Premiere: A Love Story (22 page)

Sally: Don’t be sorry. I’m sure your mom’s probably trying. She’s . . .

Phillip: Putting her affairs in order so she can get ready to snag another rich husband?

Again in the dark familiar theater, Sam looked away, tears welling in her eyes. Damn, these actors were good. Peter had walked to the front row and was sitting next to Spencer. This had to be a difficult scene not only to write, but also to watch. The pain Peter had to deal with their junior year in high school was really unimaginable, but for him and for Sam and Grady, it was all too real.

His father, Robert “Bob” Everoad, had been a huge, charismatic man with a booming voice. Sam loved going to Peter’s house while his dad was alive. He had crazy stories about safaris and trips to the Galapagos Islands. He was like their very own Indiana Jones. Peter’s mother, on the other hand, was a classic debutante, proper and social. She was friends with Sam’s and Grady’s mothers, but when they were kids Peter’s mom always seemed like the leader of the group. Even though Bindi Malendar was married to a senator, April Everoad was known to throw the best parties, to wear the most perfect dresses. She always erred on the side of propriety and in so doing she came across as cold and controlling. Grady used to say, “We could keep a six-pack cold on Mrs. Everoad’s ass,” and he was right. She was about five years younger than her husband and while he was alive, she was the social scene. She was a good mother to Peter and Cynthia, but Sam always got the feeling they were treated more as extensions of the family name rather than as individual people.

Mr. Everoad had married later in life and was quite successful in banking and investments. He was a self-made man and people could tell. Unlike most of the trust-fund parents in Pasadena, he was so normal and likable. He too hung out with Senator Malendar and Sam’s dad. They went on fishing trips and barbecued. Peter loved and idolized his father. When his dad wasn’t working they did everything together. Yet by his junior year it seemed as if all his father did was work. Peter became angry, convinced his father was struggling to keep his mother in diamonds and BMWs. He resented her and then he came home from school after rehearsals for a school play to the paramedics at his house. Mr. Everoad had killed himself in his study. No note, just all of their financial papers on his desk. He’d lost millions in investments, but it didn’t make any sense, they were still quite wealthy. Sam had heard her father talking to friends about Bob’s depression, saying something about how maybe his medication was off. There were rumors that he was devastated about a bad land deal. Whatever the reason, something took over his spirit, their neighborhood lost a great man, and Peter lost his dad.

His father’s body, zipped up in a body bag, was being wheeled into the ambulance by the time Peter arrived. That was the day Peter’s world shattered, yet from that day until the day now being played out on the stage, Peter had never cried. He went through the entire funeral and the days that followed without one tear. Even after he finally cried with Sam in the theater, he was still shut off for months, and there was nothing Sam or Grady could do for a while. Peter eventually emerged as they approached high school graduation, but he was never the same. He was always a unique and funny guy, but he became uncomfortable and agitated, he wrote volumes and he . . . changed.

Once they went to UCLA, Peter blossomed out of the confines and beyond the eyes of Pasadena. He still had Sam, but the rest of the school knew him for his writing, and no one knew enough about his life to feel pity. There were plenty of holidays Sam had to drag Peter home, but he came. She was the bridge between his new world and their past. Sam always told him he had to take care of his roots, even if he didn’t like where he was planted.

“Roots help the plant grow. You can’t make it without them,” she would say.

He’d laugh at her and say, “Mine are a pain in the ass. What’s wrong with wanting a different pot?”

Thinking about it now, Sam looked over at Peter. He sensed her stare and met her eyes. Peter smiled at her and she was filled with pride and love. He had survived, had grown in New York, and returned to her. She looked at her notes and felt the pain and doubt fall away. Peter was hers and she was his. It was time to stop questioning.

Chapter Twenty-Four

C
atalina Island had always been a special place. Sam’s father had practically grown up on the island; it’s where he had proposed to her mother. It was nothing short of romantic folklore that her grandparents fell madly in love on Catalina. The island had been an important place for her family, immediate and extended, for as long as Sam could remember.

Until their children went to college, the Cathners had vacationed there with the Malendars and the Everoads at least once every summer and always over the long Labor Day weekend. Even after Peter’s father had died, Mrs. Everoad brought Peter and Cynthia. For years she just stayed up in their house overlooking Avalon, but after some time she joined Sam’s mother and Bindi for walks on the pier and lunch at the country club. Catalina was a healing place, and when Sam was on the island, even as a grown woman, she felt as if anything were possible.

Cynthia Leigh Everoad was going to marry Alan Christian Ferrimore the week Peter and Sam arrived on Catalina. Alan was the sort of man that women never really swooned over, but nevertheless wanted to marry. He was educated, successful, trilingual, and very wealthy. Raised in Connecticut, Alan came to the West Coast for college and, as the story goes, was in love with Cynthia at first sight. Alan annoyed Sam; to be honest he annoyed everyone and that may have even included Cynthia. He was a slightly less anal version of the Daniel Day Lewis character in the Merchant and Ivory adaptation of
A Room with a View.
He was tight and awkward, but he worshipped Cynthia, and she deserved to be worshipped.

Cynthia was stunning woman. On the boat ride over to Catalina, Sam tried to imagine how beautiful she would look in her wedding dress. She had a version of Peter’s green eyes, but her mother’s pale complexion and blonde hair. Unlike Peter, she was kind of frail. She was a dancer, and Sam always felt the urge to feed her. She was tiny and like her mother, always impeccably dressed.

When they were growing up, Sam had always felt a little envious of Cynthia because everything was mapped out for her, and she didn’t seem to mind. Whatever was put in front of her, she went along with it. Her mother had her in cotillion and cooking classes; she even made aprons one year as Christmas gifts. She was pretty damn perfect, never complained, and never wanted more. For as long as Sam could remember Cynthia had been set to get married, have a home, and raise a family. As Sam got older she realized what she envied was the simplicity. There’s something to be said for simple. Sam’s mind never worked that way.

Sam’s parents were a little looser with the reins growing up. She liked to play basketball with her brother, her two best friends were guys, and while she dressed up well and smiled through all her cotillion classes, Sam had always preferred jeans and the theater. All she ever really thought about growing up was being an actress. She never entertained the idea of marriage until after college. Making a decent omelet was the extent of her cooking expertise. Sam liked her life, but it was full of choices, and choices often turned into mistakes.

Sam and Peter came over on the ferry together. Their families had arrived a day early by plane. There were some last-minute program changes at the Playhouse before everything was sent to the printer, so Sam and Peter needed an extra day. Their relationship was handling the stress of the production and even though Peter seemed distracted and had flown back to New York because they had lost a principal actor from the cast of his first play, things were good.

Candice had given Sam the week off. Their Friday meeting had been productive. She and Candice discussed the upcoming season following the already sold-out run of
Looking In.
She was optimistic that the Playhouse would be stronger than ever. But now, taking in a deep breath of sea air, Sam was ready for a week away with her family and Peter. On Catalina the past and present seemed to blend together nicely like in a rich painting.

Peter waved off the driver sent to meet them. They wheeled their bags toward the house. They did it each time they came to Catalina together, yet Peter’s mother continued to send Terry in his stretch golf cart to pick them up. It had become a game. Terry always joked that someday they would be too old and would accept the ride from him.

Peter had felt a weight lift as soon as they stepped onto the island. The wind blew through Sam’s dark hair, and he knew her nose would freckle by tomorrow morning. Everything about her was like the island, warmth and fun, mixed with history and stunning beauty.

“What’s behind that smile, Peter Everoad?”

“I’m realizing there are so many things to smile about, but right this minute, this smile? This is a ‘you’re all windswept-flushed, and how long before I can kiss you senseless?’ smile.”

“Well, that’s a very good smile.”

She kissed him, lingering.

“If you want more of that, as is tradition, you’ll have to race me home.”

“Oh, come on. Are you kidding me? Aren’t we too old for this?”

“Tradition is tradition. It’s bad luck to start a Catalina trip any other way. Think about your sister’s happiness.”

“What does that . . . oh, forget it.”

They took off running, bags wheeling behind them. Sam had to stop midway and take off her shoes. She was so full of life and as her feet felt the sand that had escaped the beach, she knew it was possible for the past to resolve itself. Even the deepest wounds healed. They ran out of breath and bent over laughing halfway up the hill to Peter’s family home. They were happy and that was more than enough.

Chapter Twenty-Five

T
wo days later, following a rehearsal dinner at the country club and a combination bachelorette and bachelor’s party, Sam took her seat at the wedding. Guests quietly visited and found their seats among the white chairs set up on Descanso Beach right as the sun began to dip into the ocean. The string quartet glided through Bach’s Cello Suite in G major even as their sheet music tried to escape in the ocean breeze. The aisle was lined with bright coral roses and delicate pale orchids. Alan stood by his best man and groomsmen next to a huge arch that framed the ocean view with a burst of more of the same blooms. Grady walked down the aisle and took his seat in front of Sam, next to his parents.

He turned around, saying, “Peter looks good. Doesn’t seem nearly as nervous as poor Alan does.”

Sam was taken in by the setting, and she was already starting to tear up. Even though she’d never imagined herself the bride, she enjoyed weddings. They were the ultimate beginning, and she always loved the beginning.

“Oh Christ, are you starting with the tears already?”

She opened her eyes wide, trying to contain the tears, and smacked Grady’s arm.

“Just turn around. You’re making me cry.”

“I’m making you cry. Okay, that makes no sense, but I’ll do as I’m told.”

He laughed and turned around as her father joined her and her mother approached from the front of the aisle after kissing April Everoad. The sun was now setting and huge candles filled the darkness with the most romantic glow. The quartet began playing Pachelbel’s Canon in D and everyone stood for the bride.

Cynthia looked iridescent in a soft, white, strapless gown that had the slightest shimmer and hugged her body right to her tiny waist. It then blew out into a full skirt with a small train. Her hair was swept to one side. Even beneath her veil, she was radiant, a perfect bride. Peter’s mother stood surrounded by her two sisters and other relatives who had flown in for the wedding.

The guests were looking at the bride and taking in the gorgeous setting, but Sam’s eyes were on Peter. The wind messed his hair as he confidently walked his sister down the aisle toward a married adult life with a man who clearly adored her. It struck Sam what a rare opportunity it was to know a person his entire life. She had been there when Peter lost his father and she was here now, watching him assume that responsibility and give his sister away. Most people meet the man they love in college or at their job, but Sam had known all the phases of Peter.

Walking Cynthia toward her fiancé, Peter felt calm. He held her arm and noticed she was shaking just under the surface. He was proud to be there for her. Somewhere deeper he knew he was there for his father. He would have expected Peter to be a man and give his sister away, honor the family. As the ocean breeze caressed Cynthia’s veil, Peter knew it all still mattered. His home, his family, his father, it was a deep-rooted part of him, and it always would be. Maybe it was being with Sam, maybe it was the island, but Peter welcomed the peace.

They approached the flower arch, and Peter saw his mother squeeze her sister’s hand. She looked vulnerable. As often happened, Peter wondered what she was thinking, if she was proud or sad. Had she found some shred of happiness? He would never know.