My cell phone’s jingle jarred me awake. I glanced at the clock as I reached for the phone and groaned when I saw the time. Who had the nerve to call me at seven o’clock on a Saturday morning?
My annoyance turned to fear. Did Uncle Bosco have a heart attack? Did Aunt Harriet?
“Carrie dear, good morning!”
“Mom?” I yawned. “Do you know what time it is?
“I hope I didn’t wake you. I figured there was a good chance you had to get up to go to work, and if you weren’t working today, you must have a slew of errands to run.”
I grimaced. As usual, my mother had an excuse for everything she did. “Is everything okay?”
“Of course—relatively speaking.” My mother sounded peeved. “I thought you’d be happy to know that Tom and I are here in Clover Ridge. We arrived yesterday afternoon. There were so many problems to take care of, I didn’t get a chance to call you sooner. For one thing, the car rental place didn’t have the model I specifically asked for. And they’d assured me …”
I tuned out her litany of complaints about the rental car and then the house they were renting as I tried to wrap my head around the fact that my mother and her husband were in Clover Ridge a week earlier than expected. That meant they’d be here seven days in addition to the weeks or months it would take to shoot the movie Tom was in.
“But why did you come so early?” I asked, when she finally finished. “I thought you were arriving next week.”
“Shooting begins a week from Monday. Most of the cast is arriving next weekend, but Tom thought it would be good to run through his lines in the locations where they’ll be filming his scenes. I convinced the rental agent to let us have the house a bit earlier, and it’s a good thing I did. I read him a list of the glitches I’ve discovered. He promised to send over a handyman to start repairs tomorrow.” She made a scoffing sound. “We’ll see if he follows through.”
“Well, I’m glad everything will be taken care of,” I said. Smoky Joe jumped on the bed, and I stroked him absent-mindedly. “Now that I’m awake, I should start getting ready for work.”
“Tom and I would love to see you tonight. I thought we’d go out for dinner—unless you already have plans.”
“Dylan’s working today—in his office in New Haven. We were planning to go out tonight, but I have no idea what time he’ll be getting home. He might not be up for company.” I knew I sounded as uncooperative as I felt. Describing my mother as difficult was like saying Mount Everest was a bit of a hike. Spending time with her always left me wrung out and unhappy.
“Carrie dear, why are you turning this into a problem? I’m your mother. Don’t you think it’s time I met your boyfriend?”
“You met Dylan when we were little. He and Jordan used to play together when we spent summers on the farm.”
“That’s not the same thing and you know it. After all, your father knows Dylan quite well, I understand.”
I sighed, exasperated. “That’s right. Dad knows Dylan because Dylan got him his job.”
“Helping to catch thieves instead of being one,” my mother jeered. “The perfect new career for Jim Singleton.”
“Mom, please don’t start. We’ll go out for dinner with you and Tom tonight. I’ll call or text you with the name and address of the restaurant. Say seven fifteen?”
“Perfect. I look forward to seeing you,” she said. “Now I must go. Tom’s calling me.”
I exhaled a deep sigh of frustration as I padded to the bathroom. My mother’s call had put a damper on the day. I knew better than to get pulled into her machinations, but somehow she always managed to make me feel guilty or wrong-footed. I knew I hadn’t been very welcoming just now, but that was the result of our past history.
As I got dressed for work, I thought about my mother. She’d had a hard time of it, raising Jordan and me practically as a single mother. My father had come and gone. He was the greatest father when he was around—showering attention on my brother and me, the fun parent to be with—but unfortunately that wasn’t very often. I had been grateful to have Jordan in my life, the one and only stable older person, though he was just four years older than me.
I had to face the fact that my mother—who used to be Linda Singleton and now went by Brianna Farrell—had never been maternal. She’d seen to it that I had food to eat and clothes to wear, but she’d never nurtured me the way my friends’ mothers nurtured them—listening to their worries and hurts, cooking special dishes simply because they liked them. She’d made me feel I was a responsibility she was obliged to deal with, a responsibility she didn’t much want.
I was glad when she met Tom a few years after divorcing my father. Tom Farrell was nice and easy on the eyes, with blond Tab Hunter-type looks. He was twelve years younger than my mother and apparently adored her. He liked being the center of her attention and allowed her to manage him to a large degree. She relished taking care of her handsome hubby. Tom had originally worked in finance, but when an uncle died and left him a considerable amount of money four years ago, he revved up his acting career—which until then had been limited to local acting productions—with a vengeance. They moved to Hollywood, where Tom’s good looks had snagged him a few small roles.
My mother loved being married to an actor. I had gathered as much from the few notes and emails she’d sent me. It led me to believe that she’d changed. Had grown warmer. More family minded. And so a year ago I’d asked if I could come and stay with her and Tom for a short while. I’d been feeling blue and needed some downtime in a safe environment. I thought spending time with her and Tom would be ideal. Her response was brief, almost to the point of curtness, and cut me to the bone. She was sorry, but it wasn’t a good time for them to have company. Company? Feeling even worse, I asked Aunt Harriet and Uncle Bosco if I could stay with them. They welcomed me with open arms. And I had been in Clover Ridge ever since.
I called Dylan.
“Hi, babe. I had a great workout at the gym and I’m about to leave for the office. Everything okay?”
“I just got off the phone with my mother. She and Tom have moved into their rented house in town.”
“Already? I thought they were coming next week.”
“Exactly. But they’re here now and want to have dinner with us tonight.”
“Sure. Shall I make reservations? Someplace elegant?”
“Casual’s fine. I was thinking Bernie’s Bistro would be a good choice, since it’s on the Sound. I said seven fifteen. Let me know if they can take us then and I’ll call my mother.”
“Sure, but … Carrie, are you okay with this? You don’t sound happy.”
“I’m not, but we have to get together with them sooner or later. May as well do it tonight.”
“All right. I’m looking forward to meeting your mother and her actor husband.”
“Really? Didn’t you meet her a long time ago in the summer when Jordan and I came to stay at the farm?”
“Not that I remember.”
I laughed. “That’s not surprising, given how much she hated coming here. Which makes me wonder why she was so eager to suggest Clover Ridge as the perfect setting for this movie.”
At six fifteen Dylan and I were on our way to have drinks at my mother and Tom’s place before the four of us set out for dinner. She’d invited us when I’d called to give her directions to the restaurant. The small ranch house my mother and Tom were renting was located a few blocks off the main road I took each morning on my drive to work.
Tom opened the door, a cocktail glass in his hand, and bussed my cheek. “Carrie! So nice to see you.”
“Thank you. Nice to see you, too. This is Dylan Avery, my boyfriend. Dylan, Tom Farrell, my mother’s husband.”
Dylan and Tom shook hands and exchanged pleasantries. Two good-looking, fit men. One dark, one fair—ten years apart in age, by my reckoning.
Then why did Tom seem more boyish? Dylan’s expressions varied, of course, but he always struck me as focused, resolute, and confident while Tom came across as—bland. His expression—wistful. Hopeful?
“I thought I heard the doorbell. Hello, hello! So nice to finally get to see you!”
My mother approached, a broad smile on her lips. She, too, held a glass in her hand. Her short, blonde hair perfectly framed her face, which for a woman of fifty-six was amazingly devoid of any wrinkles. Of course! A facelift. I almost burst out laughing to see we were dressed exactly the same—tunics over black leggings and knee-high boots.
“Carrie!” She air-kissed both my cheeks. “You look wonderful.”
“So do you,” I said, meaning it.
“And you must be Dylan!” He warranted a hug and a real kiss. “Jordan’s dear childhood friend. So serendipitous how things work out.”
“Nice to meet you …”
“Brianna.” She laughed, showing white-capped teeth. “A new name for my new life. Tom, dear, why don’t you take their jackets. Alas, there’s no room in the hall closet—so small. Leave them in the spare bedroom.”
Dylan and I shrugged off our jackets and handed them to Tom, who disappeared and returned as my mother was ushering us into the living room. I sat on the beige sofa next to Dylan, while my mother perched on one of the two armchairs covered in a garish orange-and-brown fabric.
“You just arrived yesterday,” I said. “You didn’t have to have us over for drinks.”
“It’s our pleasure, isn’t it, Tom?”
“Mmm,” Tom said, as he leaned against the outer wall.
“What would you like to drink?” my mother asked. “We’ve Scotch sours, which we’re drinking, and a bottle of red wine.”
Dylan asked for a Scotch sour and I opted for the wine. Tom disappeared into what I imagined was the kitchen to fill our requests.
My mother pointed to the small plate of peanuts on the coffee table between us. “Have some.”
Dylan scooped up a handful of nuts. Tom returned with our drinks, and we all lifted our glasses in a toast to everyone’s good health.
“Tom, tell us about the movie,” I said. “It’s so exciting that you’ll be starring in a movie that’s being shot right here in Clover Ridge.”
Tom’s eyes lit up. “I’m not the star, by any means, but I’ve got a fairly large secondary role. The film’s a romantic comedy called I Love You, I Do. The plot is similar to Noël Coward’s Private Lives. An older couple that divorced a few years earlier find themselves staying in the same hotel with the people they’re currently engaged to—considerably younger, in both cases. They end up spending time together and realize they’re still in love.”
“And the two young rejected fiancés end up together,” my mother added, not looking pleased. “The ending’s very different from the Coward play.”
Tom sighed. “Of course it is, Brianna. But it’s easier to explain the similarities.” He turned back to Dylan and me. “Anyway, I play the leading lady’s fiancé.”
My mother grimaced. “And the actress who Tom ends up with joined the cast two days ago. Tom, I hope she learns her lines and doesn’t make you look bad.”
Tom exhaled a huff of exasperation.
“Why was she hired so late?” I asked. “You knew months ago you were in this movie.”
“Because the actress originally cast in the role is drying out in a rehab center.” Tom turned to my mother. “Ilana will be great. You needn’t be concerned about her learning her lines. She’s a terrific actor.”
“As long as she remembers she’s your love interest in the movie and not in real life,” my mother muttered.
What’s going on here? I wondered as Tom strode off, no doubt to refill his drink.
“Anyway, I Love You takes place in a small country village,” my mother went on, as if nothing had happened. “As soon as Tom got the part and I read the script, I realized that Clover Ridge would be the perfect setting—historic buildings around the Green, the Long Island Sound with its restaurants and marinas. Mountains in the distance. I made a few calls to find out if we could film the movie here.”
Tom rejoined us in time to hear her latest comment. He rolled his eyes. “Come on, Brianna, Dirk had already decided to film in Clover Ridge.”
My mother sniffed. “Maybe. At any rate, he appreciated my input.”
Tom cleared his throat. “I believe his actual words were, ‘We all appreciate your care and interest in the project.’”
Why are Tom and my mother squabbling? Is she really worried about this actress?
To fill the dead silence, I asked, “Who’s Dirk?” I peered into my glass, surprised to discover that I’d finished off my wine.
“Dirk Franklin is the director,” Tom said. “His cousin, Liane Walters, lives here in Clover Ridge. He’d spent some time here years ago and figured it would be the perfect place to shoot this movie.”
“I know Liane!” I said. “She’s on the library board of trustees with Uncle Bosco.”
When neither my mother nor Tom responded, I exchanged glances with Dylan. He shrugged and gestured to the front door.
“Shall we move on to the restaurant?” I suggested.
My mother exhaled a deep sigh. “You know, all this traveling and dealing with repairs has wiped me out. I’m afraid I’ll have to beg off for tonight. Tom and I will join you for dinner another time.”
I glanced at Tom, but he’d hurried off to get our jackets.
“Of course.” I bussed my mother’s cheek. “Talk to you soon.”