Page 9 of Just Like in the Movies
Micah
The funeral went off smoothly and by noon we were standing in the graveyard while security kept the photographers at bay so we could have some peace as the last words were said over Grandma's coffin.
It was covered in red roses—her favorite flowers. The bouquets and baskets from the funeral home were set all around the head of the grave, almost like a garden. I didn't really believe that she was up there looking down on us, but I still took comfort from knowing that people cared enough to make sure her leaving us was as covered in beautiful things as her life had been.
Well, that's what I told myself.
Eventually the service ended and we began drifting away in clumps and pairs, back to cars, down rows of graves to visit others who had already passed, to catch up with people we hadn't seen in ages.
The only person I wanted to catch up with was Lew, but I didn't think he'd want to talk to me. What would I say anyway?
There was a bench off to one side, almost hidden in among a clump of blue-tinged spruce trees at the end of the path. I slipped away, grateful for the quiet, and closed my eyes in the cool shade of the trees. It was going to be different going forward.
I wasn't certain how long I sat there—not very, I thought. The soft crunch of footsteps on gravel made me frown irritably. And then I heard Lew say, "I wasn't going to come. But I wasn't going to let you take this last chance from me either."
My eyes snapped open and I found him standing at the end of the bench in a newer, darker suit, hands jammed in his pockets. His eyes were red, and I could see the salt tracks of some recent tears. "Thanks for coming," I mumbled and looked away. I expected he'd leave then, having had his revenge or whatever this was, but I guessed he wasn't finished with me yet because he crossed the two feet between him and the bench and sat down at the far end.
"I loved her too, you know," he said, a hint of defiance in his voice.
"I never said you didn't."
He was quiet for a moment, then he sighed. "No, I don't suppose you did." He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, hands clasped tightly together. "She was really proud of you. Right up until the end."
"She called me," I said softly. "Week before last. Asked me to come home and see her. I was still filming and trying to close a deal on a part, a make-or-break part for me. She was so good about it." I sniffed and wiped my eyes. "I wish I'd known."
"You never know for sure," he said softly and then I heard the rustle of cloth as he moved closer and his hand was on my shoulder. "Death is a strange thing."
"I'm sorry," I said, my voice gone throaty and liquidy as I fought back a full-on bawling session. I was apologizing to her and, I realized, I was apologizing to him.
He put his arm around me and let me hide my face against the shoulder of his suit jacket. "She understood, you know. She told me, just the day before she went, how proud she was of you. How you were following in her footsteps and not making all the mistakes she'd made. She missed you, yes, but she would have been unhappy if you'd given up a big film role to come visit her. She was always, right up to the end, an actress, heart and soul."
Tentatively, afraid he'd push me away, I put my arm around his waist and just held on, breathing his scent, listening to the steady beat of his heart until his own calm helped me bring my emotions into a little better order.
When I lifted my head, he was ready with a slightly crumpled tissue and handed it to me. "Wipe your eyes. You look like shit. Maddie'd have a canary if she saw that."
I did as I was told and only then realized that I'd left a damp patch on the lapel of his suit. "Sorry."
He glanced down at it and shrugged. "It's okay. She deserves a few tears." His own eyes were still red and my heart gave a tiny lurch realizing that he'd lost someone important to him as well, that it wasn't just me and my family. His arm was still around me and I didn't know why I thought it was a good idea, but I tilted toward him, my eyes fixed on his mouth.
He leaned away and put a hand up between us, and the arm around my back disappeared. "Sympathy doesn't mean I'm not still mad at you. You have no right to make that assumption." The sharp snap of anger was back in his voice and I realized I'd blown it. Again.
Fuck, could I get any stupider?
"I'm sorry, I don't know why I did that," I admitted. "I guess I just miss you."
He made a noise that might have been a snarl and stood up. I thought for a second he might say something; I hoped he would, I sure as hell didn't know what to say now. But instead he just closed his eyes and made a gesture with his hands like he was telling someone to calm down. Probably himself. "I'm going to leave," he said, proving me right, "before I say something we'll both regret."
I could only watch him go for about three steps before I had to stop him. "Lew! Wait!"
He paused but didn't look back. "There isn't anything to say. I know I don't stack up beside those Hollywood types. I'm not blond, I don't have big boobs or muscled arms or a chiseled jaw. I'm just me. And I'm fine being me. I can't be Hollywood for you."
"I don't want Hollywood." I scrambled to put all my thoughts together in a brain that just didn’t seem to want to work, but I was discovering that absolute terror was a pretty darn good motivator. "And blonds really aren't my type. Big muscled guys either. Makes me feel like a midget."
"I remember the blonde you were all over the night you dumped me," he said in a quiet, dangerous voice. "On the TV. She seemed like your type then."
Oh, fuck. That would explain the bonfire. "She was—not an escort. I was sort of set up with her by my agent. To make me look more legitimate. I think she did some modelling. I had to pay her that night."
"I hope you at least got laid." Lew's voice was still tight, but not quite as angry as it had been before.
