The Miles Between Us Read online

  Rob bent down, swept her up, swung her high over his head, and said, “Who is this hot young chick, and what happened to my Emmy Lou Who?”

  His daughter squealed in delight. He lowered her, propped her in the crook of his arm and, waggling his eyebrows, said, “You’re quite the vamp in this get-up, Emmy. Something new?”

  “I told you,” Casey said, “we went shopping.” Wooden spoon in hand, she stretched on tiptoe, past their squirming daughter, and he leaned down and kissed her. “Wait till you see the rest,” she said.

  “There’s more?”

  “Much, much more. Right, Emma?”

  “Am I going to have to revoke your credit card privileges?”

  “Very funny, Flash. Get yourself a drink and wait. Ten minutes. Out of my kitchen. Shoo! Paige, want to stay and help?”

  He did what she said; he didn’t dare not to. He settled on the couch with Emma and a cold bottle of Heineken, picked up the remote and switched on the television with the sound muted because Sheryl was still singing. Flipping silently through the channels, he settled on Seinfeld. But he couldn’t focus on the show. Muted, the visuals gave no clue as to what the episode was about, and with Seinfeld, it was all about the dialogue. Besides, he was too distracted by Casey’s behavior. He was probably overreacting, but this perky, enthusiastic goddess didn’t quite gibe with the anxiety-ridden woman he’d seen just a few hours ago. One of these opposing twins was a Stepford wife, but which one?

  Every so often, when there was a break in the music, the quiet murmur of voices floated from the kitchen. He was grateful that his wife and the daughter who’d come to him as a surprise package two years ago had bonded almost from the beginning. Paige had given them a run for their money. Penance, he supposed, for the stupidity and single-mindedness of his youth. His wife had been born with the kind of patience he lacked. There were times when he’d been ready to give up on the kid, but Casey remained cool, calm, constant in her love for his daughter.

  He’d grown a few gray hairs last winter, when Paige and Mikey Lindstrom had cooked up some cockamamie scheme about eloping. Thank God they’d realized how crazy the idea was before it was too late. Now, on the verge of her senior year, she’d settled down, was gradually losing the chip from her shoulder as she evolved from resentful teenager to smart, beautiful young woman. She’d inherited some of that single-mindedness from him, but she wore it much better than he had. In his younger days, he’d been so focused on his music that the rest of his life had been in tatters. If it hadn’t been for Casey, he probably would’ve crashed and burned years ago. She’d been his rock, the one solid thing in his life. It hadn’t mattered that she was married to Danny, not back then. She was Danny’s rock, too. Among many talents his wife possessed, that was arguably her greatest.

  But now, he was seeing the rock begin to crack, and he had no idea how to fix it. Or even whether it could be fixed. So he sat here, beer in hand and his daughter in his lap, and brooded over it, because that was his greatest talent. He was a world-class, grand champion brooder.

  A few minutes passed before Paige came to the doorway and said, “Dad? Dinner’s ready.”

  Casey’d gone out of her way to make dinner something special. Fresh flowers on the table. A salad with fresh organic greens and homemade poppy seed dressing, followed by a roast chicken with cornbread stuffing, creamy mashed potatoes, peas, and a side dish of cinnamon-flavored pink applesauce. Nothing elegant, just good, old-fashioned home cooking. While Emma played in her potatoes with her plastic spoon and chased peas with her fingers, Rob and Paige shoveled in the first real home-cooked meal they’d eaten since they came to New York, and Casey kept up a steady stream of bright, cheery patter. She seemed so light and airy, he knew that something was off.

  “While I was out,” she said, “I picked up some movies. I thought we could watch one together after Emma goes to bed.”

  Paige raised her head. His eyes met hers, and she shrugged. “Fine by me,” he said, reaching for a second dinner roll. He just wanted his wife to be happy, and if he had to sit through a chick flick to accomplish that, it was a small price to pay.

  While Paige and Casey cleaned up the kitchen after dinner, he got Emma washed up and in her pajamas, read her a bedtime story, then settled her in the crib with a bottle. The women were just finishing up when he came back. “Why don’t the two of you pick a movie and get it started?” Casey said. “I’ll make some popcorn.”

  He’d eaten so much already that he wasn’t sure his stomach would hold anything else, but if it would make her happy, he’d eat popcorn until it came out his ears. While the microwave hummed in the kitchen, he and Paige checked out the movies, argued a little, finally came to a compromise. Paige settled into the recliner that she’d claimed the day they moved in, and he got the TV and the VCR ready. Halfway through the previews, realizing he’d stopped hearing the sound of popping corn quite some time ago, he headed to the kitchen to see what was taking her so long.

  The room was dark, lit only by a single night light. A dark figure set against its illumination, his wife stood at the sink, her head bowed, her hands gripping the counter so hard that even in this faint light, he could see the taut tendons in her wrists, the whiteness of her knuckles. “Babe?” he said softly.

  She raised her head, straightened her spine. But still didn’t look at him. “Casey?” he said, taking a step toward her.

  His wife finally turned, and he saw the sunken eyes, the pallor. “I’m just so tired,” she said. “That’s all.”

  He muttered a curse under his breath, and she reached out a slender hand and touched his face. “I’m fine,” she said. “Really.”

  “Like hell you are.” Before she had time to protest, he scooped her up in his arms. “Change of plans,” he told Paige as he carried his wife through the living room and down the hallway toward the master bedroom. Casey didn’t argue, and that was what frightened him the most. The Casey he knew would have been making sassy remarks and issuing orders. This Casey was limp and compliant. The wife who was the center of his universe was disappearing right in front of his eyes, piece by piece, like the Cheshire Cat.

  He sat her on the edge of the bed, knelt and took off her shoes, set them aside. Peeled off her socks, her jeans, her tee shirt. Sitting there in just her underwear, she said, “I’m so sorry, Flash. I’ve been neglecting you, and all I wanted was to make things festive for one night.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. There’s not a damn thing to be sorry for. You’re exhausted, physically and emotionally. You’ve been through hell, and today, you pushed yourself to the point of collapse. Paige and I appreciate everything you do for us, but it’s more important to us that you take care of yourself.”

  “If that’s so, then why are you taking care of me?”

  “Hey,” he said. “Remember that jazzy little thing they put in the wedding vows? In sickness and in health. Remember that?”

  “I’m not sick.”

  “You’re heartsick, babe. Add exhaustion to that, and what you have is a volatile cocktail.”

  “You make me sound like something that’s about to explode.”

  Except that she wasn’t exploding. She was imploding. “Come on,” he said, drawing back the covers and patting the mattress. “Let’s get you into bed.”

  Like an obedient five-year-old, she scooted into place, rested her head on the pillow, dark hair falling all around her, and he drew the covers up to her chin. “There,” he said. “You get some sleep. I guarantee you’ll feel better in the morning.”

  She ran a hand up his arm. “Are you coming to bed?”

  “In a few minutes. I need to talk to Paige first. Go to sleep.” He leaned and kissed her forehead, then reached to turn out the light. “That’s an order.”

  He closed the bedroom door softly behind him. Paige was waiting in the living room, the movie on pause, her eyes wide with concern. “Is she okay?” she said.

  “I don’t know.” He sat down hard on the couch, b
raced his elbows on his knees. Scraped his fingers through his hair. Lifted his head, met his daughter’s eyes. And sighed. “I honest-to-God don’t know.”

  “I don’t understand what’s going on. She was fine, right up until she wasn’t.”

  “She wasn’t fine. She was faking it. Eyes a little too bright, chatter a little too enthusiastic. I don’t know who that woman was, but she wasn’t my wife.”

  “Her hormones are messed up. She was pregnant, and now she isn’t. I don’t think it matters that she didn’t deliver a full-term baby. She could still be going through post-partum depression.”

  “She just saw the doctor. You’d think Deb would’ve noticed if something was wrong.”

  “I don’t know. She’s pretty good at hiding it. I live with her, and I didn’t see through that bright and bubbly façade.”

  “True.”

  “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “Just help me keep an eye on her. This is bound to pass. Eventually.” He rose to his feet. “I’m going to bed. Don’t stay up too late.”

  In the bedroom, he undressed in the dark and crawled into bed, silently, so he wouldn’t wake her. But his wife wasn’t sleeping. She rolled onto her side, slipped an arm around him beneath the covers, and rested her cheek against his chest. Her words slurred from exhaustion, she said, “Hey there, hot stuff.”

  “Hey.” He gathered her closer, that warm body pressed hard against his. “I thought you’d be asleep by now.”

  “I’m too tired to sleep.”

  “And I’m the King of Siam.”

  She let out a sleepy sigh and said, “Yul Brynner.”

  “What?”

  “The King and I. The movie?” She cleared her throat. “Yul Brynner played the King of Siam.”

  Her words conjured up a vague image of a broad-shouldered man with a shaved head, but he didn’t think he’d ever seen the movie. “Forget Yul Brynner,” he said. “You need to sleep.”

  “And you need to stop worrying about me.”

  “Like that’s ever going to happen.”

  “I overdid today. It’s my own fault. I’m probably still anemic from blood loss. It’s only been a couple of weeks.” She yawned, settled more comfortably against him. “Flying up and back in one day was too much for me. I should’ve stayed overnight and flown back tomorrow. Stupid.”

  “You don’t have a stupid bone in your body, Fiore.”

  “I love you, too, MacKenzie.”

  “I didn’t say it because I love you. I said it because it’s true.”

  “Mmn hmn.”

  The silence between them was comfortable, the silence of two people who drew their sunlight and oxygen from each other’s presence. After a time, deciding to dip a single toe into the water, he said, “Babe?”

  “Mmn.”

  “There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

  “Mmn hmn.”

  “You know that little guitar store down on Broadway, near 43rd?”

  Silence, punctuated only by her deep and even breathing. He carefully brushed the hair away from her face and adjusted the blankets around them.

  And stayed awake for a long time, pondering his future.

  Casey

  She knew she was dreaming, but the dream started out so lovely that at first, she just went along with it. Beneath a stunning blue sky, the Pacific sparkled like a polished gemstone. At low tide, the waves rolled in like champagne bubbles, mellow and harmless, popping just before they reached the shore. They were on the short stretch of beach that fronted their Malibu home, tucked in between neighboring properties that made their relatively modest house of redwood and glass look like a shack. The home to her left belonged to a famous television actor whose hit show was watched every week by millions. The one on her right was owned by the widow of a Hollywood scriptwriter who’d penned more than two dozen successful action films in his decades-long career.

  They’d brought everything they needed for a fun mother-daughter afternoon at the beach: two lounge chairs, one Mommy-size, the other Katie-size; beach towels, sunscreen, beach toys. Flip-flops, bottled water, a bag of potato chips. A portable radio and a magazine. Perched sideways on her lounge chair with her toes buried in the sand and Katie propped between her knees, her tiny body humming with impatience, Casey slathered sunscreen on her daughter’s shoulders, her cheeks, the bridge of her nose. At five, Katie was losing her baby fat. That sweet, round face was becoming less round as the bone structure beneath became more defined. She wore a bright pink two-piece bathing suit, her blond hair in loose braids, and a white sun hat which she kept losing—Casey suspected deliberately—in the sand. Her baby was growing up too quickly. A hard fist wrapped around her heart and squeezed. She wasn’t ready for this. Wasn’t sure she’d ever be ready for her little girl to grow up.

  “Big hug,” she said, wrapping her arms around that warm little body, burying her nose in Katie’s neck, inhaling the mingled scents of salt air, sunscreen, and little girl.

  “Enough, Mommy!” Katie said with indignation, squirming to escape from her mother’s embrace. Casey let her go, sat watching those chubby little legs pump as Katie raced toward the water, her pigtails bouncing, her red bucket clutched tightly in her hand. Her daughter plunked down on the wet sand at the water’s edge and began digging with a blue plastic shovel.

  “Don’t go in the water without me,” Casey reminded her.

  Katie glanced up, gave her a withering look, and said in a sing-songy voice, “What do you think I am, stupid?”

  Casey raised her eyebrows, and Katie, being nobody’s fool, returned her attention to digging. Katie was going through a stage. She was, by turns, charming, funny, and delightful. Of late, she’d also been sassy, impertinent, and naughty. This had been going on since shortly after she started preschool, where she’d quickly discovered the fearsome power of peer pressure. Casey had interrogated other mothers, who’d assured her it was temporary and that her best course of action was to ignore it. Leanne Ackerman, the mother of Katie’s best friend, said, “She’s pushing the boundaries. Trying to find out how far she can go with you. It’s normal, and if you respond negatively, you’ll reinforce the behavior. Don’t give her the satisfaction. When she fails to get a rise out of you, she’ll move on to something different.”

  “Something worse? I certainly hope not.”

  “Oh, hon, just wait until the teenage years. The real fun is still ahead of you.”

  She would cross that bridge when she came to it. In the meantime, in spite of her daughter’s occasional foray to the dark side, life was pretty close to perfect. Could there be a better way to spend a lazy summer afternoon? Sun, sand, salt air. The ocean’s rhythmic roar, the Monkees on the radio singing I’m Not Your Stepping Stone, and Katie, her beautiful Katydid, who owned every inch of her heart, playing at the water’s edge.

  Casey loved being a mother. Loved the damp hugs and the sticky kisses and the messy little fingers. Loved making PB&J sandwiches with the crusts cut off, loved dressing her daughter in girly, ruffled dresses, loved reading to her at bedtime from The Cat in the Hat and Charlotte’s Web and The Wind in the Willows. She loved sitting together at the kitchen table with a pad of paper and a box of crayons, using their imaginations to create whatever they fancied. She loved perching Katie on a kitchen stool, wrapped in a red apron that was five sizes too big, and teaching her to bake cookies, just the way her mother had done when she was a girl. Danny had been her universe until the day Katie was born. How could she have foreseen the vast difference between her love for him and what she felt for her firstborn child? How could she have understood how that child would exponentially expand her universe? How could she have known that her life wouldn’t truly begin until she became a mother?

  “Look, Mommy! See what I can do!”

  Somehow, despite her warnings, during the second when she’d been lost in thought, Katie had waded into the surf and now stood chest deep, her little arms outflung in a wordless “T
a-da!”

  A dense bed of kelp floated on the incoming tide. On the horizon, storm clouds had gathered, and as she watched in horror, the wind picked up, kicking up the surf that a moment ago had been as tame as bath water. “Katie!” she shouted. “Come back here!”

  In too deep to have solid footing, her daughter bobbled and swayed in the rushing surf. “Look, Mommy,” she said. “I can swim!”

  And, fearless, she ducked her head underwater.

  Except that she couldn’t swim. Danny hadn’t wanted her to learn. He’d said there was no need until she was older. They never allowed her on the beach alone, and he didn’t want people at the YMCA staring at her, whispering about her, because she was his daughter.

  But Casey was a strong swimmer, and as a massive breaker rolled in like a shark at feeding time toward the last place she’d seen her daughter, she raced across the sand to the water, screaming Katie’s name as she ran. She splashed through the shallows, reached deeper water just as the breaker slammed into her. It took her down and under, tumbled and tossed her until she had no idea which way was up. She swallowed salt water, scrabbled in the loose sand driven up her nose by the force of the water. A clump of seaweed slapped her in the face, and she gasped, took in more water. Frantic now, struggling against the undertow that threatened to pull her out to sea, she began swimming, searching desperately for the child who had disappeared right before her eyes.

  But it was murky and dark beneath the surface, and her lungs were on fire, her body weakened by her desperate attempt to hold her breath. Just as the lack of oxygen forced her to breathe, the roiling sea coughed once and spit her out. Choking, gasping, she struggled to her feet and wiped the sting of salt from her eyes, felt its agonizing burn through her sinuses.

  Tangled in a bed of kelp, a tiny body floated face up on the surface of the water, bobbing gently in a sea that had gone dark and flat. Eyes wide, staring but unseeing, Katie now wore a lacy white dress. A burial gown. With a cry of despair, Casey fought her way through water that had turned the consistency of Jell-O, one laborious step after another bringing her closer, closer, until she reached her lifeless daughter, swiped a soggy strand of hair away from the child’s face, and realized that it wasn’t Katie at all.