Thank You for Listening(76)

Her phone dinged but she didn’t want to deal with it. “Brock” had texted now, a few times, but she hadn’t read them. What difference did it make? She was going to Italy now. But, she’d also texted Amanda to tell her she’d be unreachable for a while, to call Henry if Blah needed anything. What if this was her reply?

Sewanee looked at her phone.

Shit. Jason.

She scanned the e-mail:

Hey Sarah! Two more episodes to go, scripts attached! As these are the consummation scenes, I think they should be performed in duet, sharing lines back and forth. So I’d like to schedule a time to have you and Brock patch in to record together.

Absofuckinglutely not.

The driver had pulled up to the curb and was getting out to retrieve her bag. She quickly typed:

Not available. Ask Nick.

She sent it, turned off her phone, got out, thanked the driver, grabbed her bag, and walked into the terminal.

Next stop, Venice. For real this time.





Part 5


Character is destiny.

–Heraclitus

Pick a flaw, any flaw. Clock it at the beginning. Let it stalk the character in the middle. Then it pounces. The ensuing moment of fight or flight. You’ve done your job. Don’t overcomplicate this.

–June French in Cosmopolitan





Chapter Fourteen


“The Retreat”

THE FIRST THING SEWANEE SAW WHEN SHE WALKED INTO THE PENSIONE her mother had arranged for her was Marilyn and Stu sitting in two overstuffed club chairs in the lobby. In unison, they beamed and raised their hands in the air as if she’d scored a touchdown.

“There she is!” her mother exclaimed, standing.

“Nice of you to stop by. Come to borrow a cup of sugar?” Stu joked, groaning as he, too, stood.

Sewanee felt the back of her eye tighten with tears. Marilyn looked so good. So happy. Her silver-streaked brown curls fell just below her chin, her face was bronzed, and her blue eyes bright. She’d always been a trim woman, but now she was fit. Strong from walking over cobblestones, hiking through castle ruins, and scaling mountains to get to breathtaking views. She was sixty-five and she’d never been more beautiful.

As they hugged, Marilyn asked in Sewanee’s ear, “To what do we owe the pleasure?” She pushed back, looked deep into her daughter’s eye. “Working too hard again?”

Sewanee shrugged away from her mother, mumbling, “Always,” and reached for Stu. She’d only met him twice before, but within five minutes of the first meeting she’d loved him.

She stepped back and saw that Marilyn was peering at her. “But there’s something else?”

“There are a few somethings else.”

Her mother raised an eyebrow.

Sewanee took a breath. “Dad.”

“Well, when is he not–”

“And Adaku.”

“Ada? Why–”

“And Blah.”

“Oh, no.”

“And acting. And robots. And Mark is selling his place. And there’s a boy. Who’s two boys, actually. Who’re the same boy.” Sewanee took another deep breath.

Marilyn handed Stu one of the key cards to Sewanee’s room. “My love, would you–”

“Yup,” Stu said, took Sewanee’s duffel bag, and smilingly walked away. Easygoing, uncomplicated, generous Stu.

Marilyn tucked her hand into the crook of her daughter’s elbow, leading her onto the hotel’s patio. She ordered them two Aperol Spritzes in half-decent tourist Italian and thanked the server for the bowl of olives and basket of breadsticks he placed on the table.

“Let’s start with the boy,” she said, decisively, placing a palm flat on the wooden table. As Sewanee told her the whole sordid tale, Marilyn’s face progressed from slight surprise to damp-eyed sweetness to shock to, finally–much to Sewanee’s consternation–uncontrollable laughter.

Sewanee paused the retelling and glared. “Mom.”

Marilyn waved her napkin in front of her face, a surrender. She tried, valiantly, to say, “I’m sorry,” but the words tumbled around in her laughter like sneakers in a dryer.

“Why does everyone find this so funny?” Sewanee groused, reaching for her drink, waiting for her mom to get it all out.

“Because it’s like a movie!” Marilyn cried, wiping her face, pushing her glasses up to the crown of her head. “It’s just so . . .” and she lost it again, bent at the waist.

“All right, you know what . . .” But there was nothing to say, no empty threat to level. Her mother’s reaction–so like Nick’s, so like Adaku’s–simultaneously annoyed and humbled her. It forced her to consider everything anew. It still stung. But. There was another side to it. Marilyn saw it. Nick saw it. Adaku saw it. And maybe, if you looked at it from a certain direction, maybe, in certain ways, it was, maybe, a little bit funny. Maybe.

Marilyn regained control of herself, patted her eyes with her napkin. “I’m sorry, Swanling. Truly.” They sat in silence for a moment, each taking a sip of their Spritz. Then Marilyn continued with a gentle voice, “And what’s going on with your grandmother?”

Sewanee explained all of it. Blah’s current state, the necessary move, the exorbitant amount of money she was prepared to spend, and why Sewanee felt it was important to keep Blah in a familiar place with familiar people, whatever it cost.