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Elizabeth sat back. It all made sense. The silences, the lack of photographs, the missing family stories. Mama had inflicted a terrible blow to Daddys self-esteem. No wonder he clung to Anita so tightly.
"But why dont I have any memories of her? She didnt die until I was six. "
"She loved you, Birdie, somethin fierce, but after she got back, she was broken inside. Lost. She couldnt care for you. She would hold you close one day and then lock herself in her bedroom and ignore you for weeks at a time. It almost killed your daddy. Course, she was on serious medications. Back then, a woman who did a thing like that was crazy. Everyone would have thought so--especially her. And she was from a good, church-going family, dont forget. Good girls just didnt have sex with other women. "
That sparked a sudden memory. On the day after her fourth birthday, Elizabeth had gotten up early and run into Mamas bedroom. She found her mama sitting on the floor, with her knees drawn up to her chest, crying. Elizabeth couldnt remember exactly what shed said, but she remembered Mamas answer. Dont you be like me, little Birdie. Dont you be afraid.
Anita reached out, touched Elizabeths hand. "Your mama found what she wanted in life, but she turned away from it. She let family pressures be more important than what was in her heart. She walked away from her love and her talent. And it killed her. I know you, Birdie. You were up in your bedroom, thinking of quitting, telling yourself you were a fool to think you had talent. "
Elizabeth felt transparent suddenly. "When did you get to know me so well?"
"Dont you dare give up on Elizabeth Shore. Youve come too far and worked too hard to go back to your old life because youre scared. If you give up, youll be making the same mistake as your mama. It might not kill you, but itll break you, Birdie. "
Elizabeth closed her eyes. She wanted to deny it, but there was no point. She knew.
What had she said to Kim that day? For years, I failed by omission. It was true, and each untried thing had left her emptier.
Now, at least, shed tried and failed. But shed tried. She could take pride in that.
She managed an uneven smile. "Youre something else," she said softly, remembering so many times Anita had reached out to her and been turned away.
"You, too, Birdie. "
"All these years I thought I had no mother," Elizabeth said. "I was wrong, wasnt I? I had two. I love you, Anita. I should have told you that a long time ago. "
Anitas mouth trembled. She made a dont-you-worry-about-a-thing gesture with her hand. "Your daddy always told me youd figure that out someday. "
In the hotel ballroom, waiting for his turn to speak, Jack couldnt think about anything except Birdie. It surprised him, actually. Every time he tried to consider his great new job offer or the upcoming People magazine shoot, he wanted to pick up the phone and call his wife. None of his triumphs were quite as sweet without her beside him, saying softly, You did it, baby.
That was the thing about sobriety. It cleared the mind, scrubbed away all those blurred edges, and left everything standing in a bright, true light.
Since his conversation with Warren, that light had been particularly unflinching. He saw the whole of his life.
Every day had been a search for more. Nothing had ever been enough. Not even Birdie. He could admit that now. There was no point in lying to himself anymore.
Because of the man hed been, he was alone now. A husband estranged from his wife, a father estranged from his daughters. Except for work, he had no responsibilities beyond the ones he chose.
But freedom wasnt what hed thought.
For years, hed imagined Starting Over. In his endless fantasies, hed gotten a second chance at all of it--fame, youth, adoration. And mostly (be honest, Jack) what hed dreamed of were other women. Younger women with firm bodies and skimpy dresses who climbed in bed with a man and wanted nothing more than his hard cock. That had been his dream. A faceless, nameless woman who loved his body and never asked him to put down the toilet seat or to buy tampons on his way home from work.
Now he had that. The affair with Sally was front-burner hot. The sex was great--physically satisfying, anyway--and afterward was perfect. She got up, dressed quietly, and lef
t for her own apartment. No scenes about staying over, no pretense about love.
No sharing, no laughter, no warmth.
Warren had been right; Jack had made a bad trade. True warmth for false heat.
The dream--that lights, camera, action life--wasnt full. It was frighteningly empty.
Now, as he sat in the middle of his so-called exciting life, all alone, he realized at last that he, too, was empty.
"Jack?" Sally tapped his elbow.
He came stumbling out of his thoughts. The audience was clapping. A quick look at Sally told Jack hed missed his introduction.
He got to his feet and threaded his way through the crowded ballroom of the hotel. The place was filled with white-clothed tables.
