Chapter 3
Flynn
I drive home in a state of shock and disbelief, tinged with a considerable amount of fear. For the life of me, I can’t picture my parents as anything other than happily married and showing the rest of us what a successful marriage looks like. If you’d asked me if I thought I knew them, truly knew them and all their secrets, I would’ve said yes, of course I do, and so do my sisters.
None of us could’ve guessed there were skeletons in their past the likes of which I heard about today. My dad was married to Vivian Stevens, and my mother doesn’t know that. My mother was engaged to Jonah Street before Vivian stole him from her, resulting in Mom having to change career paths and hating Vivian ever since.
And now, Vivian is poised to publish a memoir that could possibly blow the lid off decades-old Hollywood drama that’ll still captivate the world all these years later. That’s how big Vivian, Max and Stella are in this community and around the world.
All of them have enjoyed monster careers. While my parents are still in the spotlight well into their late seventies, Vivian has dropped out of sight recently. I haven’t thought of her or heard anything about her in years, whereas Mom won a Grammy for her duets album three years ago. Dad is an executive producer on a film that’s generating significant Oscar buzz for everyone involved.
This story going public would be explosive and deeply damaging to my parents’ marriage and everything we all hold dear—especially if my mother were to hear about it from anyone other than my dad. Even if he tells her himself, we might be looking at a marital disaster.
My stomach is in knots as I park in the garage and go into the house through the room that Natalie has organized with cute old-school lockers for each child’s belongings. I take a second there, soaking in the familiar comfort of the lockers that bear the kids’ names and thinking about how she’s converted every corner of my former bachelor pad into a home for our family.
No matter what happens between my parents, I’ve got her and our kids and the rest of our family and friends. We’ll get through this the same way we get through everything—together. But even knowing that, I still feel blindsided by a crisis I never saw coming, especially at a time when I expected to be celebrating my parents, not fearing for their future.
I’m still there, leaning against Cece’s locker, when Natalie comes looking for me. “Hey, I heard the garage. Are you okay?”
“I… I don’t know.”
She comes to me like the dream come true she’s been for me since the day we met and wraps her arms around my waist. “I’m here. What can I do?”
Steeped in the scent of my love, I hold her close and breathe in the reassurance that comes with her. There’s never been another human being who could calm and center me just by breathing the same air the way she can. “This helps, love. Thanks.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
I want to forget this day ever happened, but I don’t keep things from her. “After I see the kids. I missed them this afternoon.” When I’m not working, I try to spend as much time at home with my family as I possibly can to make up for when I’m away. Not that I work out of town much these days, but every new film comes with premieres and press tours that take me away from the only place I want to be.
“They missed you, too. Rowan was very sad that Daddy didn’t pick him up.”
“Aw, poor guy. I promised him I’d be there after school when I dropped him off.” Our older son is all about Daddy, which I love. “I’ll make it up to him.”
“He’ll forgive you the minute you walk into the room.”
“Let me go spend some time with them, and then I’ll fill you in.”
“I’ve had a pit in my stomach since you texted earlier.”
I pull back from her to kiss her forehead and lips. “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to be secretive. It was just a lot.”
“Whatever’s going on, we’ll figure out what to do the way we always do.”
“I’m counting on that.”
She takes my hand to lead me into the family room, where the kids are watching a movie before bed. They’ve all had baths, and Cece has a towel clipped around her neck so her long dark hair won’t get her nightgown wet. She hates when that happens. Fluff is curled up in her lap, where she is any time Cece is around. Natalie’s beloved dog shows no sign of slowing down with four little ones to supervise.
“Daddy!” Rowan lets out a scream when he sees me, launches off the sofa and runs to me on chubby little legs that I’m obsessed with.
Fluff lifts her head to see what caused the annoying outburst, sees it’s me, grunts and goes back to sleep. Business as usual.
I scoop up Rowan and swing him around, making him delirious with laughter.
All our kids have dark hair, brown or hazel eyes and rosy cheeks. I think they’re the most beautiful people on the planet, after their gorgeous mother, of course. I keep Rowan on my lap when I sit on the sofa to kiss Cece and Scarlett, who’s four. Bennett is snoozing in the carriage that we use as a bassinet. We joke that he can sleep through anything, but we’re thankful that such an easygoing baby is bringing up the rear of this squad.
We intentionally had our kids close together for three reasons. One, we wanted to get through the baby years (and the teen years) all at once. Two, we hoped if they were close in age, they’d grow up to be best friends. And finally, I’m getting old, and as I’ve discovered, fatherhood is a game best played by the young and energetic. Natalie says I’m ageless, but she has to say that.
The girls are tranquilized by Frozen , as usual, so I give Rowan my full attention with the tickles that make him belly laugh. I love to make him laugh like that.
“Don’t get him wound up at bedtime,” Natalie says as she folds the endless laundry four little beings generate in a day.
I’ve suggested getting a housekeeper or nanny—or both—but she’s not having it. She wants to take care of her family herself while also doing an amazing job running our childhood hunger foundation.
I smile at my own personal Wonder Woman, who makes my world and that of our children go round smoothly and efficiently.
“Ten more minutes, people,” Natalie says.
“Daddy just got home,” Scarlett replies.
“Oh, so you did notice me, huh?”
She gives me the shy smile that makes me swoon and snuggles up to me.
I raise an arm to put around her while holding Rowan with the other one.
For a second, they make me forget the worries I brought home. But then it all comes rushing back to me in a flood of dread and anxiety. It’s been a long time since anything has thrown me the way this has. I’m eager to talk it out with Nat, who always makes me feel better about whatever has me upset. Usually, it’s something happening at work, with some egotistical celebrity causing us grief. I much prefer that to potential trouble between my parents.
I help Nat get the kids to bed and read two stories to Rowan while Nat reads to the girls. We dole out kisses to everyone and tell them we’ll see them in the morning. Rowan has yet to sleep past six a.m. since he’s been in his big-boy bed, but we keep hoping the day will come when he does. The girls were always great sleepers, so he’s been a shock to our system in more ways than one.
Whereas our girls are sweet and gentle, he’s rough and tumble. He drives them crazy with his desire to smash things while making as much noise as possible at all times.
I think he’s hilarious, but the girls don’t agree.
With the older three settled, Natalie rolls the carriage into our room to nurse Ben in the hope that he—and we—might sleep through the night.
“Talk to me.” She’s settled against a pile of pillows with the baby in her arms. “What’s going on?”
Normally, the sight of her feeding one of our babies distracts the fuck out of me, but tonight, even that doesn’t take my attention off the dread. That would concern me at any other time, because there’s almost never an instance when I don’t look at her and forget anything and everything that isn’t her.
I change into a T-shirt and shorts and then stretch out next to her on the bed. “My dad called me after he read that Vivian Stevens has written a memoir.”
“Because your mom hates her?”
Startled, I look up at her. “How do you know that?”
“She told me about what happened with Jonah Street.”
“Wait. She told you that? I’d never heard about her and Jonah until today.”
“Really? I assumed you knew.”
“No, none of us knew about that or that my dad was married to Vivian Stevens for eight months before he met my mom.”
She startles so hard that Ben releases her breast and lets out a squeak of annoyance. “ What? ” Smooth as can be, she resituates the baby as she continues to stare at me.
“My mother doesn’t know.”
Her mouth falls open with the same shock I felt when I heard about this earlier. “Come on. No way.”
“Apparently, the blowup with Vivian was still fresh when he met her, so he kept that tidbit to himself so he wouldn’t upset her—and possibly ruin his chances with her.”
“He never told her he was married before her?”
“No, and now he’s panicked because Vivian is publishing a tell-all memoir next month that promises to reveal her deepest, darkest secrets. He says he’s probably the juiciest secret of all.”
“He has to tell your mom this. Right now.”
“That’s what Emmett and I told him.”
“Oh my God, their anniversary, th-the p-party. It’s all this weekend!”
Hearing my calm, cool, collected wife stuttering spikes my already-considerable anxiety. “Believe me. I know. I’m already wondering if the happy couple will be speaking at their big celebration.”
“I’m sure they’ll work this out. They’re rock solid and always have been.”
“I don’t know, hon. He’s kept something huge from her for more than fifty fucking years. And the thing he kept from her involves the only enemy she’s ever had. Something tells me that’s not gonna go over well.”
Max
I’m worried that I’ve been having a heart attack for hours now as I wait for Stella to get home. Our devoted housekeeper, Ada, left dinner I couldn’t eat because my whole body is in an uproar. I sit in the dark, waiting for Stella to return from rehearsal for her upcoming show at the Hollywood Bowl, which is set to be broadcast on NBC. She’s been equal parts excited and nervous about the opportunity to introduce her music to a whole new generation. If we’re mired in a massive scandal, will the show she’s put so much time and effort into be canceled?
God, I can’t even think about it getting that bad.
With the show in final production, our fiftieth anniversary this weekend, the upcoming trip, the holidays, Flynn’s fortieth birthday—this is the worst possible time to drop a bomb on her. But Flynn and Emmett were adamant that she be told right away lest the news reach her through someone other than me.
The possibility of that happening is so horrifying as to be nearly paralyzing. I can barely breathe as I contemplate the many ways this situation could blow up my beautiful life and marriage to the woman I love with my whole heart and soul.
She knows that.
I hope that’ll matter to her.
What if it doesn’t? What if she hears the name Vivian Stevens and married to me and forgets she ever loved me at all? If there’s one thing my Stella is unreasonable about, it’s her loathing for “that woman,” as she refers to her whenever her name is mentioned.
A less secure man would’ve worried that Jonah Street had been Stella’s true love. Otherwise, why would she have hung on to the enmity for Vivian for decades after the incident that caused her to despise Vivian in the first place? But Jonah was the least of it. Stella believes Vivian was also behind the sudden end to her acting career, and nothing can convince her otherwise.
I have no doubt at all that I am the love of her life, not Jonah Street. I’m the one who’s stood by her side for all these years, raised four children with her and adored twelve precious grandchildren—so far. We’ve survived career highs and lows, the loss of our parents, health challenges and everything else that’s come our way without so much as a single night in which we went to bed angry with each other.
My father used to say that Stella and I are two of a kind, and that’s the truth. The thought of any threat to us and our marriage is simply unbearable.
By the time I hear the garage door open to indicate her arrival, I’ve worked myself into a nervous breakdown to go with the ongoing heart attack. She’ll take one look at me and fear something terrible has happened to one of our precious kids or grandkids. I force myself to pull it together, so I won’t terrify her.
I’m standing in the kitchen, drink in hand, when she comes in, all smiles after a long day apart. “Hey! I’m sorry I’m so late. We had the best dress rehearsal. I didn’t want it to end!”
She’s still so freaking gorgeous, even in her mid-seventies. Every one of her blonde hairs is perfectly done, as is her makeup from rehearsal. It’s a little heavier than what she wears on a regular day, but it’s so artfully done that it shaves twenty years off. Not that she needs that, because she doesn’t. She’s aged as beautifully as anyone ever could without a lick of plastic surgery or fillers. She says those things are for people in denial, even if she indulges in a bit of Botox here and there.
I look at her and see everything I ever wanted in the world. If I lose her… or, God forbid, disappoint her so profoundly she can’t forgive me…
I can’t. I wouldn’t survive it.
“Did you eat?”
“No, I waited for you.”
That stops her short as she takes a good look at me. “You must be starving.”
“Not really. I didn’t mind waiting.”
“Is everything all right? You never wait this late to eat. What’s that you say about dying in your sleep from heartburn?” She continues to study me as if she can see the torment that has to be showing itself despite my desire to play it cool. “What’s wrong, Max? And don’t say nothing. I can see it’s something.”
“Let’s eat, and then we’ll talk.”
“Is it one of the kids?”
“No, they’re all fine.” For now, anyway. If there’s trouble between Stella and me, none of them will be fine for long.
“Tell me what’s going on. You’re scaring me.”
“I never want to do that. You know that, don’t you?”
“Of course I do.”
“I have something I need to tell you, something I should’ve told you years ago…”
She stares at me as if I’m someone she’s never met, which is probably how it feels to hear I’ve kept something from her for years. Decades. “What is it?”
“Did you hear that Vivian has written a book?”
The look that crosses her face is full of disgust. “Why in the world would I care about a book by that woman? Why do you care?”
“I… I don’t care, but the writeup I saw in Variety … It said she’s going to spill all her deepest, darkest secrets.”
“You’re worried she’s going to talk about stealing Jonah? Good. Let her. Then everyone else can see what I’ve known about her for ages. She’s a lying, sneaky, nasty bitch.”
“It’s just that I… Before I knew you, I, um… Well, you dislike her so intensely, and when we met, you and Jonah had recently split, you’d told off Vivian, and the wound was still fresh.”
She stares at me without blinking, without seeming to breathe. “What happened before you knew me?”
“I knew her.”
“You knew her. What does that mean?”
“I… ah…” I look up at her, at the blue eyes that’ve held me captive since the day we met, right after the whole world found out how much she hates Vivian Stevens. I kept my mouth shut that first day, afraid she might never give me a chance if she knew the truth about me and Vivian. I’ve kept it shut every day since then because I told myself it didn’t matter. Stella and I were happy and madly in love. Who cared what—or who—had preceded her and us?
She comes to me, places her hands on my chest and gazes up at me, looking at me the way she always does, as if I hung the moon just for her. How will she look at me after she hears what I need to tell her? “Max, darling, whatever is causing you to stutter? You never stutter.”
I cover her hands with mine.
“And why are your hands freezing? What the heck is wrong?”
“I don’t know how to say something that’s going to upset you deeply, which is the last thing I ever want to do. You know that, right?”
“Of course I do, but you’re scaring me. Whatever it is, just say it so we can get on with it.”
Will it be that simple? With anything else? Absolutely. With this? No chance.
“I… ah… Before I knew you, well before… I was…”
She doesn’t blink or breathe or move a muscle as she waits to hear what I’ve got to say.
I want to freeze time permanently in the era before she knows about me and Vivian. I fear the after will look nothing like the before.
“You were what?”
I force myself to look her dead in the eyes when I say the words that’ll change everything. “I was married to her.”
For a second, her expression doesn’t change. Her head tilts. “You were what ?”
“I was briefly married to her. When you and I met, the situation with her was still… raw, and I decided not to mention it because I figured it would ruin any chance I had to get to know you.”
Her hands drop from my chest as she takes a step back. “You decided not to mention it.” The words are said in a tone I’ve rarely ever heard from her, especially directed toward me.
“I didn’t want to upset you, and it was long over with her. We were married for, like, ten minutes.”
“How long?”
“Eight months in total, but we only lived together for six of them, and I was away on location for much of that time.”
She sucks in a sharp deep breath full of shock and hurt that lacerates me.
“Stell…”
“No.” She holds up a hand to keep me away from her, which in fifty-two years together has never happened. I’m far more accustomed to her pulling me toward her than pushing me away. “No.”
“Please try to remember what it was like then. She’d hurt you so badly, ruined your career and forced you to start over. The last thing I wanted was to bring her into the beautiful thing we were building together.”
Tears fill her eyes as she shakes her head. “We’ll be married fifty years . Tomorrow … it’ll be fifty years, and for all this time…”
I’m gutted by her tears. My Stella rarely cries, and when she does, it’s only because she’s heartbroken over something major.
“You lied to me. All this time… We’ve been living a gigantic lie.”
The words hit like poison arrows to my heart. “ No . We’ve been living a dream come true that never would’ve happened if I’d stopped everything to tell you this. You would’ve walked away from me and never looked back—and think about what we would’ve missed if that’d happened. Please, Stella… I never wanted to hurt you—not then or now.”
“Well, you have. You’ve hurt me more than anything or anyone ever has.”
A sense of desperation unlike anything I’ve ever known fills me with panic. “Sweetheart... Remember how you felt about her back then? You wouldn’t have given me the time of day if you’d known I’d been with her, and all I wanted was a chance with you. From the first second I ever saw you in Merv’s Green Room, you’re all I wanted.”
Tears stream down her face, every one of them a knife to my heart. “You lied to me. Our entire life together is a lie.”
“No, Stella, no, it isn’t. I love you more than my own life, more than anything in this world, and you know that. You know it.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t know anything. I want you to leave.”
“What?”
Saying it slower this time, as if I’m not capable of understanding, she says, “I want you to leave this house. Right now. Get out .”
I’m shocked to the core of my being. She’s kicking me out? No, she wouldn’t do that.
But she doesn’t yield as we stare each other down, both of us blinded by tears. Fear blots out everything else, like the moon covering the sun in a solar eclipse.
“Stell…”
“If you love me at all, please go. I don’t want you here.”
I can’t move or think or even breathe. She’s really kicking me out. It’s unbelievable and unbearable at the same time. Other than when one of us was working out of town, we haven’t spent a night apart in so long, I can’t recall the last time, since we stick close to home these days, wanting to be near our children and grandchildren.
God, the kids… What will they say when they hear I upset their mother so badly—the night before our fiftieth anniversary—that she kicked me out?
Somehow, I get my legs to move, to propel me upstairs to pack a bag, going through the rote steps I’ve followed before trips and work commitments, but never for a reason like this. Never because my wife told me to go.
I sit on the bench at the foot of our California king and wipe the tears from my face. If you’d told me when I woke up this morning that Stella would kick me out of our house because of Vivian Stevens, I would’ve been amused by your imagination.
Nothing about this is amusing.
It’s terrifying and devastating.
The foundation under me has cracked wide open, letting in a flood that threatens to take down everything I’ve worked so hard for all my life. The successful career means nothing compared to the family Stella and I raised under this roof. We’ve been a team for so long, I can’t imagine being without her for a night, let alone the rest of my life.
Just this morning, we woke early, cuddled in bed, discussing the big celebration weekend ahead, and then had coffee together before she left for rehearsal. How could everything have been perfect twelve hours ago only to blow up like this in the same day?
My phone buzzes with a text from Flynn. How are you? Did you talk to Mom? I decide to call him. My hands are shaking so hard, I can barely hold the phone.
“Hey,” he says. “What’s up?”
The sound of my son’s voice brings a flood of new tears to my eyes. I’m one big raw emotion right now.
“Dad? Are you there?”
“I’m here. I told her.”
“And?”
“She asked me to leave.”
“No.” That single word is full of devastation that ricochets through the phone to stab me in the heart. My chest aches fiercely. “She wouldn’t do that.”
“She did. I’m packing a bag.”
“Come to my house.”
“I don’t want to disturb you guys.”
“I’ll come get you.”
“No. No, son. That’s not necessary. I’ll check into the Beverly Hills Hotel or something.”
“If you do that, it’ll be online by morning, if it takes that long. Please come here.”
He’s right. Of course he is. “I’ll be there shortly.”
“You’re sure you’re okay to drive?”
I’m not sure of anything anymore. “Yeah.”
“Be careful.”
“I will.”
“See you soon, and, Dad?”
“Yes?”
“She loves you. Please remember that.”
Does that even matter anymore? “I’ll try.”
I end the call and go into the bathroom that adjoins our bedroom to pack my shaving bag. A glance in the mirror reveals the dreadful toll this day has taken on me. My face looks haggard. My eyes are red and swollen. For the first time, I look every minute of my seventy-eight years.
I put the shaving bag in my suitcase and zip the case closed, pulling it behind me as I head for the stairs. I realize halfway down that I forgot my phone charger, but I’ll borrow Flynn’s. The first floor is dark when I land at the bottom of the stairs, leaving my bag by the breezeway door as I go to get my keys and wallet.
Stella is nowhere to be found as I walk through the kitchen, feeling as if I’ve been set adrift on a raft in the ocean or something equally dramatic. As I take my bag to the Escalade and settle in the driver’s seat, hoping I can drive safely, I’ve never felt despair quite like this. I sit for a long moment, taking in the beautiful house that’s been our sanctuary for decades. I can’t believe this is happening, especially on the eve of our golden anniversary.
A light goes on upstairs, and I’m transfixed, hoping for a glimpse of my love. But I see no sign of her after several breathless minutes. I shift into Reverse, back out of the driveway, press the button on the remote to close the security gates and drive off in total disbelief.