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It had been so long since she had been in the limelight that being thrust back into it didn’t feel so much like a splash of cold water, as it did a thirty-foot tsunami.
But Rafe had been in talks for a film adaptation of his books for a while, and apparently, he’d had her in mind for the role. “There’s someone else they want,” he told her, over the dinner he’d prepared for her in his little Portland house. “But there’s nothing Hollywood likes more than a redemption arc, and I’d push for you, if you want it.”
“I want it,” she said, surprised by how much she did. Being a housewife hadn’t made her happy. Acting was in her blood, and not being able to perform had made her feel as if her entire sense of self was being fractured.
“It’s yours then,” Rafe said, as if it were up to him.
Maybe it was. She’d gone to the audition and killed it. She could tell from the way that the director and crew went silent as she read her lines. There was always a charge in the air when someone delivered their lines well; like a plug and socket neatly lining up. Her eyes went to Rafe, who was leaning against the wall with his arms folded. The way he looked at her made her feel as if she were burning up in a shower of stardust.
After a single callback, she’d gotten the role.
This new fame was nothing like the moments of casual recognition that she’d occasionally experienced in LA hole-in-the-walls. Her face was on ads and billboards. She was on the cover of magazines.EbonyandVogueand even a four-page spread inEntertainment Weekly.
Even her mother noticed, and her mother had never really taken interest in her acting work before. “I saw you onJimmy Kimmel,” she said, almost as soon as Donni had picked up the phone.
“Mom,” said Donni. “Aren’t you going to ask me how I am?”
A pause. “Well, you seem to be doing well. I imagine they must be paying you better than they were before.”
“God.” Donni ran her hand down her face. “Why are you always like this? Every time I talk to you, it’s like you can’t wait to get away.”
There was another pause. “That’s not true,” her mother said firmly.
“Then why are you embarrassed by me?”
“I’m not embarrassed by you,” her mother said. “You can call any time you want. I figured you must be busy. You never visit, and when you do, you never stay.”
Her tone didn’t change, but Anh’s accent always got harsher when she was angry, and right now, she sounded as if she were about a heartbeat away from sliding into Vietnamese. That was how her mother had used to chastise her as a young girl; it allowed the anger to flow far more freely. And, like a child, she could feel herself reacting to it.
“I never stayed because I felt like you didn’t love me.”
Rafe, who was chopping vegetables in the kitchen, paused.
Her mother let out a rough breath. It sounded almost like a sob. “Of course I love you, con qu?,” she whispered. “How could you even say that?”
“Because—” Donni choked. “You sided with my abuser over me.”
“No, no, no.” The words came out in a violent staccato burst, like gunfire. “I told you to be careful because I was afraid this would follow you. I wanted to protect you.”
“You hurt me,” Donni said.
“I’m sorry.” Her mother was quiet. “Your father was always better at protecting. Not me.”
Donni didn’t bother denying that because it was true. Her father had been the strong glue holding their little family unit together. Lyra was a small copy of their mother, and Donni, of their father. When her father died, the entire structure was compromised, sagging in such a way that Donni could feel herself clinging by her very fingernails to remain a part of it.
They talked a little longer before her mother hung up with her usual, “Goodbye, con qu?.” But this time, it felt like maybe there was more warmth in it.
It wasn’t a fix, but it was something.
It made her think that maybe the structure wasn’t beyond saving.
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Rafe’s mother remained in Bellwether and he continued to visit every month. Whenever he went, he always came back looking a little subdued. She went with him once, but then there was a convoy of nurses to greet them, asking for photos and autographs.
“It’s all right,” Rafe had said afterwards, with one of his more cynical smiles. “Lord knows you’ve gone with me enough. From now on I’ll just go alone.”
He was a strange man—brooding and intense, looking more like a gothic hero than he had any right to, constantly swathed in black as he was. With all his arrogance and affectations, Donni had been worried that he would try to leverage her career against his, the way Marco had. But he seemed genuinely pleased by her successes, which was astounding to her.
