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  “It’s a slippery slope, and I should have pulled you back when you ran for the edge. I blame myself.”

  I want to tell my sister that she’s the only person who could take my dumb decisions and make them solely about her. I think of my dad on the other side of the door.

  “Listen Meg, you couldn’t have stopped me if you’d tried.”

  I see that she’s softening a bit, which is almost as imperceptible to the naked eye as a vine growing up a stone wall.

  “I’m sorry I’m an embarrassment. I really am.” I really am. “Can I please go in and see him now?”

  Megan huffs and puffs but she finally steps aside. I open the door to our dad’s hospital room.

  “So you’ll stay here then, Gwennie?” I have been occupying a chair in the corner of my dad’s room for half an hour. Nurses have been coming and going, prodding him, asking him questions, and writing things down. This is the first moment we’ve been alone. I pull my chair over to his bed and take his hand. I don’t know why he assumes I’ll stay.

  “Stay here, lay low, and let the goddamn vultures forget about you, Do-Do,” he says, giving my hand a squeeze.

  If anyone else in the world called me Gwennie or Do-Do, I’d implore them earnestly to stop. My dad can call me anything he wants, though. He has always taken full advantage of my infinitely-shortenable name, using every variation possible. If he stopped, I would miss it.

  He is alarmingly pale. Though I’ve always thought of my dad as a large man, he looks small lying down, with wires snaking off from him. He had a massive heart attack when he was only fifty-five and I was still in high school. We were all terrified to lose him, but he came through, lost weight, and became healthier than he had ever been before. He seemed so strong afterward; I think I froze him at his best in my mind. I hadn’t really noticed that he was getting older. Then again, I haven’t been around to notice.

  When my mother died, I promised my dad that I’d come home more often. I didn’t mean to break the promise. Her death had been a shock to us all. She was undergoing surgery for stomach cancer, but it was supposed to be routine. She was supposed to make it and keep fighting. It’s so sad and hopeless to think of my dad there all alone, waiting to hear she had woken up and was ready to see him, but learning instead that she was suddenly gone forever.

  I should have visited him more. I press his hand tighter and hold on.

  Robin, the nurse, bustles in again. “He needs a nap,” she says, shooing me away.

  “Will you come back soon, GG?” he asks.

  “Of course.” I kiss his cheek.

  Nurse Robin follows me into the hall. I can tell she’s exasperated. Some patients and visitors have tracked me down in the cardiac unit and I’ve had to hide in my dad’s bathroom. She leads the way to a small office and says I can use it as a waiting room, like I’ll contaminate the general one.

  I want to tell Nurse Robin that I’m sorry I’m making a nuisance of myself by simply existing here, where she’s trying to get her work done. She doesn’t give me a chance though. “Thanks,” I say as she shuts the door.

  I take advantage of the quiet to turn on my cell phone and file through new messages. I see that my boss, Trey Hammond has called five times. I breathe a sigh of relief that he’s on top of all this. I should have known that Trey would already be working to control the damage to So Perfect. He will catch the falling franchise before it shatters. He’ll explain the situation to the press so that everyone knows Armand and I really aren’t so bad after all.

  “Ms. Golden?” is how he answers my call. I haven’t heard Trey call me that in four years, not since he’d happened to be in town on the day my photograph ran in the arts section of the News and Observer alongside a mediocre review of my exhibit of large-scale florals at a friend’s gallery. Trey had worn an impressive suit and a charming smile, and he had said Ms. Golden much more beseechingly then.

  “Yes, it’s Gwendolyn,” I reply.

  “Please wait for a moment, Ms. Golden,” he says in a tone so formal I almost giggle nervously. Or burst into tears.

  When I met Trey at that gallery, I knew I’d be lucky to sell two paintings during the course of the entire exhibit. It wasn’t like I had more gallery-owner friends to help me out, either. I hadn’t taken my mother’s practical advice and studied something useful in college, so I didn’t have other options to fall back on. I had always dreamed of doing what I loved, and I naively thought my dedication and hard work would be enough to make it as a painter. By the time I met Trey I was beginning to accept that I’d have to get a day job soon. I wasn’t proud of the fact that at age twenty-five my dad still bankrolled much of my life.

  Is it shallow to admit that I’m a complete sucker for flattery? Not most kinds of adulation, because I downright distrust compliments about my looks—I still see myself as the gangly underweight teen Megan used to call Spaghetti Tree, but I’m a pushover if that same person admires my art. I get melty.

  Trey cajoled me into going out to dinner soon after we met. I’m embarrassed to say how long it had been since anyone had wined and dined me, and it had been longer since someone had said I was a truly talented painter.

  I take the phone away from my ear and check the display to make sure the call is still live. Trey must have me on mute. I wonder if I should hang up and call back in case there’s a connection problem. I don’t want to believe he just forgot about me altogether.

  When I met Trey I was struggling to find my place as an artist in the world, and that is no easy feat. Imagine those endless American Idol line-ups outside of every audition venue, and think of all the hopefuls that couldn’t come or didn’t come that day, or who are outside of the age range. Extrapolate the notion for musicians, poets, writers, actors, anyone who wants to “make it” in a creative market with a next to impossible shot. Probably only crazy or naive people try. Even if one does buck the odds and achieves her dream, she learns along the way that there was at least as much luck and serendipity involved in her success as talent, probably far more. And getting there is simply the first step, because part of why she’s put up on a pedestal in the first place is so that she can fall down again. Possibly the last few hours have jaded me, but I think there’s some truth there.

  “Ms. Golden?” Trey says, finally back on the line. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but I’m suspending your contract.”

  He pauses but I don’t say anything. I feel my face burning red while I wait for more.

  “Your pay is suspended indefinitely. Your company shares are frozen pending legal review. If you’re needed for anything else on this end, we’ll let you know.”

  He pauses again. Again I stay silent.

  “The locks on the Scenic house will be changed. We’ll have your personal items boxed up and shipped to you when you provide a forwarding address…”

  He’s not finished, but I am. I hang up.

  Part of me can’t believe this is happening. Another part has expected it every day for the past four years. While Trey insisted that the So Perfect life was a fun game that didn’t have any losers, it was still creepy when people asked for my autograph for things I didn’t really do, or thanked me for advice that really hadn’t been mine to give.

  I started down the So Perfect path believing what I wanted to believe. That’s really the bottom line and I’m not making excuses. If I could go back and do things differently, of course I would. The trouble is, there’s no going back.

  Megan is suddenly standing in the doorway, frowning down at me like I’m a pile of vomit on her dinner plate. “Dad wants you to stay,” she says.

  I don’t reply, since I’m sobbing my guts out.

  “What’s your plan? Are you going back there?” she demands.

  I try to get control of my voice but it’s touch and go. “They kicked me out. They’re changing the locks.”

  Megan shuts the door and leans against it. “Listen,” she says sternly, channel
ing our mother. “Dad isn’t well. He wants you here. You can’t stay with me and my family, obviously, and Dad’s retirement community doesn’t allow anyone under fifty-five to stay there. So you’ve got to get a place of your own.”

  I stare at her with my mouth open because my nose is too stuffed to breathe through. I want to ask why it’s obvious that I can’t stay with her. She has a big house in our old neighborhood. Is she afraid I’ll infect her kids, like I’m a virus?

  “How much money do you have?” she asks.

  I don’t want to admit that I’m not really sure. The expenses at the So Perfect house were covered. For the past four years I haven’t paid a light bill or made a car payment. My wardrobe and salon services went on a company credit card, for which I never saw a bill. I think my So Perfect shares were worth a lot but Trey said they might not be mine any more. I haven’t checked my accounts in a long time.

  I shrug. Megan looks at me with total disgust.

  “When did you become our mother?” I ask.

  Megan sits down in the chair beside mine. She is silent for a long time before she says, “It would make Dad happy if you stayed in town for a while.”

  I study her to see if she’s trying to manipulate me into staying. No. I can tell she wants me out of Riveredge, probably before I sully the entire water supply. I sniff.

  “Personally, I’m already sick of your face,” she says.

  I nod, glad that she’s at least telling the truth. “Back at ya.”

  “I’m too maxed to manage Dad’s health issues along with everything else I’ve got going on. If you stay, you can help him.”

  The almost civil tone puts me off a bit. I’m used to Megan being a vicious bitch to me. “So having me here would help you?” I ask. I can’t resist.

  “I certainly don’t want you here forever! But maybe it makes sense for a while. You’re a pariah anyway, they won’t take you back, and Dad needs some babysitting.”

  The idea actually doesn’t sound horrible. “I suppose I could rent a place, if I could find something private…”

  “Finding a private enough apartment might be an issue. But prices are so low here and everything’s for sale, maybe you can buy something cheap to hole up in until this blows over, then sell for a profit once the market bounces back.”

  Megan has a talent for reducing everything to profit and loss. I sniff again.

  “People know you here, Gwen. It might be easier for you here than somewhere else,” she says, though it clearly hurts her to say it.

  I realize that she’s right. I’m not simply a fallen celebrity in Riveredge; I’m a real person, homegrown, one of theirs. I could be close to my dad. I could figure things out.

  “How can I find a place?” I ask.

  “I’ve dealt with Smith Walker on some commercial real estate deals. I bet he’d help you.”

  My face flushes at the mention of his name.

  Megan takes a small laptop out of her tidy purse and turns it on. “Let’s log on to your bank account and see how much you can spend.”

  Twenty minutes later, Megan jots down Smith’s number on a piece of paper before turning off her computer. “See if he can meet you now. If he can, I’ll drop you off.”

  “Meet me on a Friday night? I doubt it.”

  “I don’t. I think he works all the time. If not, think of somewhere else I can drop you. The Holiday Inn was just renovated… I’m going to tell Dad we’re leaving, but that you’ll be back first thing tomorrow,” she says on her way out the door.

  “I want to say good night to him, too.”

  “You’ll have all day tomorrow to say whatever you want. I’m in a hurry, so if you expect a ride somewhere, you better make a plan.”

  “This is Smith Walker.” His voice brings back a thousand memories. I should have called a hotel when Megan left the room, but his name on the sheet of paper was irresistible.

  “It’s Gwen Golden. I’m sorry to bother you.”

  There’s a pause, but it’s mercifully short. “No bother at all. What can I do for you?”

  “My sister Megan said you might be able to help me find a house here in Riveredge. I need one right away.”

  “I’d love to help you. Want to come by my office now and we’ll talk about what you’re looking for?”

  “Now?”

  “If you like.”

  He sounds like a safe haven somehow, like a dry cave on a stormy island my boat just crashed on, a warm fire I can curl up in front of on this cold Michigan night. I remember when I saw him four years ago, though, he was engaged. He’s someone else’s safe haven. “I’d be bothering you. It’s a Friday evening…”

  “Do you have a rental car to get over here?”

  “Megan can drop me off. If you’re sure it’s okay.”

  “I’m sure it’s okay. Will I see you soon?”

  “Yes. Thanks so much, Smith.”

  “My pleasure,” he says.

  He was always such a gentleman.

  “Stop apologizing!” I tell Armand on the phone. He called as soon as I hung up with Smith.

  “I’m so sorry, kid!” he says again.

  “I’m kind of relieved the jig is up, honestly. Where are you now? Have you spoken to your mom?”

  He laughs weakly. “Well, I’m sitting in a rental car outside her building now. I’ve been in my fedora and ugly glasses disguise since I left the hotel and no one has recognized me. I’m in a cold sweat! I just know she’s got the minister and her prayer circle waiting in there to drive the demons out of me.”

  I cringe because I fear he may be right.

  “Did you speak with Trey?” I ask.

  I hear Armand take a deep breath and let it out.

  “What?” I ask.

  “He said I have to do a television interview,” Armand says.

  “He didn’t mention it to me.”

  “He only wants me to do it. He said the initial feedback is that I’m sympathetic. He wants me to tell what it was like being the brains behind your success.”

  “Are you going to?” I ask, my voice wavering a bit.

  “Not if I can help it!”

  He doesn’t sound as tough as I’d like. I have never seen Armand stand up to Trey and actually win. On design decisions, sure, but not on anything that really mattered to Trey.

  “Can he make you do it? He made us do some pretty cheesy things. Remember that freezing photo shoot at the beach?” We were rolling out a new line of picnic baskets, acrylic glasses, melamine plates, and linens. Armand had to get up at four a.m. to get the food prepared. It was a windy 60 degrees that day and wardrobe had us in bathing suits on Scenic Beach.

  I wait for an answer but Armand doesn’t have one right away. “I hope he can’t make me do it,” he finally says.

  I wish Armand good luck with his mom and say a rushed goodbye when Megan opens the door to my tiny office hideaway.

  She grabs my arm and pulls me roughly. “Come on! I brought my car around to a service spot and they’re letting us out a back door to avoid the reporters.”

  “Reporters are here?” I ask.

  She glares at me. “Yes. Apparently they’re excited to cover something other than farm yields or high school basketball. Where am I dropping you?”

  “Smith Walker’s office first.”

  “There’s no ‘first.’ I have to get home!”

  “But then where will I go?” I hear the age-old whine I always get around Megan.

  “Hell?” she suggests as she drags me toward the elevator.

  “It’s so nice to be back in the bosom of my loving family,” I say, angry at my voice for breaking a little. The elevator doors take forever to open. Finally we step in.

  Megan’s grip on my arm tells me that she’s mustering her last bit of patience and I had better not test her any further. When she speaks it’s very measured and monotone, but I know if I pull her hair a tug or pinch her just the tiniest
little bit she’d freak right out like when we were in high school.

  “Listen, I’ve got a lot on my plate right now. I haven’t seen my kids since I left for work yesterday morning. I didn’t get home from the office until they were asleep last night, and when Dad called in distress this morning they hadn’t woken up yet. My husband is unhappy with my schedule, to say the least, and I frankly have too much going on to make your problems my problems today, Gwen. You’re a grown up, right? Can’t you book your own hotel and call your own taxi after meeting with Smith?”

  I pinch her lightly, only as a joke really. She doesn’t take it very well.

  “Sleep in the gutter for all I care! I honestly don’t give a shit where you go or how you get there! And you’re on Dad duty from now on because I’m so damn sick of this place I could burn it down!” Megan stops shouting when the elevator door opens to reveal a hospital staffer waiting to escort us to her car.

  Chapter Five

  Smith

  Jessie stares at me from my office doorway. She has been making bizarre faces, like a kid about to wet her pants, until I finally have no choice but to acknowledge her presence. I do so very reluctantly.

  “Oh for God’s sake. What?”

  “The phone!” She shifts her weight from one foot to the other.

  I can’t imagine what has gotten Jessie so worked up. The only call that ever comes in after hours on a Friday is whichever of my brothers happens to be hosting dinner Saturday night. My family seems determined to watch over me, as if I’m not capable of taking care of myself anymore. They’d feed me every meal if I allowed it, but I’ve whittled them down to Saturday dinners and special occasions.

  “Is it Siler?” I ask.

  Jessie jumps up and down a little and points to the newspaper on my desk. “No! She’s on the phone for you!”

  I look at the picture in the paper and don’t allow my hopes to rise, though they’re stubbornly trying. Skeptically I ask, “Who?”