“I want you to be the man she needs you to be,” I say. “Because when you tell her you’re coming back, she’s going to believe you.”
He stares at me for a moment before asking, “What about you? Do you believe me?”
“Yes.”
He looks surprised by that.
“That’s not the question, though,” I say. “I don’t doubt you’ll be back. The question is whether you’ll still want to be here.”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because the real world could never compete with what awaited you out there. And maybe you love me—”
“I do.”
“But love doesn’t give you a free pass to come and go. I can’t live somewhere with a revolving door.”
He sits down on the couch, his shoulders slumping as he covers his face with his hands. “Do you want me to quit acting? Is that what you want?”
“Of course not,” I say. “I’m not asking you to give up your dream. I’m asking you to share it. Your work, it’s important, I know, but she’s important, too. You can’t get caught up and forget she’s sitting at home waiting for you. Because you live in a big, big world now, but hers is very small. A day without you is going to be like a day without the sun. Don’t let her days go dark.”
I get up, because I don’t want to do this right now.
“Is that how I made you feel?” he asks.
“It is.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” I say. “It taught me something important.”
“What’s that?”
“Never make someone else the main character in your own story.”
“I’m gonna go to work.”
Jonathan eyes me peculiarly when I say that, stalling in the doorway of the bedroom as he slips on his jacket. “Work.”
“Well, I mean, what used to be my work,” I mumble as I fold the freshly washed uniforms. I woke up this morning to a brand new washer and dryer installed in the apartment, courtesy of the guy currently looking at me like I’ve lost my mind. I told him he didn't need to do that, but they were fancy, with their buttons and sounds and settings, so naturally, I spent all day playing with my new toys. Ugh, I’m getting old. “I need to turn these uniforms back in.”
“I can drop them off for you,” he says, glancing at his watch. “I’ve got some time before getting Maddie from school.”
He comes toward me and tries to grab the uniforms, but I yank them away, clutching them protectively. “No.”
He laughs, holding up his hands. “Fine, I won’t.”
“It’s just… ugh, I haven’t seen the outside world in a long time. I’m starting to forget what sunshine feels like.”
“You’re being dramatic.”
“Am not.”
“It’s been two days.”
He’s right. It’s only been about forty-eight hours, but I’m antsy doing nothing. “Still, I can take them myself.”
Jonathan is trying not to laugh. “Kennedy, baby, I think you might be a workaholic.”
“Am not.”
“There are meetings for that, you know,” he says, ignoring my denial. “It helps to channel your energy into something else—reading, maybe writing.”
I roll my eyes. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Come here,” he says, reaching for me, pulling me toward the doorway. “Walk outside with me.”
I don’t resist, because that’s exactly what I’m trying to do. Go outside. I carry the uniforms along, following him out the front door of the apartment. Just as I’m about to ask him where we’re going, he pulls a set of keys from his jacket pocket and presses a button, making something beep, lights flashing in the parking lot.
I look past him, nearly tripping over my own feet when I see a blue Porsche parked right beside my Toyota. “Holy shit.”
Jonathan smirks, putting his arm around me as he steers me toward it. “Must be one hell of a surprise if it has you cursing.”
“It’s exactly like your old car.”
“Well, it's a bit newer, but yeah…” He shoves the keys at me, dropping them on top of the uniforms. “You do know how to drive a stick, right?”
“I, uh, what?” I grab the keys when they start to fall. “I mean, I can, but I can’t drive your car.”
“Why not?”
“It’s a freaking Porsche! What if I scratch it? Dent it? What if I wreck it? I can’t fix it!”
He laughs. Again. He’s been laughing a lot this afternoon. “I rarely drive, so you might as well use it. Otherwise, it’s just going to sit in a garage in the city. Besides, no offense, but I’m not sure how much longer your piece of junk is gonna keep running.”
I glance at my car, scowling, before I look at Jonathan. He means well, I know he does, and I’m grateful. But he’s worrying me with this. “This is too much, Jonathan. You just gave me a washer and dryer this morning. Now you’re handing me the keys to your car. I mean, what’s next?”
“A dishwasher,” he says. “It’s supposed to be delivered tomorrow morning.”
I blink at him. “You know I don’t need stuff, right?”
“I know,” he says before pushing me toward the car. “Now go, turn your uniforms in. And make sure you put the top down, you know, so you can feel the sunshine.”
He goes back inside, leaving me there.
I stare at the car for far too long before giving in. It’s not mine, but it is a new toy, and it’s a little hard to resist when I’m overcome with a sense of nostalgia. It reminds me so much of when our dreams still felt beautiful.
So I get behind the wheel and I drive to the store. Or well, I drive past the store, circling the block a few times, before gathering the nerve to park and go inside, heading for the front office.
“Kennedy.” Marcus’s voice is all business as he sits behind his desk, greeting me as soon as I walk in. “What can I do for you?”
“I stopped by to turn in my uniforms,” I say, holding the pile of clothes up to show him.
“You can put them over there,” he says, waving toward me. “Thanks.”
“Of course,” I say, setting them down on top of a box by the door. I linger there, watching him sort through paperwork, feeling guilty because I know he’s doing my job.
“Did you need something else?” he asks, raising an eyebrow as he looks at me.
“No,” I say, hesitating. “Well, I wanted to tell you I’m sorry.”
“Sorry enough to want your job back?”
“Not quite.”
He laughs, turning back to the paperwork. “Had to try.”
“Anyway,” I say. “Thanks for taking a chance on me when you did.”
I walk out of the office, not wanting things to get too sentimental. The store is pretty busy, not unusual for a Friday.
I’m heading for the exit as the delivery guy switches out the magazines by the registers. Instinctively, my eyes turn toward them, drawn to a certain one—Hollywood Chronicles. My footsteps stall as I inhale sharply. It feels like I’ve been punched.
I snatch up the top copy. The world around me is trying to tilt. My heart pounds hard. As panic floods my system, my hands start to shake.
Turning away, I walk out of the store, taking it with me as I drive straight home. The apartment is quiet. Jonathan is walking Maddie home from school, so I’m alone for the moment.
I go straight to my bedroom.
Sitting down on the bed, I stare at the front page of the tabloid.
JOHNNY CUNNING'S DOUBLE LIFE
Along the top, there’s a picture of us—me, and Jonathan, and our daughter. Our faces are plastered on the front of Hollywood Chronicles. It’s unavoidable, I know. He lives his life beneath a scorching spotlight. We’d inevitably get drawn into it.
And it’s strange, but he looks happy.
It’s one of the only times they’ve ever printed a picture of him smiling.
Beneath that, though, tells a different story.