Close Match Page 6

  Reaching up, I squeeze his hand before letting it go. “Nothing. Nobody can.”

  He sits down in the row behind me. “How’s Bristol? Are she and Simon holding up okay?”

  If there’s one good thing that’s come out of this, it’s the fact the media’s realized the true nature of my sister’s relationship with my costar and they’ve left it alone. For now. I shrug. “We’re all messed up, Pas. I feel like the stars are all misaligned, and we don’t know which one to follow. There was so much left for her to do with her life…” My voice trails off.

  We’re both silent thinking of different roles my mother will never experience; Pasquale’s probably thinking of the ones who could take place on the stage in front of us whereas I’m thinking of the ones that involve her being called Nana. Still, I speak nothing but the truth when I admit, “I feel closer to her here than I do to her at home. It’s easier to imagine that she’s going to come out from stage right just in time to hit her cue.”

  Pasquale drops his head until it rests on my shoulder. I go on. “I can’t begin to contemplate finishing out the rest of my life without her, let alone the show. She’d demand I do both in a grand style though—that was her way.”

  “Yes, it was,” he agrees.

  “When do I have to be back?” I ask somberly. My understudy has been performing well, but I can only imagine the complaints the office is fielding. Grief or not, the show has to go on. People paid an enormous sum for the tickets, so I don’t get the luxury of grief.

  “It’s only been a week, Linnie. I can hold them off for maybe another…”

  I shake my head. “Give me a few more days. Let me talk to Simon. We’ll have to prepare Bris, but after that, we’ll finish out our contracts.”

  He lets out a huge sigh. “I figured you’d be telling me you wouldn’t be signing a new one.”

  Tugging the bottle next to me again, I take another drink before offering it to him. He politely declines. I turn to face him before I whisper, “If it was happening to you, would you be able to go more than another few weeks singing the songs that were written to showcase a woman’s love for her mother?”

  He leans forward and presses his lips to my forehead. “No…but then again, I’m not as strong as you are.” Pushing to his feet, Pasquale makes his way down the aisle. I turn and face the stage again.

  Wishing this was just a tragedy I was watching onstage and not feeling in my heart.

  * * *

  “You don’t have to go back right away,” Bristol argues when I head to her and Simon’s condo located three buildings down from mine. “They can’t make you, can they?”

  Simon and I exchange glances. “Both of our contracts say a ‘reasonable bereavement period,’” Simon begins.

  “Two weeks isn’t reasonable,” Bristol snaps. I agree, but I need to point something out to my distraught sister.

  “Bris, I might be able to get away with that, but Simon won’t be able to. He may love Mom like his own, but our contracts state ‘immediate family.’” I knock on wood. “Unless it were Marco, he wouldn’t be able to remain out of the show indefinitely.”

  “What a load of crap.” Bristol begins pacing back and forth.

  “If Simon goes back, I should as well. We need to show a unified front. Besides—” My voice breaks. “It’s what Mom would want.”

  Bristol stops in place, facing me. Tears fill her eyes. “Yeah, she would.”

  “I don’t think you should go back to the firm until after your doctor’s appointment next week though,” I argue vehemently. I’m so concerned about the added stress my mother’s death has put on my sister’s pregnancy.

  “I promise, I won’t,” she assures me.

  Turning to Simon, I hesitantly ask, “So, should we say the matinee on Saturday? If it goes well, we’ll stay for Saturday night?”

  He gives me a tight nod. While we’d both love nothing more than to walk away and not look back, we know we’d essentially be causing the shutdown of Miss Me.

  Saturday it is.

  * * *

  The standing ovation at Sunday night’s performance leaves me feeling empty. As I lower myself into a curtsy for the third time, the applause thunders through the theater, but it’s muffled as if I’m standing in a sound booth. Was the stage supposed to restart the emotions that have been trickling away every moment since Mom died?

  Simon gently tugs at my hand. We’re both feeling this. Since the first time since he met my sister, he forgot his tradition of dousing his breath with something heinous. Then again, his lips also landed somewhere in the vicinity of one of my dimples. With the way my body was bent, no one could tell but us. It just was another glaring reminder of how off our game we were.

  We didn’t deserve these ovations; truth be told we didn’t deserve to be on the stage. With an aching heart, I make my way back to my dressing room and close the door so I can change and go home. Tomorrow, I’ll try to dance away the heartbreak in my soul.

  If that’s even possible.

  Ten

  Evangeline

  June

  I’m about to slip out the door when my cell rings. “What’s up, Bris?”

  “You need to come over to Mom’s.” Her voice is subdued.

  I take a deep breath and let it out in a shudder. I haven’t been to my mother’s in weeks, not since the first few days after her death when Bristol and I picked out her outfit for her viewing. Bristol’s been back a few times alone to mark the items we decided we wanted to keep before the auctioneers come through. Although the proceeds of Mom’s penthouse will be donated to charity, there are still family items which need to be removed.

  “I’ll be right there.” Quickly, I disconnect. Figuring whatever it is won’t take too long, I snatch up my dance bag and stride out the door. While I won’t make it to the first class, I should be able to get in a decent workout today.

  And bury my feelings of grief for a little while longer.

  Stepping inside the elevator, I press “2” instead of “L.” Mom’s building is connected to mine through the fitness facility floor. Pulling out my access pass, I use it to buzz in before striding over to the elevator bank that will lead me directly to her penthouse. I key in the code and use the dongle on my keys to gain access to the elevator that will open directly into her much more modern setup.

  I brace myself for the essence of her that hasn’t left the space. As I enter, I reach out to touch the cashmere coat handing on a coat tree. She was wearing it the day she had lunch with Bristol and me at Wolf’s shortly before her death. Tears gather in my eyes as I remember Lance and his mother backstage. They were so gracious.

  Bristol and Simon are waiting on the couch. There’s a box sitting on Mom’s glass coffee table. “Mom’s gonna freak if she sees that on her…” And the realization Mom won’t ever see that coffee box is like a shaft of cold steel in my chest. I blink rapidly to keep the tears at bay.

  My sister stands, her face pale, and steps around Simon to hold out her hands. “Mom wouldn’t care if the box was on her table knowing we found what was in it, Linnie.”

  Shit. A shiver runs through me. “Why do I just feel like someone danced on my grave?” I bravely try to joke.

  “It’s not your grave—or should I say ashes—that should be shaking. It’s your mother’s,” Simon says brutally.

  Looking at how pale Bristol is, I take a wild guess. “And Dad’s?”

  She hesitates but then grabs hold of my hands tightly before admitting, “My dad’s.”

  The world spins crazily as the implications of what she’s saying starts to sink in.

  “Dear God.”

  * * *

  “I can’t believe I’m not your sister,” I whisper to Bristol as I clutch my mother’s letters against my chest.

  She shoves me. “We are sisters. I never want to hear you say that again.” The tears that flood her eyes drown my already broken heart.

  Quickly, I rephrase. “I never imagined I wasn’t D
ad’s.”

  “It never crossed my mind either,” she admits. But then her brow furrows. “Do you remember when we were still in school and they separated for a bit?”

  Understanding sweeps through me. “It was after that he became so cold toward me. You think he found all of this?”

  “We found out about his cancer, and he moved back in.” Biting her lip, Bristol turns her head to face the expansive view of Central Park I paid a huge chunk of change for. Simon carried the box out of my mother’s place the minute he was confident we were both okay. Right now, he’s getting us some cheesecake before we tackle the rest of the box back in the comfort of my home.

  “So, we’ll never know if they resolved their issues or if he just came home to die,” I conclude. Or if he did accept me as his own. Patrick Todd, world-class financier, raised me from the time I was born. Doesn’t that count for something? In more ways than the blood running through my veins, wasn’t I his?

  If not, who do I belong to?

  Jumping up from my couch, I head over to the freezer. I pull it open and immediately find what I’m looking for. I snag the pint of ice cream and slam the door. Grabbing two of my coffee spoons that sit in a container next to my coffeepot, I stomp back into the living room and drop on the sofa next to Bristol. Handing her a spoon, I peel back the top and dive in

  She doesn’t hesitate, though she offers up a logical “Didn’t we ask Simon to go get cheesecake?”

  I mutter, “I have a feeling we’re going to need both.”

  Leaning her head on my shoulder, she whispers, “You might be right.”

  And that’s how Simon finds us when he gets back, jabbing elongated spoons into a melty tub of Triple Chocolate Brownie. Just being.

  And trying to figure out who exactly we are in light of the mess scattered across my coffee table.

  * * *

  Bless her organized heart. Bristol has made a list of all the possible things we might need to do, including hiring a psychic to try to converse with our mother on the other side. “I don’t think that one’s going to work out so well, Bris,” I chortle. Laughing is something I never expected to do in this situation. Then again, I never expected to be in this situation to begin with.

  “It’s better than randomly asking men on the productions she worked on if Mom slept with them.” But she’s giggling too. She strikes a line through both suggestions before pausing. “Do you really want to know who your father is, Linnie?”

  I open my mouth and shut it. In the span of seven hours, I feel like my entire life has changed. I’ve gone from knowing who I am with a confidence that borderlines arrogance to being so lost I don’t even know where to start to be found. I try to explain.

  “It isn’t just Mom’s lie, Bris. How many people knew—people I work with day in and day out? How many of them kept this from me? I don’t trust anyone but the people in this room. Is this how I’m supposed to feel the rest of my life?”

  “No,” she whispers. I reach for her hand and squeeze it hard.

  “Maybe he knew and didn’t want me. Back then, a single mother still wasn’t readily accepted,” I admit. I also give my mother credit, knowing she would have raised me come hell or high water. “But once your father knew, she should have figured out a way to tell me. There have been twenty years I could have had with her knowing that after the shock wore off, she was still my mother and I loved her.”

  Simon, who has remained quiet for most of the night, says, “Knowing Brielle, I bet she was petrified of your reaction, Linnie. You’re so much like her.” I absorb that quietly before nodding. “But your mother was also like you in another way. She would have confided in her closest friend.”

  Veronica.

  My eyes fly to the clock. It’s not quite six. I can still catch her at the studio. Jumping up, I slide into my mules. “I have to go. I need to see Veronica.”

  Simon pulls Bristol from her seat. “Not without us you don’t.”

  “Fine. We have about an hour before she leaves to go back to her place to bang her newest piece.” Both of them wince. “TMI? Sorry, it’s going to get more explicit before the night’s over.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” Simon mutters as I grab my purse. Bristol wisely grabs my mother’s diary. The three of us head out on our way to the dance studio to find out what my godmother knew.

  And for how long.

  Eleven

  Evangeline

  The last student files out of the class before I dare to enter in my street shoes, something Veronica in her role as Madame would typically gut me for. But before she can, I hold up Mom’s diary that Bristol shoved in my hand while we were waiting and hiss, “Did you know?”

  Veronica pales. “How…where did you find that, Linnie?” Swaying on her feet, Stefano steps forward. Her head tips up to him. “Go. I’ll be fine.”

  He shoots me a dirty look before he brushes his lips against her forehead. I’m taken aback when I realize he truly cares about my godmother, something I never cottoned on to until now. But still, I agree. He’s not family. Then again, I guess I’m not entirely that either according to this book. But I’ll protect my mother’s secrets as long as I can.

  “I’ll shower and call for the car.” At her halfhearted smile, he turns his deep-set eyes at me. “Do not upset her.”

  Bristol jumps in. “Upset her? How about she tells us the goddamn truth and we’ll never bother her again?”

  Tears begin to slide down Veronica’s face. “Darlings,” she cries, but my heart is already dead in my chest. Another betrayal. How many would I have to endure so quickly?

  “There are exactly two people in this world I trust right now, Veronica. And I only know I can trust them because in the last few hours they’ve been as devastated by what’s in this book as I have.”

  “Please, come with me so we can talk.”

  I shake my head adamantly. “Is what she wrote in here true?” My voice is as hard as I want my heart to be.

  Her face crumbles right before she whispers, “Yes.”

  “How could you not tell me?” I demand. I feel Bristol and Simon each lay a hand on my shoulder in support.

  “Linnie, you have to understand. She was in love with Patrick, but they were on a break—”

  I rudely interrupt. “Because of her drinking.” I lash out. Everything that has ultimately gone wrong in my life has had to due to my mother’s drinking. Now we can add her death and the fact my father wasn’t really my father to the list.

  “Yes,” she admits. “I knew she had written things down, but I don’t know what she wrote exactly. During that time, she met a man named Rhett. They met in a bar while we were touring in Chicago. It was brief, Linnie. She told me she did not know for sure until many years later that you were not Patrick’s until he got ill. When they typed his blood, she realized… I may be telling you things you already know.”

  “You confirmed what she wrote, yes,” I agree.

  “Well.” Veronica swallows. “He was sweet. Funny, she said. They spent most of their free time together during that trip. He left. She left. In the end, she and Patrick worked things out. She loved your father.” Her tear-filled eyes drift to Bristol, who’s standing stiffly beside me, feeling her own betrayal over our mother’s actions.

  I believe her. There’s too much there that corresponds with what my mother wrote. Except— “I’m certain Bristol’s father knew well before his illness, Veronica,” I say calmly.

  “No, there is no way,” she denies emphatically.

  “I think he found this book because one day, he went from being my dad to becoming a man with an obligation who allowed me to call him Father. There’s a huge difference, you know. Bris and I used to talk about it, wouldn’t we?” Blindly reaching out, I grab my sister’s hand.

  She clasps it. “Yes. I must have been eight; Linnie would have been twelve? But one day he was…” Her voice trails off.

  “A stranger. Just like Mom is now,” I say sadly.

&
nbsp; Veronica approaches us—in my opinion bravely, in our current state of minds. “Your mother loved you both. You were her biggest blessing. She would have spared you any pain,” she insists. She lifts her hand to touch my hair.

  I jerk back. “Then why did she leave me to find out like this? Why did you?” My voice breaks on the question.

  Veronica’s hand drops without making contact. “Because it was my hope you would never have found out at all,” she whispers.

  My stomach churns with nausea I’m barely beating back, but I know the truth. Evangeline Brogan is just another role I’ve been playing. Only it’s the longest one I’ve had since I’ve been doing it for thirty-three years.

  “Thank you,” I say sincerely. Veronica’s eyes light with hope. “Thank you for being Mom’s confidante when she needed you. Thank you for standing by us during this horrible time, but I think we have it from here.”

  “Linnie,” she whispers.

  “Evangeline,” I snap. The budding hope dies in her eyes. “Linnie is reserved for the few people I can trust. That’s the one name I know is mine. After all…” I let out a bitter laugh. “I’m certainly not Evangeline Katherine Brogan Todd like my birth certificate says I am, right?”

  Turning, I stalk out of Veronica’s studio with Bristol and Simon at my heels. My heart is breaking at the sounds of my godmother’s sobs. Then again, it’s been cracked wide open since I read this journal.

  * * *

  Once we’re back on the Upper West Side, I don’t enter my building right away. “I need to walk. I need to be alone for a while.”

  Simon pulls me into his arms for a hug. “Do you have your cell on you?”

  Nodding into his broad chest, I murmur, “Yes.”

  “Keys, cards?” Bristol comes up and wraps her hand around my bicep.