Alicia bit her lip and leaned against the door of her apartment. Colin had left her with a few lovely, lingering kisses and a promise that he would call her. She wasn’t sure she believed he would.
And given her usual habit of keeping people at a distance, she wasn’t sure whether she wanted him to or not.
Running her fingers through her hair, she pushed away from the door and went back to the bedroom. Yanking a nearly empty suitcase from under the bed, she sank to the floor and pulled out a large manila envelope. She opened it and leafed through the collection of documents it contained. Her birth certificate, actors’ union documents, and Social Security card she put carefully back into the envelope. She spent a moment looking at the simple piece of folded paper that was the program from the first play she had ever acted in, then added it back to the collection.
She was left with a faded photograph, soft and almost floppy with wear. She ran a fingertip over the family of blond people, strangers to her now. Five small children sitting cross-legged on a dingy braided rug on the floor, three older children lined up on the sagging couch behind them. The wall behind the sofa was a dark mass of fake wood paneling. She could still smell the stale cigarettes, feel the couch springs poking into her skinny butt and legs.
A toddler sat on the oldest girl’s lap, baby fingers tangled in the teenager’s long blond hair that had never yet been touched by a pair of scissors. Mother, heavily pregnant, standing next to the girl, her hand on her daughter’s thin shoulder as if the older woman needed the support. Father at the other end of the sofa, staring hard and uncompromising into the camera’s lens.
Alicia focused on the toddler. She could almost feel the warm weight of the child on her lap again, the tickle of her hair under Alicia’s chin when she cuddled her close just before the photograph was taken. The tiny girl’s large brown eyes gazed at the photographer, blond curls clustering around her small head. Her little rosebud mouth was slightly open as if she was about to ask a question.
She was always asking questions.
Alicia wondered if the habit had been squeezed out of her. That’s what happened. No force, no physical abuse. Just the steady squeeze of disapproval, prayer, and work.
She slid the photograph back into the envelope with shaking fingers and replaced it in the suitcase. Pushing the luggage under the bed, she stood up, dusting her hands on the seat of her shorts and closing her eyes.
I’m so sorry, Gracie.
Colin shut the front door and dropped his keys into the little brass bowl on the table in the hall. He rubbed his fingertips lightly over his lips as he walked back through the house to the kitchen. He had wondered, bending to kiss her goodbye at her front door, if he would see the sexual aggressor of the night before, the sensuously assured woman of this morning, or any of the other myriad shifting surfaces she had shown him since he met her.
She had shown him none of those. Just a new face: a considering, thoughtful face that kissed him back but also seemed to be perfectly happy to slide into her solitude in that little garden flat. At least for the time being.
They both had a lot to think about.
He dug through his briefcase and pulled out a briefing on a big potential client for the firm, seating himself at the high counter in the kitchen to look it over. He had told Alicia that he usually worked on a Saturday, and that was the truth. But the printed words seemed to slide from under his eyes. His brain couldn’t gain any traction on the facts and figures. Digging his phone out of his pocket, he checked his calendar for the date of the meeting he needed to read this for. Thursday. Fine. He had some time.
Pushing the report back into his bag, he stood and paced around the kitchen, assessing it with the eyes of a stranger. He looked at the large, open room: the dark, flat-front cabinets, the white marble counter, the dining area with its reclaimed wood sideboard and table surrounded with comfortable chairs. His eyes flicked to the large painting that dominated the room. A mown field with a lone tree standing sentinel, a summer storm brewing in the sky.
He had chosen all of these things. He supposed they might say something about him. He had thought to do the same with her apartment, to suss out who she was by how she arranged her home and her life, but that wasn’t her home. She didn’t have one. She barely owned anything. For some reason, this bothered him.
Glancing around the room again, he wondered what exactly anyone could glean from his home—aside from his tastes and the money he had to indulge in them. His house, his possessions, they said little about who he was.
So, what was it that bothered him so much about her lack of a fixed address, of possessions? Was it that he wanted her to buy into the same structures that he had?
Or did he just want her to stay?
Restlessly, he walked back to the front door and, grabbing his keys, went outside. Another walk would do him good.
Alicia wandered back through the little kitchen into the living room of her apartment. If she had been anyone else, she would probably be on the phone with a friend, picking the last twenty-four hours apart. Or maybe making plans to meet over drinks later. But Alicia’s experience had taught her friendships were transient things, sliding off her like her life was coated in Teflon. She remembered Kathleen and Wendy with a pang. They had really seemed to care, even celebrating her new job.
But the production was over. Everyone always went their own ways when shows were done. Why should Kathleen and Wendy be different from anybody else in Alicia’s life?
Alicia sat on the sofa and opened up her iPad. Oh, goody. An e-mail from Susan. The universe, fickle thing that it was, seemed to be saying, “You wanted a friend? Here. This is what you deserve.” She opened it.
To: Alicia Johnson
From: Susan Vernon
Subject: All Good Things Must Come to an End
Hey Sweetie—
Great to hear from you. Yes, the show is getting a New York run, but I’ve decided to move on. It was a great part, but I want a new challenge. And also, not to deal with the nonstop drama that is the Paul and Cath show.
Alicia shook her head. Yeah, her not staying with the cast was definitely not her decision. But leave it to Susan to spin—or outright lie—about a thing so it looked like it was her idea.
I’ll be glad to be back in New York, though. When are you returning to civilization? Too bad the rich lobbyist didn’t pan out.
Alicia almost snorted when she read that. How much had changed in just a few weeks.
She was contemplating her response when a tap at the front door startled her. Standing, she rubbed her hands on her shorts and walked over to peer through the peephole. Unlocking the door and opening it, she leaned on the jamb, trying for an outward cool that she didn’t feel inside.
“Colin.”
His hair was disheveled, as if he had just run his fingers through it. His expression was exasperated.
“I don’t know why I’m here,” he said, then stopped, looking at the ground. “No,” he said, looking at her again. “I do know. I can’t stop thinking about you.”
Alicia felt a flutter in her stomach. She swallowed hard, trying to tamp the feeling down. “Well, you dropped me off about an hour ago. I’d like to think you couldn’t forget me that fast. I’d worry that you’d suffered a head injury.”
The exasperated expression remained, but it was lightened by a humorous glint in his eyes. “That’s not what I mean and you know it.”
The flutter intensified. “I…guess you’d better come in, then.” She stepped away from the door and waved him inside. His height, the breadth of his shoulders…he seemed to fill up the little space, even in his distracted state.
“Sit,” she said. “You’re making me nervous.”
“That wasn’t my intention.” Colin sank to the sofa and passed a hand across his face, the roughness of his unshaven skin rasping audibly against his fingertips. “Honestly, I probably shouldn’t have come. It was just…I went home, tried to work, couldn’t concentrate. I was restless and went for a walk. I ended up here.”
Alicia shifted her weight, still at a loss for words, and folded her arms across her chest.
Colin took a deep breath and rubbed his thumb and forefinger over his eyes. “I don’t know what to tell you except that you have gotten under my skin. You’re smart and lovely and maddening and defensive, and you challenge me in ways I didn’t know I needed or wanted challenging.”
She continued to look at him, eyes scanning his face, coming to a decision.
“I’m intruding. This was a mistake. I should go.” He started to push himself to his feet.
“No.” Her voice was quiet, but she uncrossed her arms, extending one hand, encouraging him to stay seated. “No. It’s okay. Let me get you a glass of water.” She moved to the kitchen and filled a glass from the tap. Returning and handing it to him, she walked out again, this time to the bedroom.
Puzzled, Colin sipped the water and put the glass down on the coffee table.
When she returned, her steps were slow. She had something in her hand—a postcard or a photograph, he couldn’t tell. Folding herself into the opposite corner of the couch, she looked at the paper—it was a photograph, he could see that now.
“You were more right than you knew about my performance,” she said, handing him the picture. He took it, but didn’t look at it immediately. Her eyes held his in a steady gaze. “More right than I knew either. I didn’t like to think about it until you brought it up.”
Baffled, he looked at the photo. A faded group shot. A family, it seemed, from the resemblances on display. A large family. His gaze found Alicia at once. She was instantly recognizable, though much younger, and her wheat-blond hair was Rapunzel-long. She stared ahead, her expression serious, not quite looking into the camera lens, but somewhere beyond the photographer.
Then he registered the toddler on her lap. Boy or girl, it was impossible to tell at that age. The child’s clothes were faded but clean, and Alicia’s arms were curled protectively, hands curving around the baby’s rounded belly. Hers?
“My baby sister Gracie,” she said as if she could read his thoughts. “My Juliet, you might say.”
Pulling her bare feet up onto the couch, Alicia wrapped her arms around her legs and rested her chin on her knees. Colin looked from the photograph to her face, then back to the picture.
“I raised her. At least for a few years.” Alicia’s voice sounded like it was coming from far away. “Mom was…well, she got pregnant way too fast after Gracie. Then lost that one. It wasn’t the first time that happened.”
Colin set the picture on the table, then reached a hand out toward her. She looked at it, her expression blank for a few moments, then placed her hand in his and allowed him to pull her over to him, turning her body so her back was cradled against his chest.
“Mom was pretty sick and weak for a long time. And also probably depressed, though I didn’t know anything about that at the time. Dad didn’t seem to care, just went around expecting the house to operate like it always had. And Gracie…she needed someone. She needed me. And when Mom got better…sort of…Gracie kept being my responsibility.”
“That’s a lot to take on for—what? Sixteen?”
“Fifteen.”
“Jesus, Alicia.”
“I knew kids who took on a lot more a lot younger. I mean, I had always helped out with the younger kids. But Gracie was…it was like she was mine. So yeah, I really was like Juliet’s nurse. I do know how it feels to fail a child that isn’t your own but feels like it is.”
Colin squeezed his arm tightly around her, pressing her closer.
“For three years, she was my responsibility. And then…on my eighteenth birthday, I left. I ran. I left a note explaining that I was done, not to look for me. I didn’t want to turn into a missing persons case—I just wanted out. But I couldn’t take Gracie with me. Even if she had been mine, I barely knew what I was going to do to take care of myself.”
“Alicia…”
“Don’t say it.” Alicia pinched the bridge of her nose, her voice thickening.
“You don’t know what I was going to say.”
She leaned her head back to his shoulder, looking up at him. “Well, you were either going to blame me for leaving her behind or tell me what a hero I was for getting out. Either way, it doesn’t help.”
He paused for a moment, choosing his words with care. “Actually, I was merely going to say that it sounds like you had your pick of bad choices to make. Save yourself or stay for your sister. No matter what you chose to do, it was bound to hurt.”
Alicia swallowed. “Yeah,” she said, her voice barely rising to a whisper. “So. Now that you know what kind of fucked up situation I came from, you still want to be here?”
Colin pressed his cheek to the crown of her head. “You don’t get any less interesting the more I learn about you,” he said.