Page 90 of The Island Villa

“Andrew...”

“It’s the book that upset you?” He stooped and gingerly retrieved a couple of the discarded pages. “I’d made up my mind I wasn’t going to read it.”

“Don’t. It’s all fiction. What are you doing...?” she gasped as he scooped her up in his arms.

“I refuse to have a conversation this important on the floor of a bathroom, even if that floor is Italian marble.” He carried her into their bedroom and lowered her gently to the bed. “Now tell me exactly what has upset you. Has she somehow found out the truth?”

“No, it’s not that. She has told the story almost exactly the way I told it to her. And the writing is wonderful.” If she weren’t feeling so ill and traumatized, she would have been impressed. Her baby had written a book! “The characters leap off the page. She has real talent.”

“But?”

“But I wish she hadn’t used her talent on this particular story.” Her eyes filled. “She thinks it’s a way of immortalizing her father.”

Andrew’s smile was twisted. “And if ever there was a man who doesn’t deserve to be immortalized, it is Rob Dunn.”

“Exactly.” Her voice was a whisper. “This book celebrates him, Andrew! He’s a hero in this story. And I don’t want to celebrate him. I want to forget him, but now I’m never going to be able to because he’s right there in print. It’s as if he’s mocking me from beyond the grave.”

“You’re shaking.” Andrew removed his shoes and lay down on the bed next to her. He pulled her into his arms. “Sweetheart, we’re not celebrating him. We’re celebrating Cassie’s book. Which is fiction. The story can’t possibly be close to the truth because you haven’t told her the truth.”

Yes, it was fiction. She knew it was fiction because she was basically the one who had written it. Ironic, really. Cassie had used the stories she’d told as inspiration, which meant that Catherine had inadvertently contributed to her daughter’s book. If she’d had a better sense of humor she might have laughed.

“You don’t understand.”

“Then help me understand.” He stroked her hair gently. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“I’ve tried to put it behind me. That’s what you do with a mistake, isn’t it? Forgive yourself and move on. That’s what people say. I haven’t forgiven myself, but I have tried to move on.”

He held her tightly. “And you have.”

“No. And now I never will. This book has made sure of that. If it’s a success, and with the Mighty Madeleine pushing it and a publishing deal that big, they’re going to support it with a massive campaign so it will be a success, everyone will be talking about it. People will ask me about it.”

“Only if they know you’re connected, and they don’t need to know that.”

“She’s dedicated it to her parents.” She couldn’t bring herself to say the word us. “Us” implied a team, and she and Rob had never been a team. “Of course they’re going to know.” Occasionally, Andrew’s optimism exasperated her, but at the same time she was grateful for it. She needed it. She’d lost her ability to trust, not just people but her own judgment. She envied people who genuinely believed everything would turn out fine. Once, she’d been like that. She’d believed good things happened to those who deserved it. That most people were good underneath. She’d thought she was living a romance, exactly like her books. It had taken a while for her to realize she was in a horror story and that trust was like virginity—once you lost it, you lost it. Gone. Andrew hadn’t lost it. He still believed in the goodness of people and that life was very likely to turn out just fine, so she’d strapped her fragile, cynical self to him, hoping that his optimism was robust enough to carry the weight of both of them. There was nothing wrong with that, was there? It was like splinting a broken leg. You did what you had to do.

He hesitated. “All right. Let’s say you’re right about that and maybe you are, because no one knows more about publishing than you do, but Cassie’s story isn’t your story, is it? If it’s inspired by everything you told her, then it doesn’t begin to touch on the truth. She has the official version. The version you created for her. No one is going to know what really happened.”

“I know what happened.” Her teeth were chattering. She was back there, reliving every long dark day, but particularly that last day, which had been the longest and darkest. She felt as if she were falling back into the deep dark hole that had trapped her for years.

Andrew was still trying to understand. She could almost see the parts of his brain moving together, trying to make connections.

“So it’s not your readers finding out that bothers you? It’s not the idea of people catching a glimpse of the real Catherine Swift?”

The real Catherine Swift. Who was she? She’d come so far from the person she once was. She was like one of those upgrades that your phone forced you to install that then changed everything beyond recognition.

She consoled herself with the knowledge that everyone changed over time. Life eroded you until you were a different shape.

There were days when she didn’t even know herself. And then there were the parts she did know, but hid from the world. But she didn’t feel guilty about that. Not sharing everything didn’t make her fake; it made her just like everyone else. All those happy, blissful pictures on social media? All those #blessed, #grateful, #lovemylife hashtags either represented naivety (bad stuff hadn’t happened yet) or a major cover-up (bad stuff had happened but they weren’t sharing it). Everyone showed a selective side of themselves. It was how the world worked.

“I don’t want readers asking questions about my private life. I don’t want Cassie talking about my private life. I don’t want the attention.” Attention was never good when you were trying to hide something. But what really mattered wasn’t what she was hiding from readers, or what she was trying to ignore herself. What really mattered was what she was hiding from her own children. “Don’t you see? I spun that story not just to protect myself because I wanted to put it behind me, but to protect my children. I thought a lie was better than a truth.”

“I know.” He pulled her close. Kissed the top of her head. “You’re a wonderful mother, Catherine.”

She gave a choked laugh. “We both know that’s not true. I can’t imagine anyone who could have made more of a mess of parenting than I have and that’s frustrating and distressing because I tried so hard. And for a moment today when I was talking to Adeline, I really thought that maybe I could fix things. That this was finally my chance to mend my relationship with her. Now, instead of having a fractured relationship with one daughter, I’m going to have a broken relationship with both of them.”

Andrew sighed. “You’re assuming this will damage your relationship with Cassie.”

“How can it not? This is her dream, Andrew. And I’m going to take it away from her. I’m going to be the one who squashes it flat. Not an agent, not a publisher, not even the reading public. Me. Her own mother.”

---