Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
TWO WEEKS LATER
“Everyone makes New Year’s resolutions,” the morning talk-show host chirped on the television as Emmy popped a piece of toast in the toaster.
“But do we stick to them?” the cohost asked.
“Absolutely not,” the other host replied.
Laughter rang out in the studio and Emmy rolled her eyes.
For years, she had been too busy with work during the weekdays to watch this show. By now, she’d be two blocks down, grabbing a coffee at the cart on the corner and heading to The Moreau Agency.
She cracked two eggs into a bowl and stirred them as the pan heated on the stove, then poured the mixture in.
“What, exactly, separates those who do stick to their resolutions?” the host asked.
Holding the spatula, Emmy leaned over to view the TV across the open space from the kitchen to the living area.
“We’re about to find out from life coach Tamera Walls. Hi, Tamera.”
“Hello.”
“So tell us, what is The Thing that successful people have?”
Emmy took a few steps toward the TV, her attention entirely on the hosts and their guest. Yes, life coach, tell us.
“Keeping your resolutions isn’t one specific thing. Success is a combination of your mindset and your habits. You have to have specific goals, know why you’re doing them, and then hold yourself accountable.”
Emmy picked up the remote and clicked off the TV, then went back into the kitchen. Easy for you to say, she thought. I can’t even come up with my goals. That’s step one.
She’d been thinking a lot about her conversation with Charlie—about doubting herself—but she hadn’t gotten far enough in her journey to doubt anything. How could she doubt what she hadn’t even defined yet?
The toast popped. She plucked it from the toaster and set it on her plate. As she stirred the eggs, she pondered her next steps. What were her goals, exactly?
Her phone rang. Madison. She had yet to fill her sister in on the last two weeks of her life. She cradled the phone between her chin and shoulder as she scooped scrambled eggs onto the piece of toast. She pulled a knife and fork from the drawer as she answered the call.
“What’s up?” Emmy asked.
“Glad I caught you before work. Just checking in on you. How’s it going?”
Emmy blew a large breath through her lips and took her plate over to the small table and chairs.
She hadn’t filled her sister in on anything yet.
Telling Madison and then hearing her two cents would make the whole situation real, and Emmy had enough stress without the weight of her sister’s concern.
But she had to let Madison know eventually, and there would never be a better time.
“I quit my job.”
As expected, Madison gasped. “You quit?”
“Two weeks ago. Today’s my first day unemployed.”
“Wow. Well, I’m glad you quit. But surprised. I never thought you’d actually leave that job.”
Emmy stabbed the toast with her fork and cut a bite. “I didn’t either.” She told Madison about how Vivienne had shown up to check on her in the meeting.
“It’s odd that she never gave you a chance to progress—in four years.”
“I know.” She got up and retrieved the salt, bringing it back to the table. “Mom’s whole life before Dad was such a mystery. She hung out with Vivienne and wrote mysterious names like Mitchell Augustine on the back of her drawings.”
“I asked Aunt Elsie and Aunt Charlotte if they’d heard of him, but they hadn’t either,” Madison said.
“I found out more about him online.” Emmy told her what she’d read while she cut another bite of toast. “You know, I sent this Mitchell Augustine an email. I sent him an email two weeks ago. I told him who I was and that I’d like to find out if he knew Mom.”
“What has gotten into you?” Madison said. “Quitting your job and now reaching out to the rich and famous? Who are you?”
She laughed. “Maybe I’m having some sort of early midlife crisis.”
“Maybe. Have you heard back from him?”
“No, but I’m guessing a billionaire has better things to do than email me.”
“How are you managing?”
Emmy sighed. “I’m not sure yet.”
“If you need to stay with us, you’re more than welcome to.”
“Thanks.”
While she was thankful for her sister’s kindness, the last thing Emmy wanted was to impose on her. She was going to have to figure her life out—and quickly.
After breakfast, as she searched for jobs, the television interview she’d seen on the morning show and Charlie’s comment floated around in Emmy’s mind.
She sat at the table and picked up her pen.
What were her goals? What excited her about PR?
But her mind kept going back to Charlie.
When she was with him, she didn’t really care about her working life, which scared her.
If she were being honest with herself, did she have a passion for the career she’d thrown herself into?
Had Charlie’s doubt about his career rubbed off on her somehow?
Thinking about Charlie wouldn’t pay her bills.
Was there anything new she wanted to try? She peered down at the job list she’d made from her search. Nothing stood out. She dropped the pen and leaned back in the chair.
Her gaze fell on the Garnet & Petticoat dress that was still hanging on her closet door.
She squinted at it, imagining a deeper neckline trimmed in satin with wide, gathered folds of fabric around the skirt.
With an emerald choker, it would be stunning.
Her mother had been an endless stream of creativity.
She’d have come up with an alternative design that would knock Emmy’s socks off.
Emmy’s creativity had always been compared to her mother’s.
From the time she was a young girl, her family and friends would lean over her drawings and say things like, “Wow, you’re just like your mom.
” While their comparison had been in the vein of flattery, she was beginning to see that it had a profound effect on her.
There was an unspoken expectation to match or surpass her mom’s creative success.
Living in the shadow of someone else’s achievements made her feel inadequate.
While she could see how that view had played out in her adult life, she had no idea how to fix it.
She could never be her mother. And given how much she missed her mom, it would hurt too much to try to be like her.
That was the entire reason she’d chosen PR—she could be creative without having to dip her toes into the field of design.
Emmy opened her computer to see if she could search for how to come out from under someone’s shadow.
It was doubtful that the answer would be in cyberspace, but at the very least, maybe she could jot down some numbers of counselors.
Maybe she needed to talk to someone about her feelings. Would that help?
As she clicked off the job page, however, she noticed an email notification in the corner. She opened the screen and sucked in a tiny breath of surprise. Mitchell Augustine had emailed her back.
Hello, Emmy,
Thank you for your email. I think the best thing you could do is ask your mother about me. I’m really not comfortable sharing anything without her approval.
Best,
Mitchell
He doesn’t know she’s gone.
That meant that he hadn’t had contact with her in quite a long time.
Then, his cryptic message came into focus.
Why would her mom be better at answering Emmy’s questions than he would?
Why did he need her mom’s okay to say how he knew her?
Her mind was abuzz with speculation. Had something happened involving her mother?
Anne Brewer would never get caught up in any drama.
She immediately fired off another email:
Dear Mitchell,
Thank you so much for getting back to me. With your busy schedule, I’m honored that you took the time. I wish I could ask my mother, but she died of cancer over a decade ago. I’m here, in New York. I’d like to have a cup of coffee or something and learn how you knew her.
All the best,
Emmy
Her mind still whirring, she took her mother’s drawings out of the envelope and studied them to see if she’d missed any clues.
Her mom had left these drawings at Baudelaire’s, in Paris—they’d been shipped back with the dress.
Why hadn’t she brought her designs home with her?
Had she simply discarded them, or was there something more?
What haven’t you told us, Mom?
“Should we see if Dad knows anything about this Mitchell Augustine?” Madison asked, her concerned face on the screen of their video chat later that evening.
“I did. He doesn’t seem to know,” Emmy replied. “Remember Dad said Mom didn’t really talk about her younger days? She told him there wasn’t much to say. Why is that? Did something happen?”
“No idea.” Madison shook her head. “It’s Mom we’re talking about. She didn’t have a conspiratorial bone in her body. What would she possibly keep from Dad?”
They both sat in thought opposite one another on the screen.
She dared not ask her dad. Not until she had more information. But how could she gain any knowledge about the situation? The only person who could answer anything for certain was her mom.