The Comeback(102)

My mom hovers above me, unsure of what to do next, perhaps waiting for me to finally tell her about it, for me to set the secret free in the way that everyone believes will instantly fix you, like taking a Tylenol for a fever, or compiling a list of pros and cons before you make a big life choice. Only I know that it doesn’t work like that. My secret is already out, trapped among the leaves of the palm trees that line the streets of Los Angeles, lying in the dirt at the bottom of the Santa Monica Mountains, and nobody feels any better for it. I look down at the blanket covering my legs, and all I feel is trapped, more entwined in Able’s web than ever.

“I can’t,” I whisper, and it’s when I see the disappointment register on her face, too, that I have to look away. My mom strokes my hair as the tears finally fall, slipping down my cheeks and soaking the collar of my T-shirt as my body racks with grief for everything I’ve ever had to break before it could break me first.

“Then you’re just going to have to forget it ever happened.”





CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE





The day of the Independent Film Awards, I wake in the middle of the night sweating, my pillow soaked. I dreamed Able was in the room with me while I slept, but I couldn’t move or call out because his hands were around my neck, pinning me down all over again. I reach for my painkillers before remembering I left them at Laurel’s. After that, I sob into my pillow until I can hardly breathe, while the sky lightens around me. I don’t know how to be normal, how to stop him from being able to reach me.

In the morning, I slip out early to go for a walk. I’m wearing one of my mother’s velour tracksuits because it fits perfectly over my knee brace, and it is nearly soaked through with rain by the time I get back to the house, holding a coffee in my crutch-free hand.

“Gracie.”

I freeze at the bottom of the porch steps. Emilia is sitting on a lounge chair, smoking a cigarette with her hair coiled into a low bun like she’s Carolyn Bessette-Kennedy reincarnated. She is dry as a bone and a soaking white umbrella lies on the deck next to her Gucci loafers. I remember now that I don’t trust anyone who remembers to carry an umbrella in Southern California.

“How are you?” Emilia asks softly.

I shrug, not wanting to move any closer to her but needing to rest my leg, which is currently sending white-hot signals of pain to my brain.

“Okay,” I say, climbing up so that I’m leaning against the porch railing, my leg extended in front of me.

“It really is a miracle that you are okay,” she says. “That you’re both okay.”

“When did you start believing in miracles?” I say, refusing to play the game with her.

“Look, Gracie. I came here because I wanted to . . . ask you something,” she says, looking down at her cigarette and then back up to me. “It’s not easy for me to say, but I hope that you’ll understand.”

I watch her stub her cigarette out on the deck, and then she just stares at it for a moment, unsure of what to do with it. She takes a deep breath, collects herself and meets my eyes again.

“I’m so sorry for what happened to you. I have tried over and over again to work out if I could have stopped it in some way,” Emilia says. “And you know I will never try to excuse it.”

“The thing about saying you’re not trying to excuse something is that you kind of already are,” I say, folding my arms across my chest.

Emilia blinks. “Able is in recovery in Utah as we speak.”

“Recovery,” I say, trying to wade through her words.

“He’s in therapy. He’s coming back for the awards ceremony tonight, and then we’re going to pack up the house and move to Greenwich to be nearer to my family. Permanently.”

I start to speak but she holds up a perfectly manicured hand to stop me. I look down at my own hands. My fingers are red and raw, the nails bitten down to the quick.

“It’s over, Gracie. We want to leave this here. You have my absolute word that he will never work in the industry again, or try to contact you. We won’t be coming back to LA.”

“Well, I’m so relieved that you’ve taken this opportunity to finally get what you want,” I say to her. “I hear Connecticut is beautiful in the spring.”

“Gracie . . .”

“You know that only you and Able actually call me Gracie, and it’s only ever when you want something from me, or when you’re trying to make me feel like a child.”

Emilia takes a deep breath before turning back to me.

“Please let me help you, Grace. Able wants to press charges against you for the accident. He has a statement ready to say that whatever happened between the two of you was when you were of legal age, and to his knowledge, fully consensual. I can stop him.”

I shake my head, and for just a moment, I think I must be dreaming.

“Did you know that he molested me when I was underage? Did he tell you that part?”

“It’s highly unlikely that your case would even make it to court. It’s not like in the movies,” Emilia says quietly. “There wouldn’t be enough evidence to sustain the molestation charges, and there are hundreds of people to testify how much you were drinking and doing drugs around that time, how you’d followed him around like a lost dog for years.”