Memories of Love (5 page)

“She’s nice and all. But I can’t
play dress up or act out plays when she’s around. She gets upset and yells.
She’s too busy to play much. And she goes on a lot of errands.”

“Errands?” His brow furrowed.

“That’s what she says when she’s
late to pick me up from school. I don’t like sitting in the
secaterry’s
office, waiting.”

Anger choked Grant. He sensed the
heat rising to his face.
Are you off
screwing around,
Evie
?
He stuffed his feelings
down, hiding them from Sarah.

“I’ll ask her about it, pumpkin.” He
kissed her hair.

“Is she coming to live with us?”

“She’s due in tonight.”

“Oh. I like Aunt Jane. She never
gets upset and lets me do what I want.”

Grant laughed.
Not exactly a disciplinarian.
“I’m sure you do. But Evelyn is your
mother, and we have to respect her.”

A rush of cold air preceded a chilly
tone of voice. “Respect? What about love?”

Grant turned to see Evelyn standing,
hands on hips, in the archway, a small valise on the floor next to her. Her
short, auburn hair was windblown. Her cheeks were rosy from the chill in the
air. If her expression hadn’t been so stormy, Grant might have thought she
looked pretty.

“Hi,
Evie
,”
Sarah said, climbing down from her father’s lap. Grant stood up and joined his
wife. He kissed her on the cheek and picked up her luggage. Sarah joined Jane
in the kitchen while Evelyn followed her husband into the bedroom, closing the
door behind them.

“Welcome to the Big Apple, Evelyn.”
He put the bag down near her dresser.

“Not a very warm welcome.”

“You’ve been gone a long time.” Anger
bubbled up inside him, but he fought to control it.
Innocent until proven guilty. Get the facts before you explode.

“All the more reason for a warmer
hello, don’t you think?” She lifted her eyebrows.

He turned around to face her. “Sarah
tells me you’re always late to pick her up at school. She says you’re doing
errands. What’s going on?” He frowned.

Evelyn’s face flushed. She picked up
her suitcase and laid it down on the bed, avoiding his gaze.

Grant wrapped his fingers around her
upper arm and squeezed. “The truth. Now. Are you having an affair?” His voice
was hoarse, but his tone was ominous.

“It’s nothing like the affair you’ve
been having with Cara Brewster for the past seven years,” she said, whirling
around to face him. Fury flashed in her eyes.

“What the hell are you talking
about? I haven’t seen Cara in five years.”

“That doesn’t matter. You’ve been in
love with her the whole time we’ve been married. Don’t deny it. That’s worse
than a flesh-and-blood affair.” She began throwing clothing into drawers.

“Do you know how ridiculous you
sound?” He walked to the window, staring at the blinking lights of the city at
night.

“Do I? Can you deny it?” She folded
her arms across her chest.

“While we’re being honest. Before we
left D.C., I found your birth control pills. When I said I wanted another child,
you said you were infertile after the miscarriage. But all the time you were
taking birth control, weren’t you?” He fought to keep his tone even.

“It wouldn’t make any difference for
us anyhow. We haven’t had sex in months.”

“Why? Why didn’t you just say you
didn’t want another child?”

“I do want a child, a child with a
man who loves me. You never have…and you never will.” Tears cascaded over her
cheeks as she sank down on the bed.

Grant sat next to her. He put his
arm around her. “I’m sorry if I’ve hurt you, Evelyn. I’ve never meant to.”

She pulled a hanky out of her purse.
“I know, Grant. But you have. Seven painful years trying to win your heart from
a ghost.”

Grant didn’t respond because what
she said was true. He couldn’t deny it any longer. “Are you having an affair?” he
asked quietly.

“What does it matter?” She hid her
face in the flowered cloth.

“Do you want a divorce?” His voice
was solemn.

“I don’t know. Maybe. I can’t think.
I’m tired. I just want to go to bed.” She pushed away from him and went to the
window. Grant got up and left the room.

He poured himself a snifter of brandy
from the bar in the living room and sank into a chair at the dining room table.
Jane was there, working on her laptop. She looked up at him, and her smile
became a frown. She returned her attention to the computer screen.

“New show in preview. Up for
something untested?”

Grant waved his hand. “Whatever you
want. I don’t care.”

“Fine. Preview then. See it before
the critics pan the poor play. Good idea, Jane,” she said, scowling at her
brother. “Should I get three tickets for next Saturday night or just two?”

“Two,” he said, chugging the rest of
his drink, avoiding her curious stare.

Chapter Five

“Molly, come here. I want to tell
you a secret.” Sarah plopped down on her bed and watched Molly, lying on the
guest bed in Sarah’s room, playing with her
Etch-A-Sketch
.

“What?” She looked up from her
drawing and slid closer to her friend.

“I think that lady on the bus is my
mother, my real mother.” Sarah lowered her voice and glanced at the door.

“Evelyn isn’t your real mom?” Molly
put down the toy and gave Sarah her full attention.

“She’s my adopted mom.”

“Is your dad your real dad?”

“Yes. I don’t know where my real mom
is, but I think that lady is her, and I have to find her.”

“The lady on the side of the bus?”

“Yeah. Tomorrow, maybe we’ll see the
same bus again. Can Josie read what it says on the bus? It was too fast for me.”

“I saw the word
blind
. Do you think it means your mom is blind?”

“I hope not.” Sarah picked at her
quilt.

After knocking, Grant entered,
carrying a book under his arm.

Sarah placed her finger on her lips
and stared hard at Molly, who nodded in response.

“Bedtime story time, ladies. We’re
reading Nancy Drew books, Molly. That’s a little grown up for seven year olds,
but Sarah wanted to read it. Will that story be all right for you?”

Molly nodded. Grant settled himself
in the big, overstuffed armchair, and the two small girls crawled onto his lap,
one on each leg. He draped an arm around each of them and opened the book.
After finishing a chapter, he tucked the girls in and switched off the lights.

As soon as the door closed behind
him, Sarah sat up. “Will you help me find my mom?” she whispered.

“Yes. Tell me what to do.” Molly
rolled over on her side, facing Sarah.

“We’ll start on Monday at school. We
have to find that same bus. You and
me’ll
look for it.
Maybe
Josie’ll
help us read what’s on it.”

“I’ll ask her. Even if you find her,
how will you know the woman on the bus is your real mom?”

“See this?” Sarah touched the jagged
heart pendant. Molly nodded. “It’s half a heart. My real mom has the other
half. All I have to do is look at her neck, and if she’s wearing the other half
of this heart, she’s my real mom.”

“Cool. Wish I had a necklace like
that.” Molly reached over and touched it.

“You don’t need one. Your real mom
lives with you.”

“Yeah, but your mom is prettier than
mine.”

Sarah smiled and sighed. “She’s
beautiful.”

Jane poked her head in the room. “You
girls still up? It’s late. Chop, chop. Off to sleep with you.” She tucked both
girls into bed again, kissed them goodnight, and placed her finger across her
closed lips. “No more gabbing, girls.”

After Jane closed the door, Molly
spoke up. “I miss my bear,” she whined.

“Wait. I have lots of bears.” Sarah
turned on the light. “Here, see? Pick one.”

Molly got up and went to the toy
chest where Sarah’s stuffed animals were neatly lined up. There were three teddies,
one pink, one brown, and one beige. Keeping them company were four dogs in
varying sizes, three cats, and a monkey.

“Where did you get all these stuffed
animals?”

“My birthday party. Every year, my
friends where we used to live gave me stuffed animals, ’cause I love them.”

“Did you have a lot of friends?”

Sarah nodded.

“Do you miss them?”

She nodded again as tears formed in
the corners of her eyes.

“I’ll be your best friend, Sarah,”
Molly said, taking her hand.

“You are. Pick one.”

“I love cats, but I can’t have one
‘cause I’m allergic. Can I sleep with this one?” She picked out a fluffy, stuffed,
Himalayan cat in beige and dark brown.

“I call her Fluffy. She’s my
favorite cat,” Sarah said.

“Then you should sleep with her.”
Molly held it out.

“You take her. You’re my best
friend. You sleep with Fluffy, and I’ll sleep with Buster.”

“Thanks, Sarah. What’s Buster?”

“He’s a pug. I know he’s
kinda
funny-looking, but I like him. Someday, I’m gonna
have a real, live pug.”

Sarah turned out the light again and
climbed into bed. The girls rolled on their sides, facing each other. Before they
could start talking again, sleep overtook them and further plans for the search
for Cara Brewster were postponed until the next day.

* * * *

In the living room, Grant joined
Jane on the sofa. She put down her copy of
Vanity
Fair
and confronted her brother.

“What the hell is going on with you
and Evelyn?” She trained her gaze on his face.

“I don’t know. I asked her if she
wanted a divorce, but she didn’t answer me.”

“A divorce?” Jane’s eyes widened.

“I think she’s having an affair.” He
combed his hand through his hair.

“Are you sure?”

“Sarah complained
Evie’s
always late to pick her up. Her not coming up here
with us for several weeks. Sometimes she doesn’t answer her cell. Her excuses
are pretty thin. Maybe because I’m an attorney, or I’m just a suspicious guy,
but I don’t like the answers I’m getting…or rather not getting.”

“She didn’t deny it?”

“Nope. Changed the subject. Classic
diversion to avoid the truth.” He rubbed his face.

Jane placed her hand on his arm.
“I’m sorry, Grant.”

“Don’t be. I think I’m happy for
her. Maybe she’s found the right guy. Sure as hell isn’t me.” He stood and went
to the window.

“You’ve been married a long time.
Sure this isn’t just the seven year itch?”

“I’ve never really been free to give
her what she needs.”

“Cara?” He nodded. “When’re you
going to confront her, by the way?”

“Hey, one confrontation at a time,”
he chuckled.

“Seriously, Grant. You’re playing
with a lot of lives here.”

“I thought I could do it. Let Cara
go, love Evelyn, have a family for Sarah. But now it’s all falling apart, and
I’m powerless to stop it.” He began to pace.

“You’d better get your life
straightened out. You have a little girl to care for. And I think she needs her
mother, her real mother. Cara’s been AWOL long enough.”

“Sarah keeps asking, and I have no
answer. Damn, Cara! Where the hell is she? Why isn’t she here, visiting? At
least calling or writing? I don’t even know what continent she’s on.” He banged
his fist on the arm of the sofa.

“It’s time you found out,” Jane
muttered.

“What?”’ Grant turned to face her.

“Nothing. It’s like living in an
armed camp around here. You and Evelyn don’t stay in the same room for more
than a few minutes. You could cut the tension with a knife. I can’t live like
this. It’s nuts.”

“We’ll work it out. Give us a few
more days.” He blew out a breath.

“You’d better stay together until
next weekend, because I got three tickets to the theater, not just two.” She
pushed to her feet.

“Three? I asked you to get two.”

“It’s time to put everyone’s cards
on the table. We need to clear the air, and you need to get a life.” Jane
picked up her magazine.

“What the hell are you talking
about?” He picked up his newspaper from the coffee table.

“Nothing. You’ll know soon enough.”

“No one in this house listens to me
anymore. I’m going to bed.” Grant threw down the paper and stood up.

“Sweet dreams. Relief is on the way,
big brother.” Jane shot him an enigmatic smile.

“God, Jane. I shudder to think what
you’ve got cooked up.” He shuffled into the bedroom, closing the door behind
him.

It was dark when he went in.
Evelyn’s even breathing indicated she was asleep. He stripped down to his
boxers and ran his hand over his abs. Even at thirty-eight, he had a strong
physique. He worked out on lunch breaks, making fitness a priority.

Standing at the window, looking out
over the city at night, he took in the vastness of the world. Twinkling lights peeping
through the blackness of night seemed to go on forever.
Cara, where are you? Our daughter needs you. And so do I. Come home,
dammit!

He wondered what exotic location she
was on.
Is she sleeping with her leading
man
?
Probably gets hit on by every
guy on the set. She must sleep with some of them.
He raked his hand through
his hair.
Don’t want to think about it.

He’d seen every one of her movies
and loved them all. Watching her larger than life on the big screen, his heart
beat faster. He’d imagine himself as the hero and sense his fingertips tingle
for a second at the thought of running them down her cheek or closing them
around her breast. He sighed deeply then glanced at the bed. Fortunately, he
didn’t wake Evelyn.

According to the tabloids, Cara
Brewster wasn’t married...yet. He chuckled as he speculated as to when those scandal-mongers
would start to hint that she was gay. But her unmarried state gave him hope.
She’s met all kinds of rich, successful,
attractive guys. Could have her pick. Maybe she still has feelings for me.

With this crisis in his marriage, he
pondered if it was all meant to be, meant to dissolve at the exact time when
his daughter’s need for her mother appeared to be growing and his need for Cara
was still strong. But he wanted to be fair to Evelyn. She was right. She had
been loving to him all these years, even though something in him had always
hung back.

And who knew about Cara? She was
probably madly in love with some prince somewhere, or some powerful producer.
He rubbed the back of his neck to relieve some of the tension.
What makes me think such a desirable woman
still cares for me or is still available? Dream on, Grant.

Evelyn stirred. He glanced over, and
sleep suddenly seemed inviting. He climbed in beside her and drifted off as
soon as his head hit the pillow.

* * * *

Rehearsals swung into a heavy schedule
as preview performance dates were nailed down. Quinn, Cara, and Jake worked
until nine o’clock every night. Blocking, missed cues, costume fittings, and lighting
sessions kept them busy night and day. Quinn, being a newlywed, had his wife,
Susanna, sitting in the audience much of the time.

Since she was an artist, she brought
along her sketchbook. Some days she sketched from photos she had taken, other
days she drew cast and crew members. She and Cara became friends. They chatted
between scenes, and sometimes she had lunch with Susanna and Quinn.

Jake Matthews sat near Cara and often
asked her questions. While she wasn’t interested in him, she noted his looks
and liked his manner. Always polite, flattering but never gushy, he was easy to
be around. She joked with him and helped him as much as she could, going over
his lines, repeating cues, and giving him tips such as how to remember where to
stand, to always face downstage, and to speak up.

He’d
be good for Grace. Have to get her out here soon. I miss her.

Skip made the rounds of meetings
with New York producers, stars, and other agents while Cara was working. The
small cast became like family. Although the big names of the two stars were
sure to sell plenty of tickets, both Quinn and Cara were anxious about their
performances. No multiple takes, reshooting, no dubbing—live theater was a
challenge, especially for those accustomed to the forgiving nature of movies
with videotape, retakes, editing, and sound enhancement.

One afternoon, Cara took a walk
around the block to clear her head. When she returned, Gus, the security guard,
took her aside. “There’s a couple a cops here to see you, Miss Brewster. If you
want to take a powder, I’ll tell ‘
em
I
ain’t
seen
ya
.”

“Cops?” Her eyebrows rose. “To see
me?”

He nodded.

“I don’t need to hide, Gus, but
thank you,” she hid a smile as she patted his arm.

As soon as she entered the auditorium,
two detectives approached her. Both were around six feet tall, about the same
weight. One had dark brown hair and the other was blond. Cold-eyed, their faces
were impenetrable masks. Standing straight, the brown-haired one rested his
hand on his gun as he addressed her.

“Cara Brewster?” She nodded a small
stab of fear shot through her, though she hadn’t done anything illegal. “Detectives
Marx and Brick, ma’am. Could we talk to you in private for a moment?”

She ushered them into her dressing
room. They stood while she sat at her tiny, mirrored table. Detective Marx
moved closer and plucked a photograph off the mirror.

“You’ve got a lot of pictures of
this little girl, Ms. Brewster. Can you explain that?” Detective Marx asked.
His penetrating stare made Cara’s stomach knot.

“That’s confidential. I signed an
agreement not to discuss her…”

“Seems a school in Washington
reported a guy taking pictures of this little girl. They tracked him down, and
he said he gave them to you. So, I’m asking you why you’re paying someone to
take pictures of this kid.” He shifted his weight but not his eyes, which held
her under close scrutiny.

“Are you trafficking in little
girls, Ms. Brewster?” There was an edge to Detective Brick’s voice.

“Oh my God! No! What you’re
thinking…it’s disgusting.” Cara put her hand to her mouth as her heart beat
rapidly.

“Really? What would you think if you
were us, ma’am?” Detective Marx asked. “I mean with all those pictures of her
up there…on display.”

“I think you’d better tell us exactly
why you have these pictures, or maybe you’d rather come down to the station
house and give us your explanation there?”