Chapter Twenty-Five
Lost in thought, Sarah got to her feet and wandered to the window overlooking The Grinder. Outside, she watched through tinted glass as men performed endless pushups, sit ups, and labored on weight machines. She didn’t see Ben. Maybe he was still over at the shoot house.
Could she really go back to New York, to her old life? Did she want the parties, the fame, the camera’s blinding flash?
Naturally, she’d need to return to New York and leave the ranch behind.
Would she even be safe in New York?
Had her stalker moved on, given up? She was so tired of worrying about him, who he was, and why he wanted to harm her. The only time she felt safe was when Ben was nearby.
She’d have to leave Big Jim and Milly and only see them as sporadically as she had before.
Sarah pursed her lips. The idea didn’t sit well. She loved the ranch, loved her parents, and if that was their desire, she wanted to help Milly and Jim get together.
Living on a ranch wasn’t easy, often requiring hard labor and constant chores.
However, she didn’t mind, not even the tough jobs, like digging postholes by hand.
She thought about her new baby chicks. She liked chickens, liked their pretty feathers and their homey pecking .
... and she’d wanted fresh eggs for her and Jim.
If she returned to modeling, there wouldn’t be any more eggs. Too fattening. She’d be back to the hated lemon juice in warm water. There wouldn’t be any horseback riding or working in the pastures with her hands.
She had friends in New York, other models, agents, and managers. She wouldn’t be alone.
Only .... Mira would no longer be there.
At the memory of the beautiful Finnish model who’d been Sarah’s very best friend, her mood plummeted. The image of Mira’s porcelain skin, her tall elegance, her interesting accent, her loyal friendship—they all struck Sarah like a bullet in the back. She missed Mira, missed her so much.
Sarah stared into the middle distance, seeing nothing, hearing nothing, while waves of pain rolled over her. She didn’t hear Ben come to the office.
“What’s wrong, Sarah?” From out of nowhere, he stood beside her, peering into her face, his features creased in concern.
Jerked out of her reverie, Sarah quickly brushed away the single tear that leaked from the corner of her eye. With her feelings raw, laid bare, it felt wrong to lie. “I was remembering, remembering something sad.”
He nodded, his eyes perceptive. “Was it the event that made you quit your career?”
Still uneasy about discussing it with him, she wasn’t surprised at his insight. “Yes.”
He put his arm around her and drew her to his side in a quick hug. “In a few minutes, we’ll be knocking off for the day. I’m not much of a cook, but I can grill a mean steak. While we eat, you can tell me about it.” He studied her. “Okay?”
Sarah drew a breath deep into the bottom of her lungs.
She hadn’t talked to anyone about Mira’s death.
Not ever. Yet, here was Ben, interested and caring, giving her a supportive hug, and she supposed it was time to share.
Perhaps in the telling she could find some small measure of peace.
“Okay. Let me do the cooking. We’ll have chicken. ”
Ben grinned. “Sweet.”
****
Within the hour, they’d closed shop, stopped by the grocery store, and bought everything Sarah wanted for dinner and breakfast the next day.
She pounded boneless chicken, rolled them with provolone cheese, prosciutto, and a mix of tomatoes and herbs.
They baked in the oven while rice boiled on the stove, and she whipped up one of her fresh garden salads.
Ben ate with all the enthusiasm of a hardworking man, and he repeatedly praised her skills in the kitchen. “This is a great meal,” he said, forking up his last bite. “Yum.”
“Thank you.” She was glad he enjoyed it. “I love cooking.”
“You haven’t eaten much.” He indicated the food remaining on her plate.
She’d already set her fork aside, pushing the cheese and ham aside to pick at only the chicken. Damn him for noticing she’d already cut her portion sizes. If she was going to model again, her caloric intake needed a drastic scaling back.
“Turns out I’m not that hungry tonight.” She held up her empty wine glass.
“Another glass of that cabernet sauvignon, please?” It was time to talk about that fateful day in her past. She could use the fortification.
These days two glasses were her absolute limit.
No longer did she overdo alcohol. In fact, after tonight, she was done with drinking.
For a long time. She could no longer afford the empty calories.
Ben cleared the plates, rinsed them, and Sarah set the pots aside to soak.
“Let’s sit on the couch.” Ben refilled her glass and got himself a new beer.
Settling down, Sarah braced herself for what was to come. She hoped she could get through it without breaking up.
Ben sat beside her and waited.
She began with a description. “Mira Korhonen was from Finland, a very beautiful fashion model, tall and fair, with interesting pale blue eyes. She was my closest girlfriend.”
“I remember seeing her face in clothing ads,” Ben said. “Didn’t she have a fairly heavy accent?”
“She did, and it was cute, but it made her seem goofy. People think models are shallow and stupid, yet she was smart and funny. She enjoyed teaching me to say outrageous things in Finnish like, My butt hurts, or, How do you like these boobs?”
Ben laughed.
Sarah forced herself to continue. She took a bracing sip of cabernet and said, “Living the life of a model is incredibly busy. It’s a grueling, whirlwind existence.
The travel alone is exhausting, with jaunts all over the world to places like Bali for a bikini shoot, or to Munich to pose in a Burberry winter coat in front of the Nymphenburg Palace.
For major shows like London Fashion Week, we’d be prepped in hair and makeup for hours, followed by twelve hours of press rotation.
To maintain a public presence, we had to constantly update Facebook, Snapchat, Instagram accounts—all the social media platforms. Even TikTok had two assistants, and we barely kept up. ”
“Sounds crazy busy.”
“That meant that Mira and I weren’t always in the same city, but when we were, it was like we were sisters, confidantes. I could tell her anything.”
“Nice having a good friend like that.”
“It was.” She was pleased he understood.
“Mira grew up in Finland on a dairy cattle farm. I grew up on a beef cattle ranch, so our childhoods were similar. We’d reminisce about the fun we’d had.
We made a pact. When it was time to quit modeling, we would both return to the homes we loved.
To the farm. To the ranch. I was going to show her Montana. She wanted to share Finland with me.”
“Is that why you came home, Sarah?” He sought her gaze, his hazel eyes clear.
“I suppose it is.” She shrugged. “I admired so much about her. She was kind, truly kind. Her twin brother, Colin, wasn’t quite normal.
Odd behavior and a lot of problems. He needed doctors and expensive medications.
When Mira’s fortunes rose and with her parent’s blessing, she brought him to the U.S.
to live with her and get him superior medical care. ”
Ben said, “That is over and above. A lot of people wouldn’t do that.”
“I’ll never forget Colin’s grief at her death.
He was inconsolable, threw himself on her casket.
” She blinked away new tears. “I spoke with his and Mira’s parents.
They told me they were taking him back to their home in Finland.
They wanted to see to his continuing care.
Poor Colin.” Sarah hesitated, her throat sore.
“When I think of his loss, my heart aches.”
“Tell me what happened. That night she passed.”
She shook herself and sat up straighter.
Now that she’d started her tale, she was compelled to finish.
“We mixed with famous actors, recording artists, political bigwigs, you name it. And always we flew on private jets and partied in impressive mansions. In those mansions, there were endless supplies of booze. And...” She trailed off.
“And drugs,” he filled in.
“And drugs.” She lifted her gaze to his, her agony returning.
“I’m ashamed now that at the time I thought little of it.
Everyone did drugs and alcohol. Everyone.
It just wasn’t a big deal. Mira did more than most, though.
Lots of times she went overboard, especially with the drugs.
Some days she woke up with harsh hangovers.
” She raised her hands. “She always got over it.”
“However, there was one time she didn’t get over it,” Ben concluded shrewdly. “I think I’m putting two and two together.”
“That’s correct,” she breathed.
“I remember reading she’d passed young.” Ben frowned thoughtfully. “But I don’t recall a drug overdose.”
Sarah scowled. “That’s because the managers and the agents panicked.
” With a jerky movement, she set her glass down and gave it a push away.
Some of the red liquid slopped over the side.
She sat frozen into stillness, dully watching the widening stain spread over the coffee table.
She felt as though a dark fog had engulfed her. It was hard to think.
“I’ll get that.” Ben rose to grab paper towels and sop up the mess.
“Sorry,” Sarah said, still feeling slow.
“What really happened to Mira?”
“They put it out that she’d contracted pneumonia.” She inhaled deeply. ‘An unhealthy, emaciated model catches a bad bug and dies. So tragic. A life snuffed out before its time.’ But that was bullshit. She died ... she died...”
“Go on, Sarah,” he urged gently. “Tell me.”
Holding back a sob, she got out, “That night, we were in a grand private residence, an actor’s New York penthouse.
I was drinking. Mira was drinking, too. And she did a lot of cocaine.
Late that evening, I could see Mira had gotten intoxicated.
I tried to make her slow down. And yet, I didn’t—didn’t try that hard. ” Her throat spasmed.
“What happened?”
“A seizure,” she forced out. “It was terrible.”
Ben took her cold hands in his and chafed them.
“Her whole body shook,” Sarah said. “She—she vomited on me. She was choking and gagging. A foamy fluid came out of her mouth. I started screaming. But the music played so loud. Everyone was loaded. Nobody responded. I had no idea where my cell phone might be and was desperate for help. The elevator in the penthouse was too slow, so I ran down six flights of stairs. In the lobby, I threw myself at the doorman. He called for the paramedics.”
Ben sat silently.
She could feel the sympathy in him, but she hated it, didn’t want any such emotion from him. She didn’t deserve it.
“I rushed back upstairs. Sat on the floor. Took Mira’s head in my lap.” The pain of that night gripped her, beat at her with painful fists.
Still, Sarah needed to complete the awful tale. She’d come this far. Her throat on fire, she said, “Mira was unconscious. The paramedics arrived, but it was too late. As I held Mira in my arms, she ... she took her last breath.”