Good For You

“Hey Deb,” I say, my voice just above a whisper but crashing like waves into the silence. She doesn’t stir, of course. “I like your new room.” Out her window, clouds move in streams across the leaden sky, lazy and slow. It never gets frigid in LA, but winter is stil chil y. “Next time I come, I’l bring a heavier sweater and we’l check out the garden.” Staring at her, I wonder if it’s possible that she can hear me, even if she can’t respond.

I clear my throat. “I’m going to find out who your secret admirer is, too.” I remember giving Bradford the box of clothes and the ivy plant, and I can’t speak around what feels like a fist in my throat. I’ve discarded the notion that the room is from him. He’s too immersed in medical school debt to do anything so extravagant. He checks in with Mom now and then, but the frequency is fal ing off. Bradford is moving on with his life, because he can.

“I decided to go ahead and start at Berkeley next month.” I glance at my watch. “But I’l be around for a few more weeks, and I’l visit on long weekends and breaks.” I’ve only been here eleven minutes. How does my mother stay here, chattering to herself, basical y, for an hour or more at a time?

“I’m starting a new Habitat project in a couple of weeks.

Roberta’s the crew leader on this one. I’m cal ing her tonight, to get details. I’l tel you about it next time.” I adjust her chair so she can see out the window without catching any glare should the sun emerge. I don’t know what she sees, or if she can perceive or mental y process what she sees. Kissing her forehead, I squeeze her limp hand. “I’l be back soon. I love you.”

Using the cal button, I let the nursing staff know I’m leaving and walk down the hal way. Not until I reach the stairwel do my eyes wel up with tears. I breathe in and out, concentrating on keeping control, and I congratulate myself for visiting my sister, alone, for twelve whole minutes.

Chapter 47

REID

“Okay, I’m returning your cal —or should I say calls—since apparently, blatantly ignoring you doesn’t work like it does on normal people. What d’you want, Reid?” I knew this wasn’t going to be painless, but good God, Brooke can stil wind me up as much as she did at fifteen.

When she’s pissed, her Texas drawl shows up. So as much as she’d like me to believe she’s only bothered, the accent tel s me she’s stil angry.

My therapist would say this is a good time to utilize those anger-management tricks I’ve been practicing when dealing with my father. One deep breath, in and out, and then another. Counting to three or ten or fifty before replying. “I don’t want anything, Brooke. I just need to say something, and I’d like you to let me say it. Please.” Silence. Shock? Considering the things we said to each other during our last few conversations, shock would be about right. “So talk,” she says, not as tough as she’d like to sound.

“I want to apologize—”

“Are you kidding me? Is this some kind of twelve-step bul shit? We haven’t spoken in months. You made what you think of me loud and clear. This, Reid, is what’s known as too damned late.”

I run a hand through my hair and over my face and I admit, my first instinct is to abandon this whole plan. After al , Brooke hating my guts matters nada in the general scheme of things. I’m a bigger Hol ywood entity than she is, so I don’t need to worry about her vetoing my ability to obtain roles. But this isn’t about me.

Sucking in another deep breath and pushing it out, slowly, I’m determined to get this apology out or die trying.

“Brooke, I was wrong to abandon you when you found out you were pregnant, no matter what had happened between us. You were my girlfriend, and I should have been there to support whatever decision you made.” She’s not butting in, so I plunge ahead. “The only excuse I have is that I was a child then. Stil , I screwed up, and I’m sorry.” There’s no answer, and I count seconds, wondering if she hung up somewhere during that speech. Almost two minutes tick by. And then, “I was thinking about… trying to find him,” she says. “Not to interfere or anything. Just to make sure he’s okay. Would you… would you want me to let you know what I find out?”

My jaw clenches while I fight the deep-rooted soreness of her betrayal, like a toothache that’s never been dealt with. Not for the first time, I wonder why she acts like she knows it was mine. I’m not saying that to her, though. Not again. With time comes perspective. It doesn’t matter if it—

if he—was or wasn’t mine. “Sure. That’d be fine.” She sighs. “I know what you’re thinking. At the risk of trashing this little interlude, I’l repeat what I’ve said before.

He’s yours. He can’t possibly be anyone else’s because when I turned that stick blue, I’d never slept with anyone but you. So unless it was an immaculate conception, he’s yours.”

Okay, wait. “Brooke, the story, the photos, that guy—”

“Complete tabloid lies. I never cheated on you. Yes, after we had that fight I dirty danced with that guy at that club. I wanted to make you crazy jealous. I wanted you to come running back to me and say I was yours and no one else could have me. I did not, would not have cheated on you. Not with him, not with anyone.”

I’ve been pacing my room, and now I sit heavily on the edge of my bed, suddenly really glad I didn’t cal her when I was out driving around because the surge of adrenaline is making my whole body quake.