“This Maggie sounds very down to earth,” Mom says. “And—I don’t mean this as an insult—she also seems like the type who wouldn’t make the media drool. They need teeny-bikini models to sell covers, not your average Jane type. She’s too normal for those idiots.”
I grin. “You’re right about that.” My expression quickly sobers. “But that doesn’t take away from the fact that they’re still all over me. Especially since Gretchen died.”
I almost flinch, expecting to see sorrow, or maybe anger, in my mother’s eyes, but she surprises me. Looking serious, she crosses her arms over her apron and says, “Tell the truth already, Ben. Tell them about Gretchen and your father.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Are you kidding? I’d never do anything to embarrass you, Mom.”
She rolls her eyes. “You’re embarrassing me now, for God’s sake! Everyone in town thinks my son goes to bed with women twice his age—for money! The other day Susan pulled me aside in the pharmacy and suggested you go into therapy.”
I can’t help but laugh. “You’re lying.”
“Nope. Call Susan yourself. I’m sure she has a list of shrinks written up.”
“So you honestly don’t care if I tell the world that Dad was a bigamist and a thief?”
“Of course not.” Her features soften. “Sweetheart, I’ve come to terms with what your father did. In fact, I came to terms with it a long time ago. You don’t need to protect me from it.”
I hesitate. “What about the money?”
“What about it?”
“I don’t feel right keeping it,” I confess.
“Then give it away.” Mom shrugs. “There are lots of deserving charities out there, and if Gretchen’s money is that much of a burden for you, donate it.”
As usual, my mother is nothing if not frank. She’s always been frank. Always been the strongest woman I’ve ever known, too, which makes me wonder why I ever believed she’d be embarrassed or ashamed if the truth about my connection to Gretchen came out.
“Now, about Maggie,” she continues, strolling back to the stove to pluck one cookie from the tray. “I assume you’ll do everything you can to get her back?”
A faint smile plays on my lips. Then I nod. “You assume right.”
32
Maggie
Two days after I sent Ben away, I still haven’t mastered the art of getting off the couch and changing out of my ratty old sweats. Tough. I don’t feel like getting up or brushing my hair or pretending that I’m anything but what I currently feel: miserable.
It’s not like I have a job to go to, anyway. No school either, since my first exam isn’t until next week. And although most of the reporters have abandoned their stakeout of the Broger Center, a few overly ambitious ones still linger, making me feel uneasy about going back. Sooner or later I’ll call Gloria and talk about that permanent position. But not today.
“Jeez, Maggie, did you rob a bank?” comes my roommate’s incredulous cry.
I twist my head in time to see Summer walk in, looking tanned, healthy and seriously confused. In comparison, I feel like a mess with my tangled hair and wrinkled clothing. A big, pathetic mess.
“Yes, Summer, I robbed a bank,” I say dryly.
Eyeing my disheveled appearance, Summer drops her bright red suitcase and marches toward the couch. “Seriously, why are there reporters standing outside our building? I heard one of them quizzing the security guard about you. Are you in trouble?”
“I guess you could say that.” I release a heavy sigh. “I did something stupid.”
“Do I even want to know?”
“I fell in love with a movie star.”
Summer’s stunned silence doesn’t come as any surprise. Hell, I was pretty stunned myself when I figured it out. The night Ben left, I went to bed alone. And when I was lying there in the dark, staring up at the ceiling, I came to a realization that rendered any chance of falling asleep impossible.
I realized that the ache in my heart, and the empty feeling in my stomach, and the unbearable weight bearing down on my chest…it had nothing to do with losing my job.
And everything to do with losing Ben.
“How long have I been gone for?” Summer demands, blinking wildly. “In a week and a half you managed to fall in love with a movie star? Is this a joke?”
“Nope. It’s true.”
She motions for me to move over, then flops down beside me. “Okay, spill.”
“Remember my stranger?”
“Of course.”
“Turns out he’s Ben Barrett—”
“Ben Barrett the actor?” Summer exclaims.
I stare at her. “Yes. As in, I fell for a stupid movie star.”
“Oh gosh, he is hot. Plus his movies have a ton of explosions, so Tygue doesn’t complain about watching them. It’s win-win.”
“Not for me,” I mumble. Then, in a shaky voice, I recap all the events that Summer missed when she was away.
“Holy shit,” she breathes when I finish. “You lost your job? I’m so sorry.”