Chapter Twenty-Five
“ROWAN, COME SIT with me.”
It’s late morning on the second day of our visit. After an amazing home-cooked breakfast, Zach and Jeremy were sent to clean out the garage while I helped Paul and Dinah with the dishes. After, Paul took a walk with their neighbors and now Dinah wants to sit with me on the back porch.
She looks to be about sixty-five, with a kind face, graying brown hair, and the same hazel eyes as her sons.
“Isn’t it so lovely?” she says, gesturing at the green pastures and huge pond as I take a seat beside her on one of the cushioned wicker chairs. “When Zach put the housekeys in my hand, I cried. I grew up struggling, as did Paul. We fought to give everything to our boys, but I never dreamed any of this was possible.” She glances at me. “That’s a lot for Day Two, I know, but I feel like I can be honest with you, Rowan.”
I smile, a warm feeling in my chest. “That’s almost verbatim what Zach said to me when we first met.”
“Is it?” Dinah grins. “He’s like me, while Jeremy takes after Paul.”
I don’t know this woman, but I can see she has something on her mind. “Is there something else you wanted to talk about?”
She sighs. “Oh, I don’t know, Rowan. Zach has been so busy lately. One project to the next. We’re so proud of him. Beyond words, really. It’s quite surreal to see your son on the big screen, being someone else so convincingly. It makes me wonder…”
“About?”
“We hardly see him. So much less these past few years. Since…well.” She smooths her white capris, her mouth drawn down. “Never mind. Tell me about you. Are you from Los Angeles?”
“Yes. Tarzana.”
“I don’t know where that is. Los Angeles feels like such an alien world. I can hardly step foot over there without feeling out of place.” Dinah chuckles. “Zach asked me to the Oscars. Can you imagine?”
I smile. “Yeah, I can.”
Dinah’s smile fades and I know we’re both thinking of who he did take to the Oscars.
“It’s quite odd,” she says. “Jeremy has taken a job where he goes to faraway regions, doing God-knows-what, and yet I’m more concerned about Zach. I think it’s because their personalities were already so distinct from the beginning. I had to resign myself to Jeremy jumping off roofs and racing bikes, so that groove has been worn down. But Zachary takes all his risks in matters of the heart.”
“I think that’s beautiful, Mrs. Butler.”
She looks at me, touched. “I appreciate that more than I can say. And I agree, it’s beautiful how he gives himself to his roles and to the loves in his life. Zach’s always been a romantic. He loves simple things, small moments, which is rather odd given his outlandish career trajectory. It makes him a brilliant actor, but the fame and celebrity part of it…that’s harder, I think. I worry about him. There are many amazing things that go along with his job, this house notwithstanding. But I worry he’ll get caught up in all the wrong parts of it. Like she did. He has an inherent goodness in him that I don’t ever want to see damaged.”
“Me neither,” I say, thinking of what she did.
“I know Eva hurt him,” Dinah says, staring straight ahead, her tone cold. “Worse than Zach probably lets on. And that’s the worst feeling in the world. When your child—no matter if he’s a grown man—is hurting and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
I inwardly flinch, thinking of how I’d hurt him last night. I hadn’t meant to bite him—the orgasm was like a current running through me, shocking in its intensity. Under normal circumstances, the bite wouldn’t have mattered. It probably doesn’t matter; Zach is far from delicate and doesn’t need coddling, but I hate it anyway.
Eva’s a fan of the open-handed slap, he’d said.
I shiver though the air is warm.
“He assures me he’s doing well, but he’s an actor,” Dinah is saying. “He can be convincing when he needs to be. I think, more than anything, I just want to know he’s okay. And right now, you’re closest to him.” She turns to look at me directly. “I’m sorry to put undue pressure on you, but is he okay, Rowan?”
Dr. Baldwin’s words echo in my mind, about not pushing Zach to his edges. Not to mention, it’s not my business to betray him with my theories and worries. So, I tell his mother the only truth I have.
“He’s strong,” I say. “Strong and kind. He’s got a steel rod of goodness in him, and it’s not going anywhere, Mrs. Butler. He’s the best person I’ve ever met. He’s the best person anyone is going to meet, and I want to do everything in my power to make him happy. That’s all I can offer you. I know it’s not much…”
“Oh, Rowan. It’s so much, you have no idea. It’s everything.” She dabs her eyes and huffs a breath. “Anyway, I shouldn’t burden you with a mother’s worry. It’s not fair, but it’s also almost impossible for me to not ask.”
I think of the texts from Josh’s mom, stacked up on my phone and a fresh guilt grips me.
“I understand.”
“Yes, I think you do. I like you, Rowan. No pressure: I know you’re new, but I have a good feeling about you. For what that’s worth.”
“It’s worth a lot,” I say and clear my throat. “This may sound weird, but I’m not used to…having a boyfriend. To being a good partner. I want to be that for Zach.”
Dinah smiles and pats my hand. “The fact that you’re concerned about it, means you already are.”
I’m pretty sure I fell in love with Zach’s mom in that moment, but thinking about being good for Zach wasn’t the same as action. I look out over the huge pond, and I know what I have to do.
I pull out my phone and answer the latest text from Josh’s mother.
Hi, Carol. I’m sorry I’ve been so quiet. I’ve been very busy and now I’m out of state. I’ll call you when we get back. I think we need to talk.
I blow out a breath, turn my phone off, and put it back in my pocket.
Baby steps.
Dinah smiles. “Everything okay?”
“Great,” I say. “Do you have a bicycle I can borrow?”
In the garage, the twins are bickering like idiots about how to organize the power tools. I pass a huge worktable with a mess of electric drills, screwdrivers, hammers, and boxes of nails, to take a blue ten-speed off the rack, then adjust the slack backpack on my shoulder.
“She’s stealing Mom’s bike,” Jeremy says matter-of-factly. “Are you doing something shady? Can I come?”
I roll my eyes with a laugh. “I’m going into town for some things. To that cute little Main Street.”
“Awesome, I need some beer.”
Zach whacks him on the shoulder. “Get your own beer.” He joins me at the bike. “Do you remember how to get there?”
I give him a kiss on the chin. “I’ll figure it out.”
He smiles. “What are you up to?”
“None of your business,” I say. “Yet.”
The ride back to that little strip of shops takes about five minutes. I lock the bike outside the general store. Kirkwood’s General has a small wine closet, a deli, and rows of fresh fruits and veggies.
“My one-stop-shop,” I murmur, and load up on gourmet sandwiches, potato chips, a carton of strawberries, and a bottle of pinot noir. Just enough to fit in my backpack.
I pay for the food, shoulder my pack that is now a helluva lot heavier, and step outside.
That’s when I hear it.
Click click click.
There are three men at the entrance of the general store. Paparazzi, judging by their professional cameras and utter disregard for my privacy. I cover my face and hurry to the bike to unlock it.
“Rowan! Rowan, sweetie, look over here.”
“How long have you been with Zach?”
“Is it serious? Is it true you’re staying with his family?”
I want to tell them to fuck off, but that might be bad PR for Zach. I jump on the bike and pedal back to the house as fast as I can. Are they going to follow me? To Zach’s parents’ private house? I’m pissed that the tranquil little Main Street is spoiled a bit, and maybe now Dinah and Paul’s home too. But the roads behind me stay empty.
Back at the house, I put the bike in the garage and lay my backpack on the kitchen counter. I find Zach in the den that looks like a small library with wall-to-wall built-in bookshelves. He’s sitting by the window, his laptop open, wearing an expression of concentration.
“Whatcha doing?” I ask, not wanting to ruin his afternoon just yet with news that the bloodhounds have found us.
“Reading the script my team sent me for an upcoming project.” He looks up at me, troubled. “I got a message from my publicist. There’s a new Scandal Sheet .”
“Ugh. There’s paparazzi downtown, too,” I say, moving around Zach’s shoulder to read the tabloid on his laptop. It’s a short blurb and pictures of us kissing outside the ice cream shop. “How the hell did they get this up so fast? We were there like five minutes ago.”
“That’s tabloid gossip, for you,” Zach says. “But check out the comments.”
“Do I have to?”
Zach scrolls down to the dreaded comment section, and I brace myself for a boatload of vitriol against me. I get just the opposite.
JellybeanIrene
Tell me the last time we saw Zach look this happy? Years. Literal years.
here4it
She’s actually really pretty.
icovetzach
Look at his face! I feel like it’s been forever since he’s smiled like that.
56smileyface
Please God or Someone put Zach Butler in a romcom. I need more of this energy.
I let out a breath. “I wasn’t expecting that.”
Zach pulls me sideways onto his lap. “I’m not surprised,” he says with a grin. “You’re actually really pretty.”
I roll my eyes and ring my arms around his neck. A smartass remark is on my lips, but it’s good just being here.
He cups my cheek with one hand. “I can’t remember the last time I was this happy.”
My eyes sting and I nod. “Me neither.”
Zach’s hazel gaze is intent on mine, speaking volumes, even before he kisses me. I linger in the moment, in this happiness. The voices that say this isn’t for you still whisper, and I know they’ll come roaring back eventually; I’m not absolved and won’t ever be. But I can do my best for Zach. Maybe that will mean something.
“Can you take a break from the script?” I ask.
“Sure. What do you have planned?” Zach’s hand slides up my thigh, over the denim of my black jeans. “Does it involve you, naked, on the nearest available flat surface?”
“Yes, but that’s tonight. Give me a few.”
I bound off his lap and go to the kitchen. Ten minutes later, I’ve got a picnic basket tucked under my arm, Zach’s got a heavy blanket, and I’m leading him by the hand outside to the small dock.
“Canoe picnic,” I say. “Given our recent exploits at a certain producer’s pool, this might be a bad idea, but…” I glance up at Zach. “You like?”
He smiles down at me. “I love.”
I climb into the canoe, sending it see-sawing back and forth. When it settles, Zach hands me the picnic basket and then gets in. He pushes us off and starts rowing to the center of the huge pond. The water is still a murky brownish green, but the late afternoon sun is perfect. Not too hot, with just a light breeze.
I unpack the food and the wine and pull out one plastic cup. Zach digs around in the basket for its pair. “Just the one?”
“Just the one.”
“Ah, a callback to our first date,” he says. “I take it back; you are very romantic, Rowan.”
“That was not a date,” I say with a smirk.
“You’re right. Back then we didn’t have dates. We only had moments.”
He’s too good to be true.
A twinge of unease follows the thought. All of this, these past few days, being with Zach…it feels too good. Too much clean, unspoiled happiness that I’m not used to. The only black mark on this joy is how hard I have to fight the feeling that I’m an imposter. Or an extra who’s wandered onto the wrong movie and somehow ended up with the hero.
Zach pours the wine. I take a sip and hand it back.
“Today is a good day,” he says.
“Yes,” I say to him and those dark thoughts, “one of the best.”
After we’ve eaten, we stow the basket on one end of the canoe, and Zach makes a pillow of the blanket on the other. He lies against it, and I lie against him, while the boat just drifts.
“I wish I could stay here forever,” I say. “But they’ll void my contract if I don’t get back to work on Avignon .” I cringe, thinking of how I had a meltdown in front of the entire warehouse. “And I have to get back to work on me. With my therapist. Although being here has been like a kind of therapy, too.”
His arms around me tighten. “I’m glad.”
“What about you?” I ask slowly. “Are you going to do that movie?”
“Definitely,” he says. “The script is brilliant. Two and a half hours of almost nothing but my character put in one torturous situation after another as he makes his way to the front.”
“It sounds heavy.”
“It’ll be good for me. I process a lot of shit when I do these parts.”
“Mm.”
“And I’m going to move out of the hotel and find a place to rent. Because lying to my parents feels like death.”
“That’s good,” I say, though I’m not very convincing.
“Hey.” Zach kisses my forehead. “We’re going to be okay.”
I nod, but I want to tell him that I’m worried. That his mother is worried. But I have to trust that what Dr. Baldwin said is true.
And maybe Zach’s right and nothing happened at all.
“Thank you for today,” he says.
“Thank you for bringing me here.” I crane my chin to meet him, and we kiss softly while the sun sinks and the fireflies dance among the reeds at the water’s edge.
Everything is going to be okay. Maybe even me.