Chapter 34
The ringing phone woke Mary from a restless sleep on Saturday morning. James’s name flashed across her screen. Groaning, she hit the ignore button and pulled the sheet over her head. Seconds later, the ringing started again. This time she answered.
“Just making sure you’re coming to the pub tonight,” he said. “Seeing your face in the crowd keeps me calm. Without you there, I’ll get stage fright.”
Stage fright. The two words brought back all Mary’s humiliation from the night before and reminded her that she was never going home. She felt an ice-cold sensation in her chest, as if her heart were freezing over.
“You there?” James asked.
“You’re on your own tonight.” She couldn’t bear to watch him singing in that tiny pub at a golf club located in a town no one had ever heard of. He was supposed to be performing on famous stages in big cities all over the country. She’d stolen that from him. Now, they were both stuck in this world.
“No, please. You have to—”
She disconnected the call, burying her head in her hands and feeling bad she’d hung up on him. She’d ruined so many things for so many people, not just herself.
Needing fresh air, she dressed and went outside. She didn’t have the energy to walk, so she sank down and sat on the top step. Cars whizzed by on the street. Everyone had someplace to go except for her. There was nowhere she wanted to be except home in Hudson.
Her phone rang again. Guilt got the better of her. She picked up, ready to apologize to James for hanging up, but it was Carl.
“I’m at the station. Thought you’d want to know there are a lot of emails from sympathetic viewers hoping you’ll get another chance to anchor.”
They probably wanted to see her self-combust on air. “I don’t care about anchoring. I just want to ...” She stopped herself from saying go home . “I’m never going to get the promotion now.”
Carl was quiet. Downstairs, a door opened and closed, and Brady, RaeLynn, and Frank appeared on the driveway. With the hand that wasn’t holding Frank’s leash, Brady waved up at Mary. He had a sympathetic look on his face that made her certain he’d been watching the news last night.
“I wouldn’t say never,” Carl said. “Get Amato to talk to you, and you’re back in business.” He paused before adding, “Maybe.”
A few minutes ago, she’d had no hope. Now she had at least some. She went back inside and fired up her laptop, determined to think of a way to convince Dean to agree to the interview. She found the Dunlop tire commercial on YouTube and watched it along with old interviews of Dean. Seeing him working to put all the reporters at ease reminded her how he couldn’t stand to be the bad guy. Ever. Once he’d even convinced the entire executive team to take a pay cut to avoid company-wide layoffs, and she was always the one to discipline Kendra because he couldn’t stomach being the heavy. If she could find a way to appeal to his need to be a good guy, or at least not the bad guy, he’d do the interview.
She knew he’d told James that he would be at the pub tonight, so she called James back and told him that she’d changed her mind. She’d be there tonight. At this point, she had nothing left to lose.
Mary thought Dean might be more likely to agree to the interview if more people knew she was asking him for one—just maybe, his need to be a good guy would make him reluctant to say no in front of others. She called Darbi first.
“Didn’t he just say no to you?” Darbi said.
Mary, frustrated with her cousin, tightened her grip on the phone. “I can’t just give up.”
“I don’t think you should hound him. Let some time pass before you ask him again.”
“I’ll go without you.” She hung up without saying goodbye, bewildered again by Darbi’s refusal to help her.
Looking out the window, she saw RaeLynn and Brady walking Frank and decided to ask them. Just before she opened her door to call down to them, she thought of Kimberly, who had experience asking people for interviews and might be able to offer suggestions. Mary feared Kimberly might not want to go, because ultimately, she’d be helping Mary get the promotion, but she called her anyway.
Kimberly didn’t hesitate. “I’m so glad you asked,” she said. “We should be helping one another.” Mary felt her face heat up with shame, because she didn’t think she would have helped Kimberly had the circumstances been reversed. She also asked Carl to come in case she needed him to record an interview. She was getting this done tonight. It was the only chance she had left.
At 8:45, the three of them sat at a long table at the Bunker, the pub at Addison Heights. While Kimberly and Carl watched James, Mary kept her eyes trained on the door. A large group of men entered. She scanned their faces, but Dean wasn’t part of the crowd.
“I guess he’s not coming.” Her voice cracked. She didn’t even try to hide her emotion. In this version of her life, everyone would talk about how sad she was. She’d be known as “morose Mary.” She didn’t care.
“He’ll be here,” Kimberly said. “And we’ll convince him.” Mary knew her friend was being optimistic to support her, and she had a new appreciation for the girl. Kimberly was putting her own chance at the promotion at risk to help Mary, and she was doing it cheerfully. Somewhere within Mary, the realization clicked: friends should help each other, not compete against one another. “In the meantime, enjoy the music.”
James sat on a wooden stool at the front of the bar, strumming his guitar and singing “Sister Golden Hair,” a song Mary was certain no one in the bar except for she, Carl, and James knew.
Carl visited the bar and returned with a beer for himself and mojitos for Mary and Kimberly.
James finished the song and announced he was taking a break. He approached their table and plunked down in the seat next to Carl. Carl slapped him on the back. “Hey, boss, there are like five decades of music more recent than the junk you’re playing.”
Mary imagined her James responding with a quick witty remark, but this James had no repartee. He stayed silent, face flushed. Mary glared at Carl. What was wrong with him? James needed someone to build up his confidence, not tear it down. “Your voice is amazing,” she said. “And I love the old songs.”
“I saw what happened on the news.” James looked at a spot above her head as he spoke. “I’m sorry.”
“What happened?” Dean’s voice came from behind Mary. He held a bottle of beer. Anthony stood by the bar, talking to Jessica. Somehow, Mary had missed them arriving. She’d never been so happy to see anyone as she was to see Dean, and she beamed up at him. Even if he hadn’t realized it yet, he wanted to help her. Why else would he come to her table?
“She was anchoring, and she forgot how to talk,” Carl said.
Mary shot him a look, not wanting Dean to know how she’d messed up. She wanted him to think of her as a talented professional so he’d do the interview.
Kimberly wrapped a protective arm around Mary’s shoulders. “She got a little camera shy.”
“Complete meltdown,” Carl said.
Dean gave Mary a sympathetic smile. “Everyone has a bad day once in a while.”
“Exactly,” Kimberly said.
Mary nodded. Maybe she could use this to appeal to his need to be the good guy.
“This one will go down in infamy,” Carl said.
His break over, James went back to the stool and played the opening chords of a John Mayer song. Mary tried to remember its name but couldn’t.
“How bad could it have been?” Dean asked.
“Her career as an anchor is finished,” Carl said, kicking Mary under the table to let her know he didn’t mean it. He was trying to convince Dean to help. “She’ll have to stick to reporting.”
Mary tapped her phone, trying to bring up the video, but there was no signal in the pub.
“It’s nothing that can’t be fixed,” she said, silently praying that Dean would want to help.
“She’ll do better next time,” Kimberly said, sipping her drink.
“There won’t be a next time,” Carl said.
“There could be, if I score a big interview.” Mary flashed her best smile at Dean. “Will you help?”
“Good try.”
“Mr. Amato,” Kimberly said, and Mary startled, aware for the first time of the age difference between her and Dean now. “There are people out there who think you intentionally cheated. Don’t you want to clear that up? Tell your side of the story?”
“People can think what they want.”
The pool table opened. Carl pointed at it, and he and Kimberly went to play, presumably leaving Mary alone to talk to Dean.
“You’ll get another opportunity.” Dean had that know-it-all tone that men often had when talking to women, especially those younger than them. It infuriated her that he thought this, because it would make him less likely to help.
“A lot more than my career was at stake,” she said, needing to make him understand.
He rolled his eyes and reached for a fistful of pretzels. She waited for him to tell her to stop being ridiculous because that’s what her Dean always told her. Instead, he asked, “Like what?”
Everything she wanted to tell him about what had happened when she had her wisdom teeth removed flashed through her mind. She imagined how he would react. How he would look at her as if she were insane or incredibly drunk. She took another sip of her mojito, her third of the evening. Maybe she was incredibly drunk. Telling him was a horrible idea. She bit her tongue and reached again for the minty rum drink.
Dean took a pull of his beer, something she’d seen him do countless times in the past, but seeing him do it now mesmerized her. So often, they’d enjoyed drinks together, engaged in conversations about their daughter: Where do you think she’ll go to college? I’m not sure I like that boy for her. What should we get her for her birthday?
Sitting at this table now, having to pretend he was barely more than a stranger, was eating her up. He had to feel the connection between them, even if he didn’t understand it.
James sang the lyrics to the chorus. The name of the song popped into Mary’s head: “Say.”
Dean placed his beer down on the table with the label facing away from him. As soon as he noticed, he’d turn the bottle 180 degrees. “Well?” He twisted the bottle, just as she knew he would. For more than half her life, this man whom she knew so well had given her a shoulder to lean on. There was never a time she needed his support more than she did right now.
James sang the chorus of “Say” again. She took it as a sign that she should say what she wanted and tell Dean why he had to agree to the interview. “In another version of our lives, I’m fifty-four. We’re married and have a beautiful daughter.”
Dean had been lifting his beer for another swallow. The bottle froze in his hand by his neck. He placed it back on the table with a thud, his eyes big.
“We named her Kendra, after your friend Ken Idleman.”
Dean paled. “Who told you about Ken?”
“You did. In our other life. He passed away when you were in high school. Cancer. It’s why you always donate to the Jimmy Fund.”
The dazed look on Dean’s face suggested the ghost of Ken had sat down at the table with them. “How could you possibly know that?”
In all the research she’d done on Dean, Mary had found no mention of Ken in any interview or article. With tears streaming down his face, he’d told her on what would have been Ken’s twenty-fifth birthday, and she had held him until they saw the early-morning light, listening to stories about his and Ken’s antics together throughout their childhood.
“The same way I know the reason your dad golfed, the same way I knew Michelle was your high school sweetheart. It’s why I know all the lyrics to the old songs.”
Dean pointed to her drink. “How many of those have you had?”
He was trying to make light of her words, but she could tell by the way he kept shifting in his chair and the way his olive complexion had turned Casper white that he didn’t know what to think. She was finally reaching him.
“You and I met right here at Addison Heights. Well, not here in the pub, but in the main banquet room. I was there for a bridal shower, and you were playing in a charity tournament for Ken. You walked into the wrong function room and helped yourself to cake. Chocolate with raspberry filling.”
Dean licked his lips as if tasting the cake again. “The groom looked like a tall Dustin Hoffman,” he mumbled. Then he vigorously shook his head as if trying to clear his mind.
“Exactly. You remember.” Her voice burst with excitement. She had to use all her restraint to keep from running around the table to hug him.
“No.” Dean said the word with force, as if trying to convince himself.
She could tell by his expression that she’d made him uncomfortable. He didn’t want to, but he believed her. She had to make sure there was no doubt in his mind, keep telling him stories. He peeled the label off his beer bottle. “Quite the imagination. I didn’t expect that from you.”
“You planted a maple tree beside the house the day Kendra was born. We lived in Hudson, Massachusetts.”
Dean took a long swallow of his beer and glanced toward Anthony and Jessica at the bar as if he hoped they’d come over and save him from this conversation. “Nice town. Did you and”—he paused—“Kendra come on tour with me? Cheer me on?”
He was playing with her, and her excitement ticked down a level. “You weren’t a golfer. You played, but as a hobby, not professionally. You were a chief revenue officer for an insurance company.”
“Insurance? Could there be anything more boring? And chief revenue officer? Is that really a thing?”
Her stomach twisted. If insurance bored this version of Dean, her Dean couldn’t have enjoyed his job, yet he’d never complained about it. He always put on a smile and went to work to support their family. How had she not realized that? She shifted in her seat. “You set goals for the sales team and play a lot of golf with other executives.”
“I like the golf part.” His bored tone suggested he was losing interest.
She had to pull him back before it was too late. “But here’s the problem.” Mary paused for a sip of liquid courage. Dean stared, waiting, his eyebrows scrunched up. She explained Mulligan magic to him, why she’d wanted to be young again, what had happened to Kendra, and what the letter from Uncle Cillian said. As she confided in him, the weight of the secret she’d been carrying lightened. Even this alternate version of him was easy to talk to, just like her Dean. Her fear of getting stuck in this alternate life lessened. He’d never let her down before. He wouldn’t now.
He listened, narrowing his eyes and tilting his head from time to time. His expression reminded her of the way he used to look when toddler Kendra told them long, rambling tales that had no point. He’d be fully engaged at the beginning and checking his watch by the end. Mary had to wrap up.
“So, I need to get the promotion so I can get back to my other life and our family.” With her story finished, she reached for her mojito, but Dean pulled the drink away and slid a glass of water toward her.
“What you’re saying is that I was such a crappy husband that you decided not only to erase everything about our life together but also to take a mulligan on the last thirty years of your life.” He poked her arm, again getting shocked. “Probably would have been easier to just divorce me.”
She shook her head. He hadn’t caused her unhappiness. She had. “My wanting to leave had nothing to do with you.”
He was playing games with her, the same way he’d played along with Kendra when she told them she’d seen Santa coming down the chimney or the tooth fairy flying around her bedroom. But he also had a look on his face that let her know he was trying to figure out how she’d known about Ken and Michelle, and why his dad had started playing golf.
“I know it sounds crazy, but it’s true,” Mary said.
He smiled, but it was a sad smile, as if he felt sorry for her. “It’s the most creative way anyone has ever tried to convince me to do an interview. I’ll give you that.”
She sat up straighter, leaning across the table toward him, her hand on her head as she racked her brain. There had to be a story he’d told her that she would have no way of knowing that would convince him, or keep him here talking to her, before he walked out of her life for good. “The night you got your license, you took Michelle to a restaurant called Tom Foolery’s in Westborough. Before you ordered your food, your uncle walked in, holding hands with a woman who was not your aunt.” She spoke as fast as an announcer in an ad for medication, listing all the side effects at the end. “You and Michelle snuck out so your uncle wouldn’t see you. You went to Papa Gino’s, and you never told anyone but me what happened, not even Anthony.”
Dean rolled his eyes. “Obviously you spoke to Michelle at the fundraiser.”
“Why would she tell me that? Okay, here’s something people don’t know about you: you wet the bed until you were six.”
The tips of Dean’s earlobes reddened. “Damn Anthony for telling you that.”
“You have a birthmark that looks like the boot of Italy on your right butt cheek.” Would she ever see that birthmark again, tease him about tattooing 100% Italian under it, or would it just be a memory that would torment her forever?
“Plenty of women could have told you that.” He winked and stood. “While I appreciate the effort you’ve put into coming up with this story and the details you’ve inexplicably learned about my life, there’s not going to be an interview. You need to accept that.”
Telling the truth hadn’t worked. She’d run out of ideas. The realization that she was stuck in this life without her family shattered her heart into a billion jagged pieces. She’d destroyed everything she loved.
Pulling his keys from his pocket, Dean watched Carl and Kimberly make their way back to the table. He bobbed his head in Mary’s direction. “She’s not driving, right?”
“I’m the driver,” Carl said.
Dean met Mary’s eye. “Drink lots of water, and take some ibuprofen before going to sleep.”
She wanted to run after him, fall to her knees and beg him, but she didn’t have the strength to move. She slumped onto the table, wishing the roof would crash down on top of her and put her out of her misery.