Norahs and the guys on the late-night talk show circuit. You’ll have to give in.”

  Angie’s stomach fluttered. “You don’t think reporters will show up down here, do you?”

  That was Angie’s greatest fear. She’d been living a “Catch 22” these past eight years. She’d hated the deception, but at the same time, she’d valued her privacy.

  “You might be all right unless someone down there starts talking. You’re unlisted, and no one knows where you live. Meryl didn’t mention it in her article. They might come down your way, but you can make it a hell of a lot easier on yourself if you come forward and do some major interviews.”

  “Starting with?”

  “Norah.”

  Angie sighed. “How did I know you’d say that?”

  * * *

  “She’s even cuter than her picture,” Rhonda said.

  Meryl carried a glass of iced tea to Rhonda where she perched on the couch and took a seat beside her.

  “Yes,” Meryl said, “she’s definitely cute.”

  Rhonda had shown up unannounced at Meryl’s apartment just as Angie was to make her appearance on the Norah Hall Show. Meryl invited her in, telling her Angie would be on TV soon.

  Meryl had taken Friday off from work. She tried to rationalize it as needing some downtime following the big story hitting the news, but she knew that wasn’t the real reason.

  Angie wore a peach jacket over a white cotton blouse that she’d tucked into a
pair of faded blue jeans. Meryl smiled. Angie still wasn’t giving into all the formality.

  Norah threw Angie mostly softball questions during the hour. That is until Norah pushed her long dark hair behind her ear, shifted in her seat, and leaned toward Angie.

  Uh-oh. Here it comes, Meryl thought. She’d seen that body language before.

  “Is there anything you’ve regretted over the years in choosing this life of Zach England?” Norah asked, tilting her head to the side.

  Angie blushed under her dark tan. No one else may have noticed, but Meryl caught it.

  Angie’s eyes became moist. “I never meant to hurt the ones I love with my lies. They might not believe me. But the only thing I can do from this point on is say I’m sorry. I’ll live my life in the open, as an author and as a lesbian.”

  “Well, Angie, I believe your interview with the New York Banner and joining us today are steps in the right direction. Thank you for coming on the show.”

  As the words left Norah’s mouth, the audience gave Angie a standing ovation. Angie ducked her head. Norah rose and pulled Angie to her feet to give her a big hug as the credits rolled.

  “She’s beyond cute,” Rhonda said. “She’s adorable.”

  Meryl switched off the TV.

  “You can’t tell me you’re not still attracted to her. For God’s sake, you sat in the same room with her while you interviewed her. And yet you—”

  “There’s something I left out when telling you how that interview came about.”

  “All right. Tell me about it.”

  “Remember my trip to Key West in search of Zach England?” Meryl told Rhonda about meeting Angie there, Angie’s deception, and then finding out the truth that Saturday morning. She didn’t tell Rhonda about her confession to Angie about her grandmother sexually abusing her.

  “And you didn’t talk it out?” Rhonda asked.

  “No, we didn’t. I was so angry, I left Key West that day.”

  “Girl, you need to get over your damn self and call that woman.”

  “You still don’t know the whole story.”

  “Well, since you’re not telling me everything, I’ll go on what I can see with my very own eyes. And what I see is that you’re still in love with her.”

  “Rhonda…”

  “Let me finish. I watched you more than I watched that interview. And what I see is a woman still very much in love with the woman of her dreams. This is where I say she rode in on her damn white horse, honey. Jump on up there and ride off into the sunset.”

  Meryl said nothing.

  “That’s right. You don’t have an answer to that, do you?” Rhonda flipped her wrist around to check her watch. “Okay. Gotta go.” She set her glass down and stood up. “Come on, at least give your best friend a hug.”

  Meryl embraced her.

  “I’ll talk to you over the weekend,” Rhonda said as she was leaving. “Maybe we can go shopping. That always cheers you up.”

  “Shopping might not be such a bad idea.”

  Meryl shut the door behind Rhonda and locked the deadbolt. Malachi chose that moment to saunter in from the bedroom.

  “Quiet now, hmm, boy?”

  He rubbed against her leg.

  Meryl picked him up, cradling his butt with her arm. She walked over to her loft window and watched as Rhonda hailed a taxi.

  “What do you think, Malachi?” She rubbed her cheek against his. “Am I being unfair to Angie?”

  He meowed.

  “Sometimes, I’m really glad you can’t talk.”

  Chapter 25

  A whirlwind week of interviews followed Angie’s appearance on the Norah Hall Show. She flew home to Key West and planned to take it easy. A trip out on her boat sounded like heaven. She arrived in town late in the evening, and Ev met her at the airport.

  “How’s the world-famous Angelina Zach Cantinnini England these days?” Ev asked.

  “Tired as hell,” Angie said with a huff, dropping her luggage into Ev’s minivan as they climbed in. “I want to go home and reacquaint myself with my bed.”

  Ev pulled out of the airport parking lot. “I’m taking you straight there. I know it’s been rough on you.”

  Angie laid her head against the headrest. She had to fight to stay awake. “I can’t remember the last time I was this exhausted.”

  “We’ll get you home, and I’ll tuck you into bed. How’s that sound?”

  “Can I have a cookie and some milk, too, Mom?”

  Ev grinned. “Chocolate chip or oatmeal raisin?”

  They arrived at Angie’s house. Ev helped Angie take her luggage inside.

  “Thanks for picking me up. I think I’ll hit the hay.”

  Ev gave her a hug. The energy source from the embrace seemed to take all of the kinks out of Angie’s sore muscles.

  “You really need to bottle that stuff,” Angie said after Ev released her.

  “What stuff?”

  “You know what I’m talking about. That medicine woman stuff.”

  “Sorry. It’s a Cherokee secret.” Ev headed for the door. “You get some rest.”

  “Thanks again, Ev.”

  Ev waved and tooted the horn as she pulled out of the drive.

  Angie walked down the hallway to her bedroom and stripped, not even bothering to put on a nightshirt. She tugged the cover down and slid under the sheet. Turning, she brushed her hand over the empty space beside her. She reached for the other pillow, cradled it to her body, and fell into a dreamless sleep.

  * * *

  “We’re hoping to interview Stephen King as soon as his schedule allows,” Meryl said. “As most of you may know, he’s a huge Red Sox fan, and they have a series with the Yankees coming up next week. He assured me some time should open up for him after that.”

  “Thank you, Meryl.” Thom Pratters turned to Zelda Landers. “How’s your joint interview with Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie shaping up?”

  “We’re still on for Wednesday afternoon.” Zelda gave Meryl a pointed glance over her glasses.

  God, I’d love to slap that look off her face.

  The door to the conference room opened and Wade appeared.

  “What is it?” Pratters asked with some annoyance.

  “Mr. Pratters, I hate to interrupt.” Wade turned toward Meryl. “There’s an emergency phone call for you.”

  Meryl jumped to her feet.

  “Excuse me. I think I need to leave.”

  “Go, Meryl. And don’t apologize.” Pratters motioned her out the door.

  “It’s your mother,” Wade said, almost running to keep up with Meryl’s long strides. “She sounded very upset. When I told her you were in a meeting, she insisted I interrupt you.”

  “You did everything right, Wade. Don’t worry.”

  “She’s still on the line.”

  Meryl hurried to her phone and punched the button beside the blinking red light. “Mother?”

  “He’s gone, Meryl,” her mother cried. “Your father’s gone.”

  Meryl grabbed hold of the desk as her legs gave out. She reached behind her for the chair.

  “When did he—”

  “About forty-five minutes ago. At three-eighteen to be exact. I know it was three-eighteen because that’s what the doctor said when he recited the time to the nurse. ‘Three-eighteen.’”

  Meryl held her head in her hands. “Mother, I’m sor—”

  “Can you come home now? Can you at least come here for the funeral?”

  “Yes. Of course. I’ll take the next available flight.”

  Meryl saw Wade watching her through the glass. She waved him into the office. “I’ll make the arrangements now. Is Aunt Suzanne there?”

  “She’s staying with me. Will you please call to tell me when you’re on your way? I’ll have Edward pick you up at the airport.”

  “I’ll get an airport limo to bring me there.”

  “Ridiculous.” Her mother had recovered enough for her voice to return to its no-nonsense te
nor. “That’s what Edward’s for.”

  Meryl didn’t argue. “I’ll call when I find out the arrival time and the airline gate.”

  “Good.” There was a pause. “I’m glad you’re coming home.”

  “I’ll be there soon.” Meryl replaced the receiver in its cradle.

  She thought of her mother’s words. It was the house where she’d spent her youth. But it no longer felt like home.

  * * *

  “Robert Tarkington is not available right now. Please leave your name, number, and message after the tone…”

  Damn it. Why wasn’t he there?

  “Robert, it’s Meryl McClain. My father died this morning, and I…” She tried to swallow the lump in her throat, but was unsuccessful. “And, Christ, I’m crying. Can you please call me back and tell me why I’m crying?” Meryl closed her phone and watched the blocks speed by outside her taxi window, trying desperately to understand her conflicting emotions.

  The cab stopped in front of her apartment building, and she paid the driver. She tapped her foot as the elevator made its jerking ascent to her floor. Her cell phone rang just as she unlocked the deadbolt on her door.

  She flipped the phone open and began talking as she sobbed. “Why is this affecting me this way? I mean, shouldn’t I be relieved?”

  “Where are you right now?” Robert asked.

  “I’m at my apartment.”

  “Why don’t you sit down, take a few deep breaths, and exhale slowly. Remember the relaxation technique I taught you?”

  Meryl threw her purse on the couch and slumped down beside it. She closed her eyes, trying not to panic at the little pinpricks of light that greeted her when doing so. Robert continued to talk to her in a soothing tone.

  “Breathe in. Hold it. Slowly release it.”

  He repeated the mantra until Meryl became more relaxed.

  “I’m better now, I think,” Meryl said and sniffed. She pulled a tissue from the box on the table.

  “What you’re experiencing is a normal reaction. You’re grieving the loss of something you never had—the love of your father. How is your mother?”

  “About how you’d expect. She’s devastated, but at the same time, I think she’s disappointed in me.”

  “You’re flying in for the funeral?”