Halfway to You(59)

“Should we get to it?” Maggie asks, not ready at all. Not prepared to hear about Todd—her father—in any capacity . . . but especially not as Ann’s lover.

Ann nods. “Should we carry on from where I left off? Fill in the earlier bits later?”

“That makes sense.”

“All right,” Ann says. “Get your recorder.”





ANN


Manhattan, New York, USA

April 1993

Todd and I didn’t discuss maintaining a long-distance relationship so much as we simply sank into one—and miraculously, it worked, at least for a while. Todd took vacations to Italy, or we met in some other city—London for Christmas, Montreal for Todd’s birthday—and in between the bright spots of our international meetings, we wrote letters and racked up long-distance phone bills, and the longing became a part of our love. The longing made the moments of connection so much sweeter.

Believe it or not, Maggie, we did this for two and a half years.

We were, of course, distracted by our own pursuits.

Dreamer Bookstore was doing better than ever, so Todd had extended the open hours, adding evening book clubs and author events to an already packed schedule.

I dove headfirst into getting my English-teaching credentials so I could legitimize my tutoring business. The program was a welcome distraction from my crushing self-doubt over my second novel, which had morphed into a terribly mawkish melodrama. Adding salt to the wound of my sophomore slump, Chasing Shadows was in its second movie-option process after the first fell through, so Keith and the film people were calling constantly.

Todd and I were so busy that months slipped past practically undetected. Each visit was a lighthouse flash across the ocean of my life.

Then came April 1993. I was invited to New York to meet with our executive producer and screenwriter and sign the papers that would make my book a movie. I asked Todd to meet me there, and of course Keith was delighted to have a reunion in his city.

The meeting was a big deal. I’ll never forget walking into the room and having everyone turn toward me as if I were the big shot. They asked me to sit at the head of the table, and someone passed over a plate of cookies. I was out of breath, dizzy, as if I’d just climbed a mountain and now stood higher than the clouds. Everyone else seemed comfortable at these heights—confident, even—but I kept thinking, Do they know how far I’ve come? That the elevation makes me queasy?

I felt like they were all just humoring me. Chasing Shadows wasn’t mine anymore: it belonged to the readers, the audience, and these executives. The script was superb. I didn’t have more to say. I just wanted to ride the elevator back down to the ground floor, where I could breathe again.

After the meeting, Keith and I exited the skyscraper into the honking, shouting chaos of Midtown. He was wearing a suit that accentuated the broadness of his chest and the extra ten pounds he’d gained since Iris was born. I loved how the same he looked. The curly russet hair and all those freckles. He still had that Santorini glint in his eye, all these years later.

“You didn’t hear a word she said in there, did you?” he asked.

I shook my head.

“You okay?”

“I think so, yeah. It’s just . . . crazy.”

“It is.”

“You did this, Keith. You made this happen.”

“You’re terrible at being successful, you know that? It’s your story, Ann. This is all you.”

“But you sold it.”

“Fine.” He winked. “Call it a tie?”

“Deal.” I checked my watch, my mind swiveling toward another thrill: seeing Todd. I was giddy. I felt so unbelievably happy about how the three of us had ended up. Would we all be meeting in New York like this, had I not followed Todd to Greece?

“My god, you’re smitten,” Keith said, reading my face. “You just signed the biggest deal of your life and you’re checking your watch, thinking about a man.”

“Don’t make me sound unfeminist. I was thinking about all of it.”

Keith squinted in amusement and ran a hand through his hair. “When does he land?”

“Three.”

“We’re having dinner tonight, to celebrate. Just me and you and Todd. Yeah?”

It was eleven, and I was trying to think of how to waste the afternoon before Todd landed and I could meet him at the hotel. “Celebrate?”

“The movie! Jesus, Ann.”

“The movie stresses me. Let’s celebrate our reunion.”

“Whatever you say.” Keith kissed my cheek. “Six o’clock.”

I nodded once and gave him a little wave, and we parted ways. Keith had more meetings; I decided to visit the Met. I spent a long while in the air-conditioned halls of Renaissance paintings, awed by the art and where my life had taken me.

When I left the museum, the unseasonal warmth of the day embraced me. My heels—which I’d chosen for the meeting—were taller than I was accustomed to, and I stepped carefully over the cobblestones as I walked through Central Park. I relished the fresh air that sifted through the elms, my flared blue midlength skirt billowing in the breeze. Heading for the subway, I turned right on Eighty-Sixth. I wanted to freshen up at the hotel before Todd arrived.

Distracted with thoughts of the movie and Todd, I had just reached Park Street and was stepping—teetering, really—off the curb into the crosswalk when a sudden steely force slammed into my hip. I was knocked—hard—onto the ground, and my elbow broke my fall. The breath whooshed from my lungs, and the squeal of tires echoed through the block.