This Much Is True (49 page)

“She cleaned him out. He’d been keeping his six-million-dollar signing bonus from the Angels in a separate account, and somehow she got access to it and cleaned him out. He’s living at the guest house right now. He was going to use that money to buy a house here. He had to sell his car—the Lamborghini. Charlie was heartbroken,” she says with a little laugh. “Anyway, he’s been struggling to keep things going financially, until year two of his contract kicks in with the Giants, which isn’t for a whole…well,
another year
. He doesn’t even have a car right now. Charlie was giving him rides to practice on his way to med school and the hospital, but then, your dad loaned him Holly’s car. The Jetta? Anyway, I should probably stop talking because it doesn’t make him sound very attractive, does it? Just know he’s been through a lot, not like you have, but still…it’s been tough for him. He’s definitely humbled and just trying to keep it all going. His fastball’s off, and that’s about any sports reporter wants to talk to him about, if they’re not still hotly pursuing the sordid details about how he feels about Moscow or the Angels’ trading him mid-season.” She sighs. “
Sorry.
I’m officially stepping off the soap box. It’s just been a nightmare for him. I actually feel sorry for him; he’s a good guy after all. I probably shouldn’t have said anything; he’d kill me if he knew you knew.”

I’m still reeling from what all she’s just said about Linc, but, for some inexplicable reason, I decide to take a stab at just some of what she’s said. “His fastball’s off because he’s leaning too far back before releasing the ball; he’s losing all that power. He’s going to injure himself if he doesn’t correct it soon. It started toward the end of last season in the playoffs, probably got mentally reinforced with the whole Moscow fiasco, and now he’s just freaked out about it and overcorrecting; I’m sure.”

Silence.

Marla’s speechless.

I laugh a little before saying, “I suppose you could weave
that
into a conversation with him, without telling him where the sports advice came from, and see if the adjustment I’m talking about improves his fastball.”

“
Tally Landon
, have you become a baseball
fan
?” Marla asks.

“Not exactly.
Sometimes
. I check his stats every so often,” I say airily, somewhat beholden to sharing one of my little secrets about life here in Manhattan. “There’s this guy Sampson Dotson. What a name, right? He runs a newsstand on 8
th
Street; he keeps track of that stuff for me, and he shows me the reports. We talk baseball when I go there on my way to our diner for coffee or the infrequent burger. Of course, he’s a Yankees fan so the conversation is somewhat slanted.” I pause. “It’s not a big deal.”

“No, of course, it’s not a
big deal
,” Marla says with a little laugh. “Tally. You’re the ingenious one and you’re coming
home.
I just can’t believe it. I’m so happy.”

I look over at Rob then, and intently watch him as he plays with Cara with new eyes at all these latest revelations about Nika Vostrikova and what she’s done to Linc. I can only wonder if Rob knows about this or not. I sigh deep. “Look, I need to go. I can’t talk anymore right now.
Rob’s
coming back with Cara in tow. I’ll call you later; okay?”

“What? We haven’t talked in ages and you’re going? You’re killin’ me, Landon. But
call
me back.
Promise
? We have lots to talk about with this move. And send me the key; don’t forget.”

“Promise.”

“Hey, Tally? I’m so glad you’re coming home. I love you.”

“I love you, too, Marla Stone Masterson. You’re the best friend a girl could ever have. I’ll see you
soon
.” I end the call and feel completely overwhelmed because talking to Marla makes it real. All of it. Rob. Linc. Lies. Promises. It’s all a bit much to take in.

Rob comes over to me, carrying Cara. She rests her little head against his shoulder and plays with his hair. I almost have to turn away from the sweet picture of happiness together they make. Even so, I have to make this right with Linc. Cara is his daughter. I have to try to work it out with Linc and see where we go from here. And, Rob lied. The knight in shining armor had a cause and her name is Nika, not Tally, or even Holly.

“What’s up?” Rob asks.

I ignore his question and swallow hard. “I guess dandelion-blowing tires a girl out,” I say cautiously. Lost in all these hellish thoughts, I link my arm with his, and we start the trek home. We’re about halfway there when I get enough courage to look up at him. “I need to talk to you.”

He looks at me intently for a long time but doesn’t say anything more. Then the three of us ride the elevator without talking, having adopted Cara’s propensity for silence as our own. He doesn’t ask me what I want to talk about. Somehow, I think he knows.

Instead, he just lays Cara down on her little twin bed and covers her up with her new favorite blanket. It’s the one he brought home from some boutique on the Upper East Side that someone from his work team had suggested he try when he was in search of some upscale kid’s clothing.

“It’s a security blanket,” Rob had said to me when he brought it home for Cara all wrapped up in pink tissue inside a white linen box tied with a large frilly pink ribbon. “It’s to help her talk, to remember that when she’s feeling sad she has something to hold on to. I bought two of them. One for each of you.” He’d brought out a second gift-wrapped box and held it out to me, displaying the increasingly absent smirky smile of his the entire time. I wrapped myself in the pink cotton blanket that night and swore to him that I’d never take it off. He laughed so hard that tears rolled down his face. And, for a few days, we were okay again.

Now I lie down on the bed and pull the pink blanket over my shoulders and settle in. I look over at Rob, who just watches me from the doorway, looking a little uneasy by the things I’ve said or haven’t said since this afternoon. His arms are folded across his chest. He studies me intently like an astronomer must study the stars. I briefly told him about the phone call with Marla, and he didn’t say much. I haven’t told him about Sasha’s phone call or the job offer.

“Can we just
not
talk, tonight?” he asks. His hands shake as he comes over to the bed.

“Okay.” I turn onto my side and feel him as he climbs into bed and nuzzles into me. He seems to breathe a sigh of relief and within minutes, he’s asleep, still holding onto me.

It’s been a long day.

It’s been a long good-bye; probably, since we first got together.

* * *

The hours tick by, and I dully note the time on the clock that glows from his side of the bed. It’s half-past three in the morning, and I’m still awake.

“I never meant to hurt you,” Rob whispers to me in the dark.

“I know.” His arms get tighter around me. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be Holly.”

“I’m sorry I made you feel you had to be. Tally, I love you. I
do
.”

I turn into his arms and face him. I reach out and touch his wet face. “I know. I love you, too, but I have to go home. It’s been too long since I’ve been home.” My eyes fill with tears. “Sasha offered me a position with her at the San Francisco Ballet. I’m taking it. I want Cara to know my family…and her father.” I sigh. “I’m sorry. I’m truly sorry for hurting you and for disappointing you. I wish I could have been more.”

“I’m sorry, too. You are
more
; and you never disappointed me. Not really. Not often.” He strokes my hair and I can see him frowning in the fading moonlight where it streams through the bedroom window and onto the two of us. “Tally, oh God, Tally. I have something to tell you. Something…I should have told you a while ago. I’ve done some—”

I put my finger to his lips. “Rob? I really don’t want to know.
Please
.”

“It’s important.” He sits up, grasps his knees, and sighs deep. He glances over at me with this look of devastation.

“Is it going to make me want to stay?”

Silence.

“Noooooooooo,” he draws the answer out with one long, sad breath.

“Then, don’t say it. We’ve both done and said things that we can’t undo.”

He inclines his head and looks over at me intently. A single tear rolls down his face. After a few minutes, he sighs and lies back down in the bed. I slide into him. He wraps his arms around me and nuzzles his chin into my shoulder. “I’m so sorry,” he says again.

“I know. Me, too.”

I don’t say anything for a few minutes. I’m conflicted about saying more, but I can’t let it end like this because Rob does deserve better. I don’t understand all of what is going on with him and the beautiful Russian, but I want to leave with a clear conscience based upon what Marla told me earlier.

“Nika is bad news,” I finally say.

His breath hitches. It’s a long while before he says, “I know.”

* * *

There are all kinds of ways to say good-bye. This one, between Rob and me, is definitely one of the hardest. There is plenty of tenderness in his touch and enough remorse in his tone that these two things practically undo all of me and my grandiose plans for leaving at all; because staying with him would be so much easier.

And yet, there’s one thing I now recognize, if you don’t have trust, you really don’t have anything. And so it is with the two of us.

We make a promise to remain friends. It feels hollow even when we say it. So, we say it more than once.

* * * *

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

Tally ~ Back to Wonderland

O
nce we’re at JFK, I check most of our luggage, upgrade to first class, and pull out a credit card to cover it all, despite the fact that I have very little money to my name; budget be damned.

The five-hour plane ride is mostly uneventful, although Cara seems to continually pull at my sleeve indicating a need to go potty. We’ve been working on big girl panties—the pretty ones with Sleeping Beauty on the front—and she’s gotten the hang of it in a matter of days. Yet, after the fourth time of this in as many hours, it finally dawns on me that she is just fascinated with the smallness of the space as much as actually needing to go every time. She finally dozes off ninety minutes before we land, and I breathe this sigh of relief and contemplate what will be greeting us on the other end. I came clean with my parents a few nights ago. My mom assured me that hers were happy tears. I cautioned them about overwhelming Cara and asked them to meet us at the house in Alamo Square later. My dad insisted upon leaving a car at the airport for us, but I told him that Marla would be picking us up and had already promised to meet up with us in baggage claim. Marla’s been a god-send; because of her, I came properly prepared with Cheerios, crayons, and picture books for Cara.

* * *

We’re one of the first passengers to exit the plane and now in urgent need of a restroom because Cara really does need to go. It’s a good half-hour before we finally show up at Baggage Claim, but I already sent a text to Marla telling her we’re running behind. By then, Cara is tired of walking and since the gate agent at JFK talked me into checking the portable baby stroller, I’m struggling with carrying Cara, my purse, as well as her Hello Kitty backpack, which precariously hangs off of my left shoulder, and pulling the carry-on luggage behind us. I am loaded down as they say.
I’ve got this. This is motherhood. I wouldn’t want it any other way.

Soon enough, I’m studying the Baggage Claim board and trying to remember our flight number when I happen to glance up and see him. His Giants baseball cap is pulled down low over his face, and he’s one of the few people wearing sunglasses inside the airport.
The price of fame and being recognized.
He seems to scan the crowd, and it takes him another minute before he sees us. I half-wave at him. He waves back and smiles wide. Somehow, I return it although the sight of him has me practically sinking to the floor because of the bathroom calisthenics earlier, the arduous journey through the airport with my precious cargo, and my libido’s radar-like ability to react to Lincoln Presley whenever he is within thirty feet of me.

I’m glad he’s here. I’m not completely surprised that Marla ignored my edict for not telling Linc about our homecoming. This will make it easier.

“Claiming baggage?” he asks in this sexy, teasing tone when he reaches us. “I have some. You, too?”

“Plenty of baggage,” I say. Determined to somewhat dispel the awkwardness and all the remaining questions between us, I take the lead and step toward him, still holding Cara. She looks at him curiously, but clings to me a little tighter.

“So you’re really here and you’re really staying,” he says.

“Yes.” I point to the Baggage Claim sign above us. “As long as you’re here to claim me.” He laughs with a little uncertainty, and I nod and make a point of removing his sunglasses, so I can see his eyes. I reward him with a knowing smile; put them on the top of my head, where they serve as an instant headband for my long hair which I’ve worn down especially for him. He seems to know this, and his smile gets wider. If the sunglasses gesture makes him appear to be mine, that is fine by me.

“Cara, this is…Daddy.” I smile reassuringly at her to ensure she knows that everything’s okay. Then, I look over at him. “Lincoln Presley, this is your daughter…Cara.”

I’m sure every child psychologist in the world will have something to say about the way I’ve just done this, but it seems right as soon as I say it. Linc gets this joyous smile, and it is only seconds before Cara has sized him up enough to hold out her arms. She slides into Linc’s open ones, dispelling trust issues for all three of us with her acceptance alone.

“Cara,” Linc says softly. “I bet you were a good girl on the plane for Momma; weren’t you?”

“I haven’t…she doesn’t
know
…about me.”

Linc looks confused while Cara appraises me more closely.

“She doesn’t talk…very much. There was a car accident. She was there when Allaire…” Cara traces my face. I stop and smile at her seeking enough reassurance for both of us. “More on that a little later,” I whisper to Linc. “See, kiddo? Daddy’s here to pick us up.”

“Momma,” Cara says, looking uncertain as if she’s just trying the word out. It’s the first clear word she’s uttered since I got her back. My eyes tear up. “Momma,” she says again with a little nod. And then she smiles.

“Yes, Cara, that’s Momma,” Linc says, taking the lead because I’m unable to finish a sentence coherently at this point. I’m overwhelmed by the truth and just hearing my child utter this single word makes me so happy. I laugh a little and shyly smile over at Cara.

“Momma,” I say pointing at my heart. “Momma loves you, Cara.” She nods and smiles a little as she catches one of my tears trailing down my face with her little finger. I turn to Linc suddenly in want of his complete forgiveness and needing to say it out loud. “Linc, I just want to say—”

“Ms. Delacourt? Can I get your autograph? I can’t believe it’s you. I saw your performance in
Sleeping Beauty
a few years ago when we were in Manhattan. Wow! I can’t believe you’re here in the airport. This is amazing.
You’re
amazing. I want to be a dancer, too.”

I turn away from Linc’s bemused face and in the direction of the young teenage girl saying this. A blond, willowy child, who looks to be about twelve as well as earnest, dedicated, and willful, greets me. Her request effectively destroys the reunion moment. I quell that particular disappointment and begin to tell the girl all the qualities she’ll need to succeed, while I quickly sign the boarding pass that she’s proffered for my signature. She gets this look of wonder as she moves off with her parents and waves back at all three of us. Cara even waves.

“I’m going to be dancing for the San Francisco Ballet this fall,” I call out. “Come out and see one of the performances if you’re in the area and let me know. I’ll get you backstage.” Her beaming smile tells me I just made her day, maybe her year.
Well, we’ll see.

I turn back to Linc and Cara and discover them watching me in this kind of dazed wonder. Cara’s trails her little fingers along the back of Linc’s neck.
Lucky girl. I want to do that very thing to him, too.

My unmasking of the famous baseball player unintentionally initiates a few autograph seekers for him as well. A crowd of at least ten baseball fans begins to form around him. He still holds Cara and begins signing his name with a black Sharpie on whatever item is offered.

I turn back to the conveyor belt of luggage and begin the task of finding ours among the remaining bags. As a world traveler now, I’ve learned the trick with scarves, and it doesn’t take that long to distinguish and assemble our suitcases from everyone else’s. I turn and wave at Linc, who slowly extricates himself from the growing fan base after ensuring he’s signed every item the fans want signed. Cara smiles and waves back at the crowd while Linc carries her and makes his way over to me and the bags.

“There’s a lot of baggage. Sorry. I collected more in Manhattan than I thought possible. Is Marla coming? Charlie? To help us with all of this?”

“Nah…it’s just you and me. We thought that would be easier on both of you. But everybody knows you’re here…that both of you are here.” He grins mischievously and says, “But I’m the only one who gets to claim you.”

We share this look—a look that speaks volumes. The past angst and uncertainty between us are quickly extinguished with these palpable feelings of hope and joy that seem to overwhelm us both with every passing minute and that one look.
I feel it. I know Linc does, too.

He holds out his free hand, and I take it in mine and bring it to my lips. My charm bracelet dangles from my wrist, and he recognizes his gift from years before right away. “I bet you didn’t know this is my good-luck charm. I travel with it everywhere. Your bracelet is the first thing I put on for every flight and the last thing I take off after I arrive. See? You’ve always been with me. You just didn’t know it.” He sucks in his breath and holds it after my little travel speech. “So, thank you, Elvis.” I smile sweetly up at him and pull him closer.

I think he finally understands my notes and what I’ve always been thanking him for. Because, then? He kisses me and the world watches, and neither one of us cares.

Well, Cara begins to care because she’s being squished between us. She pushes on both of us, indicating we should stop.

“Later,” he says to me as he steps back.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

* * *

After we’ve loaded up the back of Charlie and Marla’s gigantic SUV, and he’s tapped out a brief text message into his iPhone, he slyly glances over at me. “Your mom wanted us to text her as soon as we got the car loaded,” he says by way of explanation. “There’s a party planned at your newly-remodeled house in Alamo Square, which we—your mom, Marla, and me—oversaw in terms of paint and plaster and general agreements on this is what Tally would want in terms of style.” He grins and adds, “Lest there be any doubt about what’s going to happen next. I know how you hate surprises, so I’m telling you now. Just act surprised for them all because I’m in good with your parents, especially your mom, and I want to keep it that way.” He raises an eyebrow, looking at me quizzically, practically daring me to disagree. All I can do is nod.

He’s in good with my parents, especially my mother? Awesome; and really? No surprise there.

This little crevice starts to form in the middle of his forehead. He sighs a little, and it makes me laugh. “I
really
wanted to do this differently. There’s this place by San Francisco Bay that I thought would be perfect, but you’re not going to want to wait for all of that, are you?”

He doesn’t give me a chance to answer before he’s reached into the glove box and now holds out an old-fashioned ring box in the palm of his hand. I instantly recognize the ring box from Valentine’s Day over a year ago. I swallow hard somewhat unprepared for this moment but having wanted it for so long, I struggle with keeping it together now. He flips open the box revealing the marquis diamond inside. It’s unique and absolutely breath-taking.

“It was my mother’s ring. I want you to have it. Tally…” His voice breaks down. He starts again. “Talia…Landon, will you marry me?”

My eyes sting. Behind us, ever-patient in her car seat, Cara claps her hands vying for attention in her own sweet girl way. Meanwhile, Linc stares at me deliberately willing me to answer. “Yes. Yes. Yes, Lincoln Presley, I’ll marry you.”

With a shaking one-handed gesture, he slips the delicate ring onto my left ring finger. It seems apropos that Cara should be our witness. We break our gaze from each other at the same time and look back at our daughter.

“Yes,” I say again. “I’ve always wanted to marry you.
Always
. I love you, Linc.”

“There’s no comeback to a line like that.”

“It’s not a line.” I smile at the memory of when we first said this to each other.

He frowns. “If I say it back now, it will look like I’m just copying you.”

“What are you? In
high school
?”

“Not anymore.” He grins. “You?”

“Not anymore.”

“I love you, Tally Landon. I love you. I’ve loved you from the first moment we met; in that first second of looking into your eyes in what must have been the saddest moment of your life, but I knew…it would always be
you
.”

My throat gets tight. The banter between us from a few minutes before fades. Cara studies us both; her wide-eyed, childish gaze goes back and forth from Linc to me just taking it all in. My lips part and I can’t help but smile because I’m caught up in the amazing light and utter joy of him and his never-ending love.

He is Wonderland to me.

“Me, too,” I finally say. “I already knew on some subconscious level that you meant everything to me even on that day.”

* * *

We begin our short journey headed north on the 101, which clearly symbolizes the start of our life together. I catch my breath and let it out slowly taking it all in, while Linc concentrates on the road and Cara starts to doze off.

And this is real.

Real, but surreal.

I’m with Lincoln Presley in Charlie and Marla’s Escalade, and we’re heading north on the 101.

After few minutes of uncertainty, I reach for Cara’s little backpack and hand Linc the cashier’s check from inside. Rob came clean in six million different ways just last night.

“What’s this?” he asks.

“Your life savings. Your signing bonus. She took it from you, and I’m returning it. It’s yours. She had no right to it.”

I sigh, unable to actually utter Nika’s name. I’m not completely cured of all of my fears or insecurities.
No.
I’m cured just enough
.

“She invested it in Rob’s start-up company, but he can get the funding from somewhere else, not with money she
stole
from you. She…she lied to him, too, about everything.”

“I really don’t want to talk about Rob Thorn,” Linc says getting this stormy look.

“Probably not, but you should know that I know about the six hundred thousand you put in his bank account. Thank you for that. He didn’t tell me. About a lot of things. How he’d hooked up with Nika some time ago.”

“Tally, I really don’t want to talk about Rob Thorn and Nika Vostrikova.”

I nod but I steel myself to finish this. “He asked me at least ten times to marry him, and I accepted one of his proposals because it was easier, and he deserved that much, at the time. But I could never bring myself to marry him because regardless of how things were going between us—good or bad—I still hung onto this thread of hope that things might turn out the way I wanted them to…someday. I kept remembering what my mom said to me once a long time ago about being happy, making mistakes and not being so perfect, and what I wanted to do…
you
.” I laugh. “Sorry that didn’t come out right….”