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Bad idea. First, she has enough to deal with right now with her father at the ER, and second, I’m not supposed to tell anyone, not even the woman I’m sleeping with, that I’m researching for a role.
I also like being Jack. Temporarily. There’s nothing to complain about in my life. It’s afforded me the privilege of going to places I’d never have visited, otherwise; meet people I would never have met and accomplish so much professionally and personally. The charity I support jumps to mind. It's for at-risk and disadvantaged youth and knowing that I’ve made a difference makes the lack of privacy, the scrutiny, and other bullshit that comes with fame worth it.
Still, I’m enjoying this interlude from my regular life. It’s nice to be a regular joe, getting to know a woman and letting her know me. That’s another thing that makes me hesitate to let Grace in on my secret. I don’t want to see her change her attitude toward me when she finds out who I am.
“Fine.” She grabs her car keys and hands them to me. She’s too distracted right now to give much thought to my lack of a car.
Downstairs, I unlock her car and open the door for her. Minutes later, we are on the highway, headed to Newtown. I throw worried glances at her. She hasn’t said a word since we left her apartment.
“Talk to me,” I tell her.
She sighs. “I’m sorry. I’m not great company right now. My parents are everything to me.”
“I understand.” I actually don’t.
“I’m adopted,” she says softly. “I started living with my parents when I was ten years old, and they gave me the stability that I desperately needed.”
“Oh.” I’m rarely at a loss for words.
“Yeah, my biological parents were irresponsible, and they should not have been allowed to raise a child.” Her voice is cold. Chilly. “But my adopted parents showed me another way of life, and it wiped out all the earlier memories of growing up with my biological parents.”
“I’m sorry.” I don’t need to have a psychology degree to understand why she panicked and why she’s super close to her adoptive parents. They rescued her from a life of misery. I wish I could ask her about her biological parents, but that would be prying into her life too much. It’s such a private matter. I think of my own family. I haven’t spoken to my parents in almost five years when I finally had enough.
“It’s fine. I healed, but I credit my life to my adoptive parents. I cannot bear the thought of losing either of them,” she says, her voice cracking.
“Hey, your father fell, right? Most likely, he broke something. I’m sure it’s nothing more serious than that.”
“That’s what I keep telling myself. It sounds better coming from you,” she says and manages a smile.
I distract her with amusing tales of different places I’ve visited over the years. I tell her about the first time I rode on a camel and I ended up hanging upside down when the camel stood up before I’d settled into the saddle. The only thing I don’t tell her is that it was for a movie.
She laughs. “You’ve traveled a lot, haven’t you?”
“I have.”
“Was that in the desert?” she asks.
“Yes, in the Sahara Desert in Morocco. Have you traveled a lot yourself?” I ask her.
She shakes her head. “It’s on my long-term plans but so far, no. Work gets in the way.”
“Maybe one day we can travel together,” I tell her, and the fantasy grows in my mind. It would be nice to revisit all the places I’ve been with Grace. She’s not just good in the sack but out of it as well. Her company is amazing, and we keep a steady stream of conversation. Before I know it, the one and a half hours zip by, and we are pulling off the highway.
“We’re nearly there,” she says and gives me directions to the hospital.
I find my way to a parking lot near the ER entrance. We get out of the car and hurry across the parking lot to the entrance.
“Mom,” Grace says and hurries to an older woman with graying hair, sitting in the last row of the waiting area.
She sees Grace and stands up. On closer inspection, I see more than a passing resemblance between Grace and her adopted mom. They are both tall and elegant, and her features are similar to Grace’s. They are the same height too and have the exact same body shape. It’s puzzling. They are not biologically related, from what Grace explained to me. I stand to the side as the two women hug. They hold each other for a long time.
“Dad’s fine,” she says. “It’s a broken leg. They’re setting it now.”
“Oh, that’s good news,” Grace says, relief in her voice. She beckons me to step closer. “Mom, this is my friend and colleague, Jack Acker.”
