Halfway to You(93)

I could tell Keith was trying to keep the amusement from his face, but he was failing, and the result was a twitch at the upturned corners of his mouth. “My apologies if I interrupted . . . whatever.” Keith chuckled to himself. “A long time ago, I made a pact with myself to never get in the middle of you two, so just . . . don’t explain, okay?”

I sat a bit straighter. “What are you doing here?”

Keith circled the bed and plucked a strip of bacon from my plate. “After that hellish conclusion to your premiere, I came to check on you—though apparently that was unnecessary.” He sank into the desk chair and ate the bacon in two bites.

“That’s thoughtful,” I said. “Thank you.”

Keith smirked.

“Coffee?” Todd poured Keith a mugful, then sat at the foot of the bed, by my feet.

“Remember morning coffee on Santorini?” I asked, taking a sip of my own.

“That view,” Keith said. “I’ll never forget it.”

“I was always the first one to get up,” Todd said. “Right as the sun was rising. I’d watch the shadows on the water fade.”

We all sat with the vision, remembering.

“Look at us, back to reminiscing,” Keith said. “I expected to find Ann a puddle of emotion this morning.”

Before I could respond, the hotel phone rang.

Reading my mind, Keith stood and answered it for me. “Hello? Oh, yes, hi, Rosa. This is Keith.”

My stomach turned, and I looked at Todd, frowning. Why was the studio publicist calling?

“Are you sure you—all right. Wow—I—” Keith’s face morphed and sank in a mix of disheartenment and anger. “You’re kidding.” His jaw ticked. “Shit. Shit. Okay.” He met my eyes briefly, then turned away, hunching over the receiver with his back to me. “Well, what do you—all right, yeah. Of course. Thanks for calling.” He slid the phone into the cradle.

Todd stood and placed a hand on Keith’s shoulder. “What did she say?”

Panic rose in my chest. Rosa never called me directly. And if Keith was this shaken, well, something was wrong. My voice wavered when I prompted, “Did the fight . . . ?”

Keith’s face was red when he faced us again. He glanced between Todd and me. Whatever it was, it involved us both.

I set my plate down on the bedside table and leaned forward. “Keith,” I said, so sharply that Todd jumped.

With one more darting glance at me, Keith’s eyes finally settled on Todd. “They know your name,” he said slowly. “You’re no longer the ‘real-life Frank.’ You’re Todd Langley . . . and they found the local news articles.”

Todd crumpled like paper—forehead, shoulders, back. He lowered himself to the bed again, elbows on knees, cradling his head in his hands. The physicality of his devastation was alarming.

This was the exact outcome I had feared all those years ago, the outcome I had tried to prevent.

“A tabloid found the old headlines, and they”—Keith broke off, restarted—“they drew the connection back to ‘Ashes.’”

The news was too terrible for I-told-you-sos.

“Apparently Todd was recognized last night,” Keith explained, “and a press contact of Rosa’s clued her in this morning. A gossip column is going to run a sob story about Todd”—Keith faltered—“and myself. About Penny.”

“Why?” I asked, indignant. “Why is that necessary?”

Keith shrugged helplessly. “The premiere, the fight, my sad shared past with Todd, your short story—the way it’s all connected is juicy.”

“But it’ll blow over,” I said, lifting onto my knees. I rubbed Todd’s back. “It’ll blow over, and it’ll be fine.”

Todd was shaking his head. “No, Ann, it won’t be fine. They’ll dredge up all of it, everything I tried so hard to get over and forget.”

“They’ll get bored quickly,” I said.

“There are gossip publications on the web too,” Keith said. “Stories stay online forever.”

Todd met Keith’s eyes. “This is going to hurt the bookstore.”

“It can’t,” I said in denial. “Tell him, Keith. Tell him this can’t possibly affect the bookstore.”

Keith ran a hand across his clean-shaven face. “It might.”

Todd reached for the phone. “I need to check in. Lorna should be opening soon—it’s still early there.”

He dialed Dreamer Bookstore, clutching the phone with enough intensity to make his fingers turn white. Keith and I shared a sympathetic glance; then Todd was speaking.

“Lorna, hi, it’s Todd.” His voice took on an authoritative register, but that didn’t mask the concern that wobbled the edges of his words. “Listen, something happened here that might bring . . . everything back into the news for a while. A tabloid—” A pause. “What’s that now?” His voice lost its professional resonance. “You’re kidding. What did you say?” Another pause. “Good, good. Thank you. All right. Yes, please tell—yes, just say ‘No comment.’”

When Todd hung up, he grimaced. “A reporter already called the bookstore.”

Keith swore under his breath.