The keeping place, p.18
The Keeping Place, page 18
The setting was peaceful, hydrangeas clustered close on either side. Baskets brimming with fuchsias and begonias added bursts of color under the awning, and a barely-there breeze carried the heat of early afternoon. Humidity made the cool shade all the more inviting.
Nicole lifted her head with a smile. “I forgot how nice it is back here.”
“This was your grandmother’s favorite place for relaxing.” Glory placed the tray on a low coffee table before settling across from her. At least her hands didn’t shake when she poured the lemonade. By all accounts, they should. She passed a glass to Nicole but set her own aside untouched. “I’ll ask Jude to help me move the boxes.”
“I can do that, Mom.”
Mom.
Three small letters, one simple word that pierced Glory’s heart with the speed and pang of a gold-tipped arrow. It would serve her right if she never heard the name again.
“They’re too heavy, especially the books. But I’m glad you were here to help.” A lump formed in her throat. “I don’t think I could have faced packing things up without you.”
Nicole ducked her head, a soft blush tinging her cheeks. “I’m glad, too, but sad it took something so tragic to bring me home.” She lifted her gaze, eyes wide and searching. “It feels good being here.” A pulsebeat hung between them, impossibly long, looped and strung on a sliver of emotion. “With you.”
“Nic.” It felt like someone sucked the air from Glory’s lungs. Grabbed her stomach and squeezed so hard, her heart might pop from her throat. “I can’t tell you what it means to have you back, but there’s so much that needs to be said.”
A fusion of fear and sadness entered Nicole’s eyes. After setting aside her glass, she leaned forward in the rocker. “Mom, I haven’t pressed you.”
“I know.” Nicole had done more than give her space. She’d remained silent, biding time. Or maybe she’d been waiting Glory out, wanting to see if she’d summon the courage to divulge the past without being forced.
“There’s a reason I haven’t pressed you.” Nicole stood, her face losing color, posture rigid. Her fingers were white, knotted tightly in a vice. “The truth is, I’m not sure I want to know.”
Glory stared uncomprehendingly. At least that was the impression Nicole had looking down on her mom’s upturned face. They’d reached a precipice, each standing at the edge, each with the unquestionable power to send the other plummeting to ruin.
Nicole had been so sure she wanted to hash things out.
There’s so much you don’t know.
But that was before she’d seen Janie’s last written thought.
What I want to do tomorrow.
They’d just spent the afternoon eradicating the past, packing up Janie’s life in tidy, labeled boxes. Was it really worthwhile to dredge up dormant pain and hurt all over again? Glory and Nicole had both made mistakes, but the present was more important than pointing fingers and assigning blame.
“No.” Glory shook her head, a hint of moisture in her eyes. “This has to be said. Ignoring it won’t make it go away.”
“What can be so bad?” Agitated, Nicole paced to the end of the patio. If she’d only been more forgiving, more forthcoming when she’d arrived, she wouldn’t be consumed by such fear now. Anger was a hard beast to control. She’d leashed it, buried it under regret, but what happened when Glory said something to prod the demon awake? “Isn’t it enough that we’ve found our way back to each other?”
“But we haven’t.” Glory stood, eyes unnaturally bright, her expression caught somewhere between hope and fear. “Not until you know what happened that night.”
“I know what happened. I was there.”
“I’m talking about me.” Glory tapped her breastbone. “You were absolutely right. Eddie could have covered for Phyllis. I didn’t have to go to the restaurant. There was no reason for me to, except—”
The sentence broke so abruptly, Nicole found herself unable to silence her curiosity. “Except what?”
Glory wet her lips. “I… I needed something.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I needed attention. The limelight.”
“What?”
Glory’s face crumpled. She paced a short distance away. “Do you remember when I went to Kentville a day before your party?”
“When you came back so upset?” It had been hard to forget the way Glory blew into the house, snapping rather than talking, eventually dissolving into tears behind her closed bedroom door. “You refused to talk about it.”
“I was mortified. Angry. Humiliated more than anything, I suppose.”
“Mom?” A sliver of alarm spiked through Nicole. There was no going back now. She needed to know. “Tell me what happened. Who did you go to see?”
“Everett Barrett.”
The name was vaguely familiar. “I feel like I should know who that is.”
“You’re thinking of his father, Rod.”
The association clicked into place. “Rod was your agent when you were in Hollywood.”
“Yes.” Glory’s smile carried contempt. “In honesty, he wasn’t terrible. He did what he could for my career, but after Fifth Street Sundown, he wanted to disassociate from me. There were high expectations riding on that movie, and when it didn’t perform, someone had to take the blame.”
“You.” Nicole knew this part of the story. Her mother had been the scapegoat for a poorly launched film with a miscast lead. Bryce Keller should have never landed the role, but his star power had been enough to convince the studio and the director. If nothing else, he and Glory had made an exceptionally photogenic couple.
“Everett told me he was writing a book and wanted to meet with me to discuss my time in Hollywood. That’s why I went to Kentville—so we could talk about my memories. It was so silly of me, but I thought he might have been writing a book about me.” She gave a belittling laugh, short and laced with vinegar. “I was so stupid.”
“Mom.”
Glory held up a hand. “You see, that’s how I thought in those days. I was used to being the center of attention in Hornwood, where everyone fawns over me and hangs on my stories of Tinseltown. It never dawned on me I was a second-rate actress in a B-movie that’s only remembered for how badly it bombed.”
“Mom, that’s not true. You were wonderful in Fifth Street Sundown.” Nicole took a step forward, propelled by anger. Her mom might not be Oscar material, but she’d given a credible and emotional performance. “Don’t feed into what the studio heads tried to dump on you. Fans of Fifth Street Sundown love it because it is a good movie. Keller was miscast. His performance is what drags it down. Film critics today acknowledge that.”
“That might be, but Everett Barret knew Keller was the star. It’s why the son-of-a-bitch was writing a book about him.”
It took a moment for the statement to sink in. “You mean…” Stunned realization flooded Nicole. “Barrett wanted to talk to you about Keller? That’s why he asked you to meet him?”
Glory nodded.
No wonder her mother had been devastated. She’d driven a hundred odd miles only to discover the trip was not about her personal memories but her insight into a man she openly despised. Someone she blamed for ruining her career and a chance at Hollywood fame.
“I. Felt. So. Stupid.” Glory spread her hands, her smile a brittle corkscrew. “It was a humiliating experience.”
“Did you talk to him?”
“No! I told him he could shove his book and his questions where the sun doesn’t shine then stormed out of the place. When I got home, all I could think about was the need to vindicate myself. That’s the problem with fame. It’s fickle. If you don’t deliver, it passes you by. I didn’t want to be that washed up, second-rate actress. I was Glory Larkin, star of Hornwood. I needed those accolades to boost my ego, so when Phyllis called and said she was sick, I saw that as an excuse to flaunt myself at the restaurant.”
Nicole digested her reasoning slowly. “But you knew how much the party meant to me.”
“I did.” Glory nodded, doing nothing to hide her shame. “Yet I thought only of myself and my own needs. What kind of mother does that?”
Tears flooded her eyes, but she maintained her posture, straight and tall. Where she’d always basked in the light of adulation, now she stood in the harsh illumination of disgrace. “If I’d only stayed home that night, you wouldn’t have taken Janie with you. She’d still be alive. That’s been my shame and my guilt to carry. What happened to her was not your fault, Nicole. It was mine for being so undeniably selfish. That’s why I’ve been unable to face you for the past ten years. I thought you were better off with your father and Amelia. The last thing I wanted to do was destroy you the way I did Janie.”
“I thought you didn’t talk to me because you blamed me. You shut me out after that night. That’s why I left and went to live with Dad. I had to get away.”
“I shut you out because I couldn’t face you. I was so ashamed. I never wanted you to leave. I thought you left because you blamed me for working that night. As well you should have.”
The truth was staggering. “You’re saying we lost ten years because of a failure to communicate?”
“It looks that way, doesn’t it?” Glory tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I should have been honest with you from the start. I’m not proud of the way I behaved or the things I’ve done, but you’re back in my life, and I want you to stay there. I know Hornwood isn’t home anymore, but that doesn’t mean you can’t visit from time to time. That we can’t stay in touch the way a mother and daughter should.”
“Mom, I feel so stupid.” Tears burned Nicole’s eyes. Ten years of emptiness and guilt would have unfolded differently if she’d only found the courage to be honest. To pave the way for healing rather than turning her back on everyone—her mom, Vin, Chelsea.
“No.” Glory shook her head. “You have nothing to feel stupid for. This isn’t your fault.” She stepped forward to wrap her slim fingers around Nicole’s. “I need to know that you forgive me.”
“Of course I do.”
The tears came freely now. Glory cupped a hand to her mouth, shoulders shaking as she fought sobs. “Do you think Janie does? Do you think it’s possible?” Her voice broke.
Nicole enveloped her in her arms. “She loves you like I do. I know she’s forgiven you, and I know she’s watching over us now.”
A foot in the past.
Suddenly, the inscription on Janie’s bracelet made sense. To move forward, one had to acknowledge the moments that shaped life while at the same time moving beyond them. Like sinking roots into the ground, new growth came from the old.
Her own tears flowed. “From now on, we have to be honest with each other. No more secrets.”
Glory drew back, her expression crestfallen. Despite the warm summer day, her fingers were icy. “I want that, too, but you have to give me time.”
Time? Hadn’t they just dispensed with secrets? “What do you mean?”
Glory hugged her arms to her chest as if cold. “There’s still more I have to tell you, but not now. I just got you back. I don’t want to lose you.”
“What are you talking about?” A sinking sensation unspooled in Nicole’s stomach. “You can’t drop a bomb like that and not follow through.”
“I will. I promise.” Glory swiped a knuckle beneath her eyelash, catching a stray tear. In the shade of the patio, her hair had lost some of its vibrancy, more wheat than white-gold. Tears left her eyes puffy, and half-moons of shadow darkened her lower lids. She looked fragile and brittle, as if she might shatter into pieces if pressed too hard. “Please give me time. That’s all I ask.”
There’s so much you don’t know.
The dread in Nicole’s stomach sprouted thorns. She feared whatever remained unsaid far greater than any revelation Glory had already shared. “Is it about Janie?”
Glory squeezed her eyes shut, her mouth a resolute line. “No. Let’s just finish packing the remaining boxes.” She headed for the patio doors. “We’ll have time to talk later.”
“We have time to talk now.” Nicole’s words wrenched her to an immediate halt. There was no escaping the moment. She was done with putting things off until later, burying them, or pretending they didn’t exist. Her mother had opened this particular can of worms, and the only way to seal it was to divulge its contents.
Glory paused with her hand on the patio door. She stood motionless for a time, then her fingers slipped free. “This won’t be easy for you to hear.” Her shoulders drooped.
Nicole’s pulse drilled against her temple. What could be so dreadful?
At last Glory faced her. “It’s the reason your father left me.”
Nicole wet her lips. Her dad would never talk about it. She just remembered a lot of yelling and arguing. Tears on Glory’s part, her father storming out the door. He’d stayed at a hotel in Bottleneck for a few days then eventually moved out altogether. Even when Nicole had moved in with him and Amelia as a teenager, he wouldn’t discuss what happened. He never spoke ill of Glory but never referred to her, either.
A foot in the past.
Was Janie urging her to face the truth and move on?
She settled onto the rocker. “Tell me.”
Chapter 16
Glory's Past
Glory forced her head high as she approached the doorman outside Bryce’s apartment building. No one rushed to ask her for an autograph or offer congratulations for a movie being blasted by the critics. Snippets of reviews tracked through her head in time with the brisk snap of her heels against the sidewalk.
Click, click, click…
Photogenic appeal aside, Larkin has zero chemistry with Keller.
Click, click, click…
Larkin is gorgeous as Nina Maxwell, but the script overwhelms her.
Click, click, click…
A bit actress prior to Fifth Street Sundown, Larkin seems fated to pass into obscurity, much like this train wreck of a film.
Damn them all! Fifth Street Sundown was to be her shot at stardom. A catapult to fame beyond the blonde-bimbo-meets-grisly-end or the walk-on roles she was accustomed to. Meeting Bryce had opened new doors and changed her life.
It wasn’t just the movie. So what if it wasn’t well received? Plenty of celebrities had duds in their catalog. But as a woman of thirty-three, the clock was ticking. Soon, she would age out, relegated to bit parts, if any at all. Hollywood was cruel, especially to a female actor aging past her prime.
Her mood matched the day, gray and overcast, as if nature had plotted to suck the sun from the sky. A few people scurried past on the sidewalk, heads down, shoulders hunched. No one had time for another living soul, cordoned off in their own miserable lives, trying to survive. Why had she never noticed that side of Hollywood before, beguiled instead by the dream of the spotlight and paparazzi competing to take her picture?
“Miss Larkin.” The doorman’s voice drew her from her thoughts. He tipped his hat and offered a smile. “It’s always a pleasure to see you.”
“Thank you, Humphrey.” At least he treated her with the same polite deference. She regretted she’d never taken the time to learn more than his first name. He appeared a decent man, unlike many of the people she’d once considered friends. Suddenly others were distancing themselves, failing to return phone calls, ignoring messages. Even her agent kept putting her off.
Humphrey held the door for her. “Mr. Keller’s expecting you. Head up. I’ll let him know you’ve arrived.”
“Thanks.” She stepped inside, long familiar from her many visits to Bryce’s penthouse with the lobby’s gold-veined Italian marble floor, deep tray ceiling, and towering trapezoid windows. The elevator dinged immediately, and she pushed the button for the eighteenth floor. She’d phoned earlier, asking to see him, knowing she couldn’t keep her silence any longer. She’d been waiting for the right moment. A celebration perhaps, when the movie was lauded with fanfare, the opening weekend a blockbuster event.
But that was all a pipedream now.
Bryce was waiting when she stepped off the elevator, his expression tight. “Glory. Come in.” Without waiting for her reaction, he headed for a crescent-shaped bar tucked into the corner of his vacuous living room. She’d always loved the spaciousness of the setting, along with the west-facing windows that offered spectacular views of the sun sinking on the Hollywood hills.
Bryce poured two fingers of Scotch in a highball glass. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“No.” Why hadn’t he wrapped her in his arms? Hugged her, kissed her? Not yet noon and he was already drinking. The reviews must have hit hard.
“I… I suppose you’ve seen the critics’ reactions.”
He shrugged, sending her observation rolling like water from his shoulders. At forty-five, he was a fair amount older but had aged gracefully, his black hair barely touched by silver. She’d been intimidated their first few days working together but quickly fell in love with his easy-going manner, the quickness of his smile, and the hint of Irish mischief in his blue eyes. None of that was evident now.
He downed the liquor. “Not the first bad review I’ve had. Probably won’t be the last.”
But it wouldn’t destroy his career. “I wish I could say the same. I’m not certain I’ll get another chance.”
The Bryce she’d fallen in love with would have comforted her, insisted her fears were unjustified. Instead, he poured a second glass of Scotch. He appeared aloof, almost frigid. The coolness fit with the sterile lines of his apartment—all glass, marble, and chrome. She used to love curling into his black leather sofa, a cocktail in hand, but the butter soft material she remembered now looked unwelcoming.
As did Bryce.
“Is something wrong?” Part of her didn’t want to know.
He cocked his head. “Have you seen the tabloids?”
“I’ve seen what they say about us. How we have no chemistry.”
“Maybe they’re right.”
