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“Yes, we do,” Kelsey said. “Don’t we, Daddy?”
If she hadn’t been so uncomfortable herself, Meredith would have laughed at the strained expression on Mark’s face. “Yes,” was all he said.
And because Meredith had been climbing the walls there by herself, because she adored Kelsey and couldn’t bear to have the little girl disappointed in her again so soon, because Susan was at the hospital seeing patients, Meredith accepted their invitation.
THEY HIKED. They laughed. They played three-way Frisbee. And somehow they ended up back at Meredith’s house with takeout Chinese food for dinner, followed by Kelsey’s favorite movie, The Reluctant Astronaut. The little girl seemed happy, contented. But anytime Meredith focused on Kelsey, her stomach grew tight and uneasy. Just like it had that Friday night of the spring dance, when she thought she’d eaten something bad.
Maybe it was ice cream followed by Chinese food.
At nine-thirty, halfway through Meredith’s favorite, The Truman Show, which Mark had never seen before, Kelsey fell asleep.
“I should go,” Mark said when Meredith noticed the child’s head hanging awkwardly off the side of the armchair and paused the movie.
She should let him. But after Kelsey’s brief mention of it, they’d done a marvelous job of avoiding all mention of the radio show that morning and Meredith needed to know what he thought—where she stood—without having his daughter intervene on her behalf. “You could put her on the bed in my guest room,” she said. “Just until we finish the movie.”
He glanced at her. Looked like he was going to refuse. And then nodded.
Meredith led him down the hall, past her room to one across the hall, and helped him settle his daughter under the covers.
Someday she wanted a life like that.
“GOOD AFTERNOON. Good evening. And good night.” Meredith felt like cheering when Jim Carrey delivered his last line and walked through the movie set that had been the boundary of his life since the day he was born.
Mark was watching the credits roll.
“What did you think?”
He glanc
ed at her, sat forward and reached for the remote control. “It was good.”
“That’s all? Good?” The movie had hit a chord so deep within her, the first time she’d seen it at a theater, that she’d gone back twice more that same weekend.
The television went dark. Leaving them only with the soft light from a lamp on the table by the window. “It’s a bit discomfiting to realize that one can be so completely manipulated,” he said now. “They kept him trapped in that set for decades and he never even knew it wasn’t real.”
“You’re deeper than you want to believe, Shepherd,” she said, telling herself that the extent of her pleasure was ridiculous.
“I’m just me,” he said. “And right now, that’s ready for bed.”
His words, innocently intended, she was sure, hung between them. Only because it was late. And the lighting was soft. And she’d had a hard day.
She sat forward in the chair she’d been lounging in all evening. “Before you go, can you tell me what you really thought about the radio show this morning?”
“He was prepared, thorough.”
“And?”
“I think he made headway.”
She’d known that. But to hear him say it brought a stab of fear to her chest.
“How much headway?”
Mark glanced at her, his eyes glistening in the dim light. “You don’t want to get into this tonight, do you?” he asked softly. “Today was supposed to be about forgetting.”
“And the problem with that—” she tried for a chuckle and failed “—is that you always get your memory back and it’s like finding things out all over again. You come down with a thud.”
“Monday morning is soon enough. Give yourself the weekend, at least.”
