Maddox gives me a look from the side of the swimming pool where he sits alone. Occasionally, a kid will talk to him or include him in a game. Just as, occasionally, the mothers will ask me a question and then pretend to be interested in my answer. I smile at him sweetly and then make a silly face so he giggles before he jumps back in the deep end.
Apparently, ‘Margaritas for Moms’ is code for ‘let’s get together and see who has the best life.’ And right now I’d say Monica, the birthday boy’s mom, is well in the running. Especially if you ask her. Everyone is making such a big production of how extravagant their child’s gift to Gage was. I glance over at the gift we brought, a year’s worth of weekly Red Box rentals, and wonder how soon after we leave it will get discarded in the trash.
I’m not even sure uncomfortable is what I feel. Embarrassed is more like it—for them. How can these women sit around and do nothing more than one-up each other? Oh, your husband writes songs for a living, well my husband sings them. Your kid made the honor roll, well my kid got an inquiry letter from Harvard. Yada yada yada. I can’t believe I was actually looking forward to this day.
One woman, I don’t know her name, because I stopped trying to remember them all ten minutes into the party, actually laughed and said, “Maple Creek? Is that even on the map?”
After that, I sat back and smiled politely while praying to God to speed up time, or to at least give me food poisoning from the catered spread under the large white tent next to where we sit.
The redhead, whose son keeps thwacking Maddox with a towel, sits down next to me. She asks, “What’s your name again? You look so familiar.”
“It’s Baylor. Baylor Mitchell.” I brace myself for what I’m afraid comes next.
She stares at me for a few seconds and then her mouth falls open. “Oh, my God, not the Baylor Mitchell, as in the author of ‘Never Better’?”
“Guilty,” I say.
“Holy shit!” the woman shrieks, earning giggles from a few nearby kids. “Monica, did you know there was a celebrity at your party?” She pulls me up from where I’m sitting and drags me over to a grouping of ladies. “Taylor, this is the author of the book I told you about last week. This is Baylor Mitchell.”
I hear another woman whisper to her friend, “The dud from Maple Nowhere is a famous author? In what world is that fair?”
The woman I now know as Taylor, squeals, “Oh, my God! I just read your book. As in, it is like literally still sitting on my pool lounger at home. I can’t believe it.” She narrows her eyes at me and lowers her voice. “Do you do all the stuff in your books?” she asks.
I inwardly roll my eyes. “I have a big imagination.”
Several women spend the next thirty minutes fawning over me and shoving their phone numbers at me as if they are all suddenly my best friends. I’ve quickly become the center of attention, much to Monica’s dismay, as she stands back and puckers her lips while eyeing me with her frigid stare. I guess I won’t count on being invited to her next barbeque.
Thankfully, the caterer appears, announcing that it’s time for cake. He then proceeds to cut into a cake that’s almost as big as the table it’s been placed upon. It’s in the shape of Thor’s hammer, as apparently the superhero is Gage’s favorite. I’m no cake connoisseur, but if I had to guess, I’d say Monica spent about as much on this cake as I did on my first car.
On the drive home, Maddox asks, “Mommy, do we have to invite all those kids to my birthday party? Dylan kept spitting on me and Jordan always laughs at the way I talk. Do you think I talk funny?”
“No, buddy, you don’t talk funny at all,” I say. “You talk exactly like a kid who grew up in Connecticut. There is nothing wrong with that. And you can invite whomever you want to your birthday party.”
“What if I want to invite Ryan and Cole?” he asks, referring to Chris’s boys. “And Brody, Drew and Amber from my old school? What if I want to have them at my birthday party?”
I sigh. “Well, maybe we should plan a weekend back home and have your party then,” I say.
Maddox smiles excitedly, but I just shake my head thinking how I referred to Maple Creek as ‘home.’
Two weeks after Karen came to me with her accusations, a man has come forward claiming to be her baby’s father. The man, who looks strikingly similar to Gavin, said Karen paid him for his ‘stud’ services. At the time, he didn’t know who she was. But with all the asking around that Gavin’s lawyers and private investigator had done, he somehow found out she comes from a wealthy family, and he now plans to sue for custody—and boatloads of child support. It’s sad, really. The kid will either have a pretentious narcissist for a mom or a gold-digging loser for a dad.
“No shit, really?” Callie says, after I explain to her in detail what the private investigator uncovered.
“Really,” I say. “She went out and got herself knocked up right after Gavin dumped her. She was going to try and pass it off as Gavin’s kid.”
“That bitch!” Callie yells, drawing stares from the tables nearest to us.
I look around the upscale restaurant at our fellow patrons. I see women with their bangled wrists and surgically enhanced chests. Men in their Armani suits are sipping scotch at one o’clock in the afternoon. I wonder how many of these people are for real—how many don’t have to pretend to be something or someone else. I think about the keychain that my mom gave me when I was fourteen. I wonder how much of myself I’m losing by trying to fit into a place that is so completely not me.
I take a long sip of my wine. “Callie, do you ever think that there’s just too much drama here?”
She throws her head back and bellows out a throaty laugh. “Of course there’s too much drama here. I think people thrive on it. Why do you think they make so many movies in L.A.?”
She sees I’m not amused. Her hand slides across the table to take mine. “What’s wrong, Baylor?” she asks. “You haven’t been yourself lately.”
“That’s the problem,” I say. “I feel like being here is chipping away at who I am. I mean, Gavin has been wonderful. You’ve been wonderful. But Maddox and I don’t fit in here. We don’t belong here, Cal.” I look around again at the women in the room. “Do you remember the slumber parties with Jenna and Skylar? Just us girls with a few bottles of wine and a deck of cards. Who does that here?”
“We could,” she says, pointing between the two of us. “It’s only been a month, you know. Maybe you just need to give it a little more time.”
I shake my head and tears threaten to spill over. “I think I made a mistake by coming here. Maddox and I have so much back east. Friends, family, a sense of belonging. We have so many reasons to be there and only one to be here. I know Maddox would fit in eventually. I know I would make new friends. But here’s the thing—I don’t want new friends. The ones I already have are perfect. My life in Maple Creek was perfect. Plus, Karen is here. She’ll always be around, lurking, and I’ll never be able to relax. Not completely.”
When I come up for a breath, Callie says, “What are you saying? You’re considering moving back home?”
“See, that’s what I mean. Even you still call Maple Creek home and you’re not even from there.” I trace the circular top of my wine glass with my fingers. “It could work,” I tell her. “Gavin could visit there like he did before, and Maddox and I could come here. He wouldn’t have to do so much traveling this time. We could even come back here for long vacations. You know, summers and holidays.”
Callie cocks her head to the side, studying me. “It sounds like you’ve already made up your mind.” She takes a drink of wine, never breaking eye contact. “Well, have you?”
I close my eyes and nod my head. “I hate it here, Callie. Maddox hates it here. He won’t come right out and say it, but he does. He’s changed. He doesn’t have long talks with me like he used to.”
“I can see it, too,” she says. “I think he’s a little depressed. I guess I just thought it would pass.”
“This will probably kill Gavin. He’s done so much for us. He’s tried so hard to make everything perfect. But I have to do what I feel is right for Maddox and me.”
“Okay then,” she says. “I guess we’re moving back home.”
“What?” I snap my eyes up to her. “You’d come back with us? But your family is here.”
“You’re my family, too. You and Maddox,” she says. “Plus, either L.A. has changed in the past three years, or I have. It’s nothing like I remembered. So, yeah . . . I’ll go back to Maple Creek with you if you want me to.”
I almost topple over the table getting up to give her a hug.
“Anyway,” she says into my shoulder, “Collin has been texting me. Quite a lot, as a matter of fact. He said now that he isn’t working for you, he could ask me out. He said I should look him up whenever I go for a visit.” She pushes me away and holds me at arm’s length. “Oh, shit—if you go back, he’ll have to protect you again.”
“No,” I say. “We’ll hire someone else. I want you to get your man.”
I sit back down, feeling that a weight has been lifted. Feeling like I can breathe for the first time in a month. I pull out my phone to text Gavin. I have to tell him today. Now.
Me: We have to talk.
Gavin: Are you pregnant? ;-)
Me: What?
Gavin: The last time you sent me a text with those four words, you were pregnant and then everything went to shit.
Me: No, not pregnant.
Gavin: But something else big.
Me: Can I drop Callie off and swing by your office?
Gavin: Of course, darlin’. I’ll be here. Just promise me that whatever it is, you won’t talk to Karen along the way.
I smile at his ever-loving wit as I motion for the waiter to bring the check. Then my heart stops when I see a woman staring at me from a table in the back of the restaurant. A heavy-set woman with black hair who averts her eyes and shifts uncomfortably in her chair when I see her.
I get a bad feeling in my gut. “Let’s get out of here,” I tell Callie, digging in my purse and throwing a fifty on the table.
“What’s wrong? You look like you’re gonna be sick,” she says.
I pull her quickly out the door only to see the black-haired woman get up from her table and head toward us at the front of the restaurant. “I’m not sure, but I think my stalker could be here.”
We walk fast over to my car. “No way, Baylor. Do you really think she came all the way across the country to follow you around L.A.? How would she even know you’re here? You haven’t done any appearances and you didn’t tell anyone you were moving.”
“You’re probably right,” I say. “I just got spooked, I guess.” I look at our surroundings and don’t see the woman. I take a few calming breaths before we get in my car.
A few miles down the road, I could swear I see a car following me as I weave through traffic. “Callie, turn around and look at the driver of that blue car. Tell me if she has black hair.”
Callie gives me a look like she thinks I’m being entirely too paranoid. Then she turns to watch the cars behind us. I turn down a side street and the car follows. Then I make three more left turns, bringing us back onto the same street we started on. The car hangs back, but it still follows us.
“Believe me now?” I ask.
“Shit, Baylor,” she says. “Don’t freak out or anything, but the woman driving that blue car does have black hair. Do you want me to call the police?” She gets out her cell phone.
“I’m getting on the interstate to see if we can lose her in traffic. If she’s still following us in a minute, make the call.”
“Be careful, Baylor. Don’t go too fast,” she says.
We share a quick look of concern as I accelerate onto the highway. I speed up and merge into the heavy lunch-hour traffic, the little blue car falling farther and farther behind. I breathe a sigh of relief when I can no longer see it in my rearview mirror.
I smile over at Callie.
Then I hear a tremendous boom and all of a sudden my world is spinning out of control. Nothing makes sense as I hear the sickening thud and crush of metal. I hear glass crunch and buckle, horns blaring and someone—quite possibly me—screaming.
Something hits my head. Hard. Pain radiates through my chest. My hair is flying around and whipping in my face. Then, just as quickly as it started, everything goes still.
“Baylor, Baylor . . .” someone cries out. I try to open my eyes and when I do, I see Callie—upside down and reaching for me.
Terror sharpens my senses. I smell asphalt and the rancid odor of gasoline. A violent metallic taste floods my mouth as my ears beg for relief from the piercing rings ripping through them. God, my head hurts. Something is terribly wrong. I attempt to look around, but every movement is like a knife slicing through my temple. Why is the world upside down? What’s happening? I see feet crunching broken glass by my head. People are yelling. Sirens become louder. My eyes try to focus on Callie, but blurry pools of red cloud my vision so I shut them.
“Baylor! Stay with me,” Callie’s throaty voice implores.
But all I can see is red.
And then . . .
Blackness.