Chasing Chaos: A Novel (16 page)

He
hung up.

“That
went fantastic.” Daphne recounted the conversation for Greta. “We won’t be
hearing from him for a while. He sounded so pissed.”

“I
think your assessment is correct,” Greta said. “He’s unlikely to call me
again.”

“He
couldn’t get off the phone fast enough.”

She
rested her head back against her lounge chair, and Greta did the same.

“Families
are the worst,” Daphne said. “Better to make new ones.”

“Agreed.”

“And
you’re making a new one today. With Timmy.”

Greta
reached over and took her hand. “You and I have been making a new family since
we met at the Cameron University pool.”

She
and Greta sat like that, holding hands in the cool morning, looking out over
the valley below, waiting for the day to begin.

~~~~

Marlon
stood in the kitchen with Sandy, listening to some detail about when Olivia was
going to arrive with her crew from Rivet. But he was having trouble paying
attention. Through the tall glass windows of Sandy’s kitchen, he could see two
people lying on lounge chairs—Daphne, Greta—and he could see their clasped
hands dangling between their chairs. He kept trying to look away from those
interlaced fingers, but the fingers kept drawing him back.

“They’re
remarkable together, aren’t they,” Sandy said.

“Totally,”
Marlon said. “Wait. What?”

“If
sisters could be born of different families and be lucky enough to find one
another, you’d be looking at them right now.”

“I
know a thing or two about siblings born of different families.”

“I
know you do. That’s why you can appreciate what you’re seeing. Family reborn.”

With
that, Sandy left him standing in the kitchen, the visual feast now a solo one.

The
girls released their hands. They stood. They laughed about something together,
something so funny that they both reached to grab hold of the handrail for
support, and he could hear their laughter through the double-paned glass. He
wished he knew what they were laughing about. He wanted to be a part of it. Of
their closeness.

They
opened the door into the kitchen and entered. Greta spied him and smiled.
Daphne entered behind Greta so she didn’t see him at first—after all, Greta was
really, really tall—and when she did see him, she looked startled.

“Morning,
ladies,” he said. “Sandy told me to be at your beck and call.”

“Oh
great,” Daphne said. “Cook something. I’m starving.”

“Didn’t
you two just eat?” he asked.

“Sandy
never gets us enough food,” Greta said.

“We
always tell him. And it’s not like he doesn’t watch us eat all the time.”
Daphne sounded exasperated. “When will he learn?”

“What
do you want?” He smiled at their verbal volleyball.

“Anything!”
This word they spoke in unison.

“
Huevos
con chorizo
?”

“Oh
God yes,” Daphne said.

“I’ll
make more coffee.” Greta took Daphne’s mug. Daphne’s eyes got dreamy when she
spied Greta at the espresso machine.

Marlon
wondered how on Earth there could have been a time when these two women were
not this close.

He
pulled some chorizo sausage from Sandy’s fridge. He knew the sausage was there
because he had put it there the day before. He grabbed the eggs too.

He
remembered the story he’d told Daphne yesterday, of the day when Greta had
arrived from the hospital after being attacked. He remembered talking to Greta
back then, and Greta telling him that she’d lost everyone in her life. She
meant Timmy, and she’d meant Daphne.

It
hadn’t taken long for Timmy to come back around. It had taken a little longer
for Daphne to reappear—six months or so if he were remembering correctly. What
had happened during those six months?

As
he sliced the chorizo and tossed it into a frypan to brown, he thought of the
interlocked hands.

He
thought of himself at age fourteen, alone in a bedroom that was and wasn’t his,
with a family that was and wasn’t his.

He
thought of Daphne’s mother and sisters, choosing her abusive father over her.

He
scrambled eggs in with the chorizo, turned down the heat and served up two
heaping plates. He slid the plates in front of the girls, then handed them
forks. They ate like wildcats, greedy and uninhibited. Greta’s auburn curls and
Daphne’s black waves were so different, but both girls wore their hair pulled
back in loose ponytails.

He
considered leaving the room because their togetherness seemed to require so
much privacy. Then he remembered what Sandy had said to him earlier. Family
reborn. Greta and Daphne weren’t lovers who wanted to be alone. They were
family, and if Marlon had learned anything in his life, family like Greta and
Daphne was hard to come by.

God,
Daphne.

He
thought of their morning together, just a couple of hours earlier. She’d woken
up next to him, slightly frantic, worried about Greta finding out she’d spent
the night.

“I
just don’t want her to have another thing to worry about on her wedding day,”
she said to him, dashing off a text message to Greta.

“She
doesn’t seem worried at all to me. You do, though.” He tugged her arm so she
fell back to him on the bed. He wrapped his arms around her.

“How
can you know for sure that this isn’t a mistake?” She’d asked him some
variation of that question three or four times throughout the night.

“I
don’t think we can know anything for sure. We can just make good guesses.”

She
slapped his forearms in frustration.

“I
tend to guess well.” He kissed her neck.

She
turned to face him. “I’m scared, Marlon.”

“I
know you are. It’s plain as anything.”

She
hugged him then, so tight he thought she might break her bones. Then she let go
and dashed from his room to grab her shirt from the laundry room. She threw on
her clothes, ran her fingers through her hair, and pronounced herself “drab but
presentable.” Then she left to walk up to Sandy’s house.

Marlon
remained in bed a while longer, holding a hair of hers he’d found on the
pillow. It was twenty inches long, easy—and so strong. He pulled on it, even
wrapped it around his fingers. As he tugged, it held.

~~~~

Daphne
ate her second breakfast with Greta and appreciated every minute she could
spend with Greta on her wedding day. But she never forgot Marlon’s presence on
the other side of the kitchen island, standing by the sink while she and Greta
sat at the bar wolfing down the eggs and chorizo.

She
feared his presence would cause her to lose her cool. But instead, he had the
opposite effect. He soothed her. She should have been feeling anxious about the
upcoming ceremony and party. But she knew Marlon would help her handle anything
that needed handling. She didn’t have to do it alone.

She
looked at him and caught his eyes. They were gray like a cloudy sunrise back
home. God. She could fall in love with him. She’d never felt this way before.

Greta
leaned back in her chair. “Sandy gave me a room to use as my bridal prep area
or whatever. I hung our dresses in there and set up our makeup bags on the
counter.”

“You
don’t have a makeup bag,” Daphne said.

“Shows
what you know,” Greta said.

“What
does it look like?” Daphne asked. “Where did you get it?”

“Black
and I got it at Bloomingdale’s.”

“Greta
having a makeup bag is way more shocking than Greta having a wedding,” Daphne
informed Marlon.

“Not
to Timmy,” said Greta. “In any event, I feel like I should take a nap.”

“It’s
still morning. It’s not nap time,” Daphne said.

“I
was at a show late.”

“Greta!
You went to a show after we bought your dress? How could you!”

“It’s
my job?”

Greta
had worked a show for Pac Lighting late into the night before her own wedding?
Daphne was appalled.

“Stop
judging me, Daphne, and let me take a nap. I’m fed. Soon I’ll be rested. And
then I’ll be coiffed. The laws of Daphne’s universe will no longer be in
disarray.”

“Fine.
Go sleep. Which room is it?”

“Um,
the one with the green comforter?”

“I
know which room,” Marlon said to Daphne. “I can show you later.”

Sandy
had an obscene number of bedrooms. It could have been nine. It could have been
more.

Greta
stood and hugged her. “Talk to you soon. I’ll call when I wake up. I’m sure you
have plenty to do.” Then Greta left the room and headed to the bedrooms off the
living area.

Daphne
turned to face Marlon. “Hey.” She gave him a private smile.

“I
understand now,” he said.

“What
do you mean?”

“Why
you wanted to know what happened to my family.”

Daphne
cocked her head, questioning.

“Greta
is for you like Carrie is for me,” he said.

“Yeah.
She is. She’s my sister.”

“Speaking
of which,” Marlon said, fishing his phone out of his pocket and dialing.
“Carrie?” he said. “You free now? Yeah. Perfect.”

“Our
coffee date?”

“She’ll
meet us there in twenty.”

They
headed out the front door, Daphne petting the dogs one last time for courage.

They
strolled together down the hill, holding hands. They kept to the side of the
road—there were no sidewalks here—for the fifteen minutes or so until they
reached the café. The café was part of the small cluster of shops that served
this nook of Laurel Canyon. Marlon led her in under the striped awning and to a
round table. He ordered for them at the counter, returning with two mugs.

“You
know, I used to only drink tea,” Daphne said. “I never drank coffee.”

“I
just watched you and Greta almost break Sandy’s espresso machine.”

“I
know. It’s crazy. Things changed when I started writing all the time in coffee
shops. The smells of coffees intrigued me. So I tried different ones. And then
the flavors became more and more appealing. And now here I am. A complete
addict.”

“You
started writing in coffee shops when you left the studio?”

“Sometimes
I’m surprised you know so much about me,” Daphne said. “And then I think about
it, and I realize I shouldn’t be. All these years, you’ve always been there in
the background.”

Marlon
just nodded.

Carrie
blew into the café then. Her hair was piled atop her head, her smile broad. She
wore a white T-shirt and black leggings with booties.

“Morning,
Cee-Cee.” Marlon stood to give Carrie a hug.

“Hey
Daphne,” she said. “Let me grab a drink. I’ll be right back.”

“She
looks happy.” Marlon sat back down. “I think I know why.”

“Because
of us?” Daphne asked. “Really?”

“Yes,
of course. She’s tried to play matchmaker a few times over the years. This is
the first time it’s worked.”

Carrie
returned and plopped in the third seat at the table. “Daphne, it’s so good to
see you. I’ve been writing like a madwoman since we got together.”

“You
should be,” Daphne said. “Only a week and a half till our meeting.”

“What
meeting?” Marlon asked.

“Daphne
is introducing me to her agent!” Carrie’s eyes brightened. “Didn’t she tell
you?”

“No,
she didn’t.” Marlon looked at Daphne with surprise.

“Carrie
deserves the chance,” Daphne said, defensively. “Her ideas will hold up.”

“Forget
work!” Carrie said. “Let’s talk about the wedding. How exciting. I’ve never
been to Sandy’s house.”

“You’ll
get to cater a party there if you work at Rivet long enough,” Marlon said.

“But
tonight I’ll get to be a guest! I even have a date.”

“Really?”
Daphne was concerned because none of the nearly seventy wedding guests had
received a plus-one with their invitation.

“Don’t
worry, Daphne. I wasn’t raised by wolves,” Carrie said. “I’m going with another
invited guest.”

“Who
would that be?” Marlon asked.

Daphne
heard the brotherly concern in his voice. The protectiveness.

“Dan
Morello.”

Every
muscle, every tendon, every moving part in Daphne’s body stiffened. Her brain
spun. She looked at the young girl in front of her, with her two bright front
teeth the centerpiece of her brilliant smile, the big brown eyes, the rowdy
curls. The unbelievable innocence in every gesture.