This Is What Happy Looks Like(78)

There’d been a lull as the band lowered their instruments, and an expectant hush fell over the crowd. From where he was standing, Graham had looked up at the sky, though there was nothing but the first faint glow of the stars. When his phone buzzed in his hand, he glanced down again. He’d grabbed it on his way out the door, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to return any of the missed calls. He simply wasn’t in the mood to talk to lawyers or agents or publicists just yet. Those were all things that belonged in L.A. And for the moment, at least, he was still in Henley.

But just as he was about to shut off the phone entirely, he realized that it was his mom.

“Hi,” he said, bringing it to his ear. It wasn’t until he’d already answered that he realized she might be calling because she’d seen him on the news. It hadn’t even occurred to him; his mother and his acting career were about as far apart as was possible on the spectrum of his life, and trying to account for them within the space of the same thought was like trying to bring something blurry into focus.

“Hi,” she said, and then there was the sound of whispering. “Hold on,” she told Graham, who began walking over to the sea of blankets that checkered the green. It was too dark for most people to tell who he was, though a few tracked his progress with squinted eyes. On the phone, he heard laughter and a tapping sound, and then suddenly everything was amplified as she put him on speaker. “Your dad’s here too.”

Graham cupped a hand over his free ear so he could hear better, sinking down onto the cool grass at the far edge of the park. “Is everything okay?” he asked, not sure he wanted to hear the answer. But to his surprise, his mom only laughed again.

“Are there fireworks?” she said, half yelling over the noise in the background, the barbeque at their neighbor’s house. He could picture them there, Dad in his traditional blue polo and Mom wearing a red-and-white-striped T-shirt, both of them huddled around the phone.

“Where?” Graham asked, confused. “By you?”

“No,” Dad said. “By you. We checked this morning to see what time the sun was setting in Maine. Are there fireworks yet?”

“Not yet,” Graham said, but just as he did, the first one streamed overheard like a shooting star. “Actually, yeah. They just started.”

“They’re not on for another few hours here,” Mom said. “But we wanted to watch them with you.”

Graham smiled, unsure what to say. The thought of them looking up the time of the sunset, waiting until they were sure it was dark, and then sneaking off to call him was so unexpected that he didn’t know how to respond.

“Remember that one year when we watched from the park?” Dad said. “And you burned your finger on one of the bug candles?”

Graham laughed. “Remember that time we watched from the beach?”

“And your father dropped our watermelon off the rocks?” Mom said, her voice full of amusement.

“Hey,” Dad said, but he was laughing. “That seagull snuck up on me.”

Overhead, two more fireworks went off with a crackle, each sparking a different color. “I wish you guys were here,” Graham said quietly, but even this, even the muffled sound of their breathing, was a comfort. He watched the fireworks go off one at a time, each one different, but each a kind of echo too, a memory of all the ones they’d seen in the past, all the many times they’d watched together as a family. Graham cleared his throat. “The last few days have been—”

“We know,” Mom said. “We tried calling earlier when we saw the papers.”

“I’m sorry,” Graham told her. “I just—”

“Those guys are vultures,” Dad said in the same tone he used to talk about things like Republicans and opposing baseball teams. “They had it coming.”

“Thanks,” Graham said. “But I feel pretty awful about it.”

“You’re working too hard,” said Mom. “All this filming, and as soon as you get back, they have you doing the interior scenes, and then there’s the publicity tour coming up…”

Graham laughed. “How do you know all that?”

“We subscribe to Variety,” she said, a note of pride in her voice. “And the Hollywood Reporter.”

“You do?” Graham asked, unsuccessfully trying to picture his mother reading through the daily entertainment news.

“Of course,” she said, like it was the most natural thing in the world. “We like to know what you’re up to.”

“And it’s always interesting to keep tabs on the world of colorized films,” Dad joked, and Graham laughed.

“We usually just call them movies.”

“Colorized movies then,” Dad said. “Your name’s been bandied about quite a lot lately. All sorts of interesting roles…”

“Don’t believe any of it,” Graham said. “I haven’t decided what I’m doing next.”

“Well, I think you’d be good in anything,” Mom said. “Remember how great he was in Guys and Dolls?” This was directed at his father, who grunted in acknowledgment. “We’re so proud of you.”

Graham swallowed hard. “Thanks, Mom.”

“When exactly are you getting back?”