New Point (23 page)

The image is from my middle school graduation. A mortarboard sits crookedly on my head, and I’m swimming in the black gown, but I’m happy. Both of us smile effortlessly and my brother’s eyes shine with pride.

For the first time, Chip’s gleefulness slips. He clears his throat nervously. “Zoe’s quite a bit younger, then?”

“Zoe Baker is my
sister.
” There’s a deadliness to Blake’s voice I’ve never heard before. He’s enraged. He discards the phone, his hand curling into a fist on top of the table separating him and the host. “Our mother died fifteen years ago, and I became her guardian.”

For a beat there’s utter silence.

Then, in his usual commanding fashion, my brother steers the interview back to his agenda.

“Any other questions?” There’s no mistaking his underlying words:
there better not be.

Chip’s throat constricts when he swallows. “No.”

SportsHour fades into commercial.

No more than a minute passes, and my cell phone rings.

“Hi,” I answer shortly.

“Weren’t expecting that birthday gift, huh?” he responds grittily.

I sigh heavily. “Not exactly.”

“Look, I need to talk to the producers and my lawyer. I’ll call you back as soon as I’m done here.” My eyes flick back to the TV when the Chip reappears, a fine sheen of sweat glittering on his forehead. Rolling my eyes I switch the channel.

“Okay.”

“Bye.” Beneath his words I know he’s boiling mad, but he’ll have to mask it until he leaves the studio.

It takes ten minutes and then my phone explodes. Persistent ringing hounds the device from a myriad of unknown telephone numbers until I’m forced to turn it off.

Hello unwanted stardom
.

“
I
n all the excitement last night, I forgot that you shouldn’t have been at home watching my interview with Chump.”

I keep my expression as impassive as possible while I stare back at my brother through the video chat application on the television. He’s using his newly appointed nickname for Chip Conway.

“The birthday celebration with your boyfriend… Not to mention you look awful.”

“Gee, thanks.” I frown, knowing he’s right. I don’t need to look into a mirror to see the dark circles under my lackluster expression. “Miles and I are taking a break.” The explanation sounds particularly lame to my own ears.

Blake’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline. “The guy breaks up with you right before your birthday. What a dick. Why? Last time I checked, he worshipped the ground you walked on.”

“It wasn’t his fault things didn’t work out.” I tell him about the episode Miles witnessed, and my reluctance to divulge the details of my past.

By the end, a deep frown creases Blake’s face. “I’m torn here. If he can’t man up and fight for you, he’s not the right guy to be with my sister. But you haven’t told him the whole truth, and he has a right to be pissed off about that.”

I shrug with feigned indifference. Inside my chest my heart cracks. Blake’s right about one part. Apparently neither Miles nor I was ready to fight for our relationship.

“Do you want me to blow off the rest of the meetings this weekend? I can be in New Point in a couple of hours. You shouldn’t spend your birthday alone.”

“No. This is a huge weekend for the team and you. Stay in New York, I’ll see you on Monday.”

“Are you sure?”

The chime of his cell phone interrupts my confirmation.

“Don’t answer any calls from the media. And please, check the peephole before you answer the door, okay? This shitstorm will die down.” He looks down at his phone, and I swear I see a flicker of a pleased smile trace his lips. That had to definitely be my imagination because my brother looked…enamored?

Shaking it off, I continue, “I hardly doubt someone drove all the way to New Point, Michigan, to seek me out. They stick to the phone.”

He tells me to be wary of journalists (I don’t need the reminder, but I accept it patiently), wishes me happy birthday again, and reminds me he’ll arrive in town at two on Monday. I allow the lengthy goodbye without interruption because I know he’s still shaken by Chip Conway sharing my identity and whereabouts with the world.

Miles still dominates my thoughts, not letting me worry about the implications the SportsHour story will have my life. I can’t stop wondering if Miles saw the show. I didn’t see any lights on at his house last night, and there’s been no activity this morning.

There’s a knock at my front door. I let out an annoyed sigh and walk over to the entryway. First I peer through the peephole like I know Blake would want me to. My mouth falls open slight in shock, and I wrench the door open.

“Happy birthday!”

Amanda, Etta, and Sharon crowd outside my front door, each smiling widely. Etta holds a platter of food, Amanda’s wrangling a massive bouquet of lilies, and Sharon carries a paper shopping sack.

“What’s going on?”

“It’s your birthday, dear, is it not?” Amanda expression tenders. It takes less than a second for my throat to get tight with emotion. I can’t remember a time when anyone outside of Blake and Stella has taken this sort interest in my birthday.

“It is,” I finally say.

“What are you waiting for? Let us in.”

I fall a couple of steps backward and widen the door for them to enter. They move through my home like they know it well, and I trail behind them into the kitchen. Amanda busies herself with cutting flower stems as Etta reveals the tray of desserts. Sharon lays the contents of her sack on the countertop.

“Champagne flutes?” she asks expectantly.

Dumbfounded, I watch as she begins searching through the tall cabinets. “Please don’t take this as me being ungrateful, but will someone please tell me what you are all doing?” I query again.

“Just because I raised a son who gets stuck in his own stubbornness doesn’t mean I feel the same way,” Amanda declares steadfastly. My gaze shifts across the three women who have stopped their activities.

“You heard about our falling out.” That’s the best I can come up with.

“I’m not going to beat around the bush. Duke and I watched the SportsHour interview last night,” Etta explains. Sharon and Amanda quickly reveal they, too, have seen the interview.

Regret and shame fill me. My boss should have heard about Clarkes from me, not some TV interview. “Sharon, I should have told you –”

“Hush, girl,” Sharon interrupts, disregarding her task to meet my gaze.

“No,” I insist. “It was something you needed to know. I understand if you feel I’m not the best candidate to have in your library. But I want you to know I love this job, and I’ll do whatever it takes to be the best librarian you’ve ever had.”

She crosses the kitchen to stand next to me, placing a weathered hand on my shoulder. “There is no better candidate to work in
our
library. That interview last night showed me that you are a woman of character, a person I want as part of the team.”

My body sags with relief, a slow sail of a breath escapes in relief.

“It’s the best job I could ever have, Sharon. Every day I ask myself how I could have gotten so lucky to work here.”

“This calls for a toast to the birthday girl,” Etta decides, breaking up the spell.

A whirlwind of activity later, four mimosas carbonate in the flutes. The glasses clink when we toast to my birthday. We decide to relocate to my deck, taking seats around the dining table.

“Appetizers?” I smile softly when Etta sets the platter in the center of the table.

“It wouldn’t be a birthday party without crudité.” She dips a carrot into what looks like ranch dressing and plops down into the wood chair next to me. “You know, I tried calling you last night and then again this morning. Is your phone working?”

“It’s working too well. After that interview it started blowing up with… Well, I didn’t pick up, so I’m not sure who was calling. It got so bothersome I had to turn it off. Blake’s bringing me a new phone when he’s here Monday.” I play the stem of the champagne flute, hooking a finger around the glass. “Guess the dinner at Blue in Green is off.”

“I swear I raised him better than this,” Amanda grumbles.

“He didn’t make unreasonable demands. He only wanted the truth, and I couldn’t give it to him.” My eyes flicker to Miles’ sister hesitantly. “Etta warned me it would come to this, but I didn’t listen.”

“Etta knew about your past?” Surprise rings in Amanda’s tone.

“Meet Etta’s Wednesday lunchtime patient.” I wave my hand at the ladies, a grimace twisting my lips. “My therapist in Chicago referred me, and I’ve been seeing her.”

“That’s good, Zoe. That’s real good.” Amanda voices her approval. “You’re going to come out on the other side of this stronger than ever before.”

“That’s my plan,” I say more to myself than to her. “Do any of you know if Miles... Is he in town?”

Etta drums her fingertips on top of the table. “He’s away from New Point, fishing trip with Dad.”

My heart plummets in my chest.
He had to leave town to get away from us.

“Oh.” It’s the only thing I can think of to say.

“He’ll be missing you something fierce while he’s gone,” Amanda determines.

“I’m not sure about that.”

“A mother knows,” she says with a wink.

Her reply is unconvincing at the least, though a part of me would give up every last wish in my arsenal if he would come back to me.

The ladies stay around for a few more hours chatting about the fellow people of New Point, Amanda’s recent vacation, and everything
not
related to Miles until Etta decides she needs to retrieve Duke from his friend’s house. Surprisingly, it’s one of the best birthdays I can remember. Most of my life has been spent under the guidance of a male role model. To have three strong, determined women encompassing me with their support is a new, but completely welcomed, experience.

As I wave goodbye to their retreating car, I can’t help but notice that the tightness in my chest is a little less constricting for the first time since my breakup with Miles.

The funny thing about secrets is that in your mind they seem small. They are tiny pieces of information that maintain a speck in a lifetime of memories. Only when the secret is released in the wild does it become obvious the mammoth weight of what you hid. After Amanda, Sharon, and Etta left, it’s like I feel ten pounds lighter. I’m not carrying the weight of my secret anymore.

As pleased as I am that they know the truth about my past, boulders still reside in my stomach. Without Miles, the achievements fall short of total relief.

He’s my missing piece.

S
unday comes and goes without a Miles sighting until the evening. I’m sitting in the window bench overlooking the calming cadence of Lake Michigan’s waves when light illuminates his kitchen. Tension knots my stomach and I wonder if he can see the apology I redrew in the sand earlier this morning. A few minutes later darkness consumes the light and he’s gone.

If nothing else, I want a chance to apologize to him. Even if it doesn’t win him back, I want Miles to know about my past. I need to come clean to him partially because I can’t imagine not being with him, but for myself too. When he called me weak in the heat of our fight, I believed him, but I’m not. No, I’m a survivor who pushes down her fears every day. Terror has held me hostage for too long. Why should I spend my life glancing over my shoulder at dark memories? They may have cost me Miles, but I won’t let them steal my self-worth.

When I crawl into bed Sunday night I resolve to seek Miles out tomorrow.

Clinton Smith doesn’t reign over my emotions anymore.

M
y eyes blink open and for a few blissful moments, I’m still caught up in the comfort of sleep. Then I notice the time.

“Eight thirty!” I jump out of bed, carelessly tossing the blanket and sheets aside. It is way past my usual wake-up time.

“Shoot, shoot, shoot,” I mumble to myself as I rush through my morning routine. There’s no time to shower, and I grab the first work-appropriate dress I find in my closet. I snatch a banana as I race out the back door, barely remembering to buckle my wedges before locking the house.