The Husband Hour(84)
Lauren’s eyes widened. “Wow. Okay, um, I guess I’ve been selfish trying to keep this house all to myself the past few years.”
“No, sweetheart. It’s understandable.”
“I just love it here. Surrounded by all of Gran’s things, memories from when I was a kid. It’s like, when I’m here, I’m safe. I can’t explain it.”
Beth nodded. At some point, Lauren needed to move on with her life. Beth was afraid it would never happen as long as she was wrapped in the safety net of the Green Gable. But if she still wasn’t ready, Beth didn’t have the heart to shove her out the door.
“You don’t have to explain it, hon. I understand.”
And she did. The Green Gable was her safety net too. That’s why she would never sell it. No matter what.
Chapter Forty-Four
A knock on her bedroom door woke her. Lauren checked her phone. Usually around this time, she was just getting back to the house after a run. She’d forgotten to set her alarm.
“Yeah?” she called out, sitting up and rubbing her eyes.
Stephanie walked in, still dressed in her jeans and blouse from the night before. She had raccoon eyes, yesterday’s mascara and eyeliner having made an unfortunate migration south.
“You’re still in bed? Are you sick?” Stephanie said.
“No. I’m fine.” Had her mother already spoken to her sister about the house? Stephanie probably wanted to make sure Lauren was okay with it. And the truth was, Lauren didn’t really know how she felt yet. She’d woken up a lot during the night with her mind racing. Living with her family would be an adjustment, but maybe that was not a bad thing.
“You have to see this.” Stephanie handed her a bunch of typewritten pages.
Bewildered, Lauren looked down. The top page read The Rory Kincaid Story, an original screenplay by Neil Hanes. In the corner, the name and address of his agent.
Lauren’s hands shook. She looked at her sister. “I don’t understand.”
“I think you do,” Stephanie said.
“Where did you get this?”
“I found it in Neil’s room this morning.”
“He’s writing a movie about Rory?”
Stephanie nodded.
“You knew about this?”
“Just since last night. He was asking me so many questions that I finally was like, What’s your deal? And he told me. But he told me not to tell you—or anyone.”
Lauren sat on the edge of her bed. So that’s why he’d been sniffing around all summer. “Oh my God.”
“I didn’t want to upset you but I thought you’d want to know.”
Lauren nodded, a wave of panic making it hard to speak. She thought frantically of her conversations with Neil over the past few weeks, wondering if she’d said anything about Rory.
Stephanie sat next to her.
“Thanks,” Lauren said. “I do want to know. Of course I want to know.”
“Laur, this stuff with Mom and Dad makes me realize how I’ve taken so much for granted. I see it all falling apart and I’m scared.”
It was probably the most real, honest thing Stephanie had said to her since they were teenagers. Unfortunately, it was coming at a moment when Lauren could not think straight.
Lauren flipped through the screenplay, then jumped to her feet. “I have to go.”
Matt woke to knocking on the door.
He was exhausted. The visit with Craig had been invigorating and daunting at the same time, reminding him that good footage was just the starting point, not even close to the finish line of a successful film. He had tossed and turned most of the night, wrestling with how best to use Stephanie’s material.
The knocking continued.
“Coming, coming,” he said. He got up and answered the door bare-chested and in his boxers, the comforter wrapped around his waist.
“I have to talk to you,” Lauren said, walking past him into the room.
“Come on in,” he said, squinting against the sunlight. He closed the door and surveyed the room’s disarray: his unmade bed, the Sack O’ Subs takeout bag on the floor, the empty soda cans lining his desk next to a bag of ranch Doritos. “Sorry, the place is kind of a wreck. I’ve been going twenty-four/seven the past few days.”
“I’m freaking out,” she said.
“I mean, it’s not that messy,” he said.
She didn’t crack a smile. “Look at this.” She handed him a manuscript, or, on closer look, a screenplay.
The screenplay. The Rory Kincaid feature film.
“Son of a bitch,” he muttered. “Where on earth did you get this?”
“What difference does it make? I just want to know how we can stop this from happening.”
Matt pulled out his desk chair and sat, thumbing through the pages. “We can’t.”
Lauren sat on the edge of his bed and put her face in her hands. “I was afraid you’d say that. Can you believe this?”
He wanted to jump in and start reading the thing. But Lauren had clearly come to him for some kind of reassurance, and the least he could do was try to give it to her.
“This doesn’t mean anything,” he said, tossing it onto his desk. “He doesn’t have shit. We have the real story. By the time this thing sees the light of day, it will be old news because this documentary will be everywhere.”