Someone to Stay Page 12

  “It’s fine, it’s fine.” The older woman waved her hand at Cassie, a dismissive gesture, and made her way up the stairs, the floorboards creaking under her steps.

  Cassie watched her go, and for the second time that night, she was acutely aware of the loss of touch and the sense of coldness left in its wake.

  9.

  Pencil to paper was never easy for her, but that didn’t stop her from trying.

  Cassie lifted the pencil to her mouth, staring down at the sketchbook in her lap. It was strange, that desire to create something from nothing. It was such a frustrating and elusive thing, to depict the living.

  It was the first time she had sat down to do this in a while - far too long, actually, judging by the shaking in her hands as she regarded her sketch. Her eyes flitted back and forth on the details: the tiny, snow covered trees, the frozen pond with figures gliding across. It wasn’t perfect, but her imagination filled in the blanks her artistic skill could not. She knit her brow, uncertain and unwilling to draw the next piece: the two of them, her and her father, on the ice with all the other figures. She let her hand drop back down, pencil hovering above the page. The figures would be so small that they wouldn’t even resemble them. Why was she so hung up over those two, tiny, insignificant figures on the pond? A few strokes of pencil and they would be there, and this would be done.

  The picture on the page swam before her eyes as she let herself think back. When her father had first died, after about a month of Cassie shutting herself in her room and barely speaking to anyone, her mom had insisted she see someone. The memories were faded and painful to think about; it had been something of an ultimatum on her mother’s part. She could still remember the pained tone of her voice, the scrunching in her eyes. She held back tears as she told Cassie, See someone, or I’ll make you.

  The fact that she couldn’t actually carry out her threat was irrelevant - but Cassie did see someone, for a while. Those visits for the therapist were probably like speaking to a brick wall for him. Dr. Bennett, his name was. She could remember his face so clearly among all the gray that her life had become: middle-aged, dark brown hair with an unfortunate bald spot, thick glasses he took off when he read her chart. It was on her fourth visit that he suggested she try another outlet for her feelings, and she agreed to sketch, with promises she’d bring them to her next visit.

  She hadn’t returned, and she forced smiles and faked being okay to everyone else, especially her mom, but continued to sketch.

  Not for the first time since she sat down, she thought of Jake, wondering what he was doing - he said they had the weekend off from filming. Her heart sped up as she remembered for the thousandth time the kiss from the night before; she closed her eyes and tried to recreate that perfect moment. It left her feeling a sense of a void when she couldn’t, and she returned her eye to her sketchbook.

  She had a lot of closed off feelings about her father. Things she could barely say to herself, let alone another person. She thought of Sam - that terrible fight. They still hadn’t spoken. And then she felt a sudden, hideous surge of anger because Sam would probably never give in and apologize, and Cassie knew that she wouldn’t either. They were both stubborn - too stubborn, probably.

  In this case, definitely.

  Her thoughts were cut short by the sound of her phone ringing, and she picked it up to see that it was Jake. Previous heavy thoughts forgotten, she set her sketchbook aside and answered the phone.

  “Hey, Jake.”

  “Cassie! How are you?”

  Her eyes flitted to her sketchbook. “I’m doing good, how about you?”

  “Good! I just finished up an interview in Pittsburgh for Top House magazine, and now I’m heading back. What are you up to?”

  Initially curious about what it was like to be interviewed by a magazine, Cassie looked back to her sketchbook and she shrugged, knowing he couldn’t see it.

  “Oh, nothing, just hanging out at home. I work a little later today. How was Top House?”

  “You know, not the worst magazine I’ve ever spoken to. I’ve interviewed with them before. They don’t ask the annoying questions. They don’t care too much about private lives - they want to know about the films, the art. They took some very interesting photos, though,” he finished with a laugh.

  His voice, so smooth in her ear, relaxing her entirely.

  “But listen, I have something to tell you.”

  Well, she was relaxed.

  “What is it?”

  “My publicist called me earlier. He saw the photo from last night.” His voice sounded bitter, but Cassie forced herself not to fixate on that.

  Toying with a stray thread on her comforter, she asked, “Already? I mean...that was only just last night.”

  “Unfortunately, in this industry, stuff like this spreads quickly. I just...wanted to give you a heads up because it’s already out there, and...” He stopped, the line quiet as he paused. Cassie dug the phone into her ear a little harder, trying to hear something, anything that would indicate Jake’s mood. “All I’m saying is that you’re going to get questions from people and...I wish we could have this conversation in person but I guess what I’m trying to ask is...what do you think you’re going to tell them?”

  She wasn’t expecting that, and she sat back on her bed a bit, eyes drifting around her room.

  “Honestly, I haven’t thought about it. At all. It was hard enough talking to my mom. What do you want me to say?”

  The next pause, Cassie thought, was definitely hesitation.

  “I want you to say whatever you want to say. Of course, I’d rather you keep private details private, but we can’t very well deny involvement of some kind with each other after seeing this photo.”

  His voice was very carefully neutral. Cassie bit her tongue, wondering what he was thinking, wishing she could see his face.

  “You saw the picture?” she asked finally.

  “Uh - yes. My publicist sent it to me.”

  “So there was only one?”

  “There were multiple photos, but the others were from far away. There’s no doubt they’ll use those, too, but the up-close one is the one I’m talking about specifically.”

  Cassie took a deep breath. “Jake...please be honest with me. Are you upset about the picture?”

  There was another still silence; her heart began to pound, that dreadful feeling of adrenaline washing over her, leaving her feeling clammy and cold. He was mad about the picture - he had only pretended to forget about it, because he’s an actor, because that’s what he does -

  “No, Cassie. I’m worried that the aftermath of this picture will upset you.”

  She felt heat returning to her hands, her cheeks, and she released a breath she hadn’t been aware she was even holding. “Me?”

  “Well...yeah. People will know who you are, sort of. They won’t know your name. But people you actually know will see it, too.”

  Cassie tried to envision that: her mom already knew about the picture, but what about other people? Sam, namely. Madison, people at work. Her cousins and aunt and uncle and her grandma on her dad’s side, just going about their daily business and coming across this picture on the cover of some trashy gossip magazine. That image of her staring at Jake, of them staring at each other, thoroughly and articulately described on the cover as this scandalous fling, this unknown woman being swept off her feet by the elusive Jake Mason...

  “Hey, are you okay?”

  She blinked, the magazine disappearing. “Yes. Yes, sorry. I’m fine.”

  “So...you aren’t upset about this then?”

  “Uh...no. No, Jake. I just...I know how private you are, and you said it yourself. You’ve spent most of your career trying to avoid this exact thing and it’s my fault it happened. It’s all my fault.”

  “Cassie,” he said, his tone firm but gentle. “It is not your fault. It’s nobody’s fault.” Nobody’s fault? she asked herself. It’s always someone’s fault. “Yes, I did say that.
And I’m sorry if it gave off the wrong impression. I shouldn’t have said it at all. But the truth is…I wouldn’t change this for the world.”

  Her head swam. His words, always so poignant and perfect, was exhilarating.

  “Jake...I’m sorry for being so dramatic. I just...”

  “What?”

  She struggled with her words, trying to make sense. “I just get that way sometimes. I - I don’t mean anything by it.”

  “Cassie, no. You aren’t dramatic. This photo affects you as much as it does me.”

  Cassie clenched the phone tighter, a warm feeling in her chest growing at his insistence.

  “I’ll take your word for it.”

  A chuckle met her ear, soft and low, delicious and intoxicating. She shifted herself on her bed, moving weight from one side to the other.

  “Now...are you excited for tomorrow? What film do you want to see?” Jake asked.

  Cassie smiled weakly, closing her eyes. She wished she didn’t have to wait an entire day to see him - which may have been a little clingy of her, but given the conversation they just had, she couldn’t help herself. But, for now, she’d have to settle for this. They fell into another easy conversation, laughing and joking and teasing, until they had to say their goodbyes.

  Jake had only just got back to his trailer from the interview in Pittsburgh, his thoughts on Cassie and their conversation, kettle freshly placed on the little stove when he heard a pounding at his door.

  Well, to be fair, pretty much any knock at the door sounded like pounding - the trailer door rattled on its frame. He turned away from the stove, wondering who was there. Maybe Dan, to go over the scene they would film on Monday?

  Opening it, he was quite taken aback to see Alexa there, and even more startled to realize how cross she looked.

  “Hullo, Alexa,” he said, rather monotonously. “What can I do for you?”

  “Jake...can I come in?”

  He wanted very much to say no, but he nodded slowly, stepping aside, cursing himself for being so damned nice all the time. Especially when he had a strong suspicion as to why she was at his door. She stepped in, eying the space with a keen eye, her eyes lingering on a photo of him and his mum on the table. She looked very nervous, he noted, as he watched her hands which seemed to be shaking at her sides.

  “So,” she said then, eyes landing on him. He stepped back, giving her space, gesturing for her to sit down at the table. She didn’t. “Not that my opinion matters, but I’ve heard you have a new...friend.”

  She said the word distastefully, as if it were something foul. Jake didn’t answer her, only watched her, waiting.

  “The picture is online,” she continued. “And I hear it’s going to be in the Sun on Monday, along with the Daily Mail and then, of course, whatever trash equivalent Americans read.”

  Jake already knew this. His publicist, Eric, had already called him today, politely but with veiled irritation asking who the woman in the photo was, because the photo was soon to be published according to information received by someone at the Sun.

  He regarded Alexa fully, then, taking in her stance. Gone was the too-friendly woman that had asked him to breakfast his first day here. He was looking at boiling anger, simmering rage. He swallowed, wondering how they had gone from distantly cordial co-stars to this confrontation. Was Cassie the reason? Or was it something more?

  “Why are you here?” Jake asked then as the teapot began to steam. He heard the exhale behind him, the almost-whistle. He turned his back to get his mug and teabag.

  “Who is it?” she asked, her voice too loud in the small space. “In the picture.”

  He allowed his spoon to clatter into his cup, clearing his throat. He wondered why Alexa cared. Was this some odd form of jealousy? Some...method of payback for her imagined insult?

  “Alexa,” Jake said, firmly. “Why are you here?”

  As the kettle began to whistle, he heard shuffling, footsteps. He lifted the kettle off the hot burner and poured water into his cup, biting his tongue to keep from asking out of force of habit if she’d also like some tea. He didn’t want her staying any longer than she already had.

  “I -” she started. He turned to look at her, keeping his face as neutral as possible; she was right beside him. His expression, or lack thereof, obviously disarmed her, and she squirmed in place. “I just wondered who she was.”

  “Did the internet not tell you that?” he asked calmly.

  “Well - no.”

  “Ah. And why are you so curious?”

  Jake knew fully well that Alexa probably didn’t remember Cassie. He wouldn’t be surprised if Alexa hadn’t even spared Cassie a second glance that night at the dinner at all. He felt a certain sort of mirth at the idea, despite himself; if only she’d paid attention, she’d have the answer she so obviously needed without having to ask him at all.

  “I think I have a right to know who you're willing to break your cardinal rule for.”

  He bit back a harsh laugh at that and turned to continue doctoring his tea, realizing that she was jealous; he could hear the hurt in her voice on top of the anger. Jake suddenly felt irrationally angry himself, realizing that he would never be rid of her - damn the part of him whispering that he should stop, that he should step back and calm down. He would not let guilt get in the way of speaking his mind this time.

  “Alexa, pardon my offense, but you’re delusional to think that this is any of your business.”

  There was an audible gasp at this.

  “You know,” she said quietly, and he turned to hear her better, crossing his arms and watching her impassively. “I thought we could use our time together here as a way to mend what happened before. I thought, eventually, that we could put the past behind us.”

  Her voice was unmistakably hurt, and, despite himself, he felt the beginnings of guilt, that acidic, toxic emotion prickling through him as he watched her face fall, watched the way her hands clenched at each other, wringing round and round. He suddenly wished he could take it back, take it all back; he wanted to apologize, and he opened his mouth to do so.

  “Alexa -”

  “No.” The word whipped out of her mouth, and Jake flinched as if it could physically maim him. “You don’t get to say anything else. The message is loud and clear, Jake: You don’t want anything to do with me. And that’s fine - I get it. I ruined it, mucked it all up with drinking and coke. Yeah - you didn’t know about that, did you?” Alexa let out a harsh laugh at that, probably at the sheer shock Jake could feel expressed on his face. “That’s why I went to see someone, that’s why we didn’t talk for so long. I didn’t call you because I was too fucking embarrassed after what I did that night at the wrap party. Not that you care about any of that. Don’t look so bloody surprised. I know you, Jake, in ways your little friend probably doesn’t. You act like you’re some perfect gentleman, like you’ve not got a bad bone in your body, but I know you.” She pointed an angry, stiff finger in his direction, and he had to stop himself from shrinking back from it, from the implications it bore. “You’re cruel. You care about nobody but yourself and your bloody perfect career. And your new friend? I feel sorry for her.”

  At this, she turned on her heel, rushing out the door, slamming it shut behind her.

  The sharp slap of the door latching was all Jake heard for a long time after.

  “Jake...”

  His eyes burned, his chest hurt. He didn’t want to move. He wanted to stay where he was, in this dark, warm place, unmoving.

  “Jake.”

  The voice was closer, louder. He recognized it but couldn’t understand how. He knew he hadn’t heard it in a long time. Impossibly long.

  “Jake.”

  His mouth felt heavy and dry, like it was full of ashes. “Emma?”

  “It’s time to get up. Mum will be cross if you sleep in again.”

  “When is mum not cross?” he shot back, refusing to open his eyes, refusing to try. The darkness was comforting; it dista
nced him from reality. And the reality was that he was in pain and couldn’t move even if he wanted to.

  The giggle she emitted seemed to echo, round and round in his ears.

  “Alexa was right, you know.”

  That name coming from his sister’s mouth jarred him. He felt himself stir, the pain residing, his awareness of being in two places at once emerging quite suddenly, knowing his time with Emma was short.

  “Emma, what do you mean?”

  “You’ve been a total arse. You’ve disappointed me.”

  Her voice was fading, was flickering. In-and-out. He struggled to open his eyes, to see her again, but couldn’t.

  “I can’t let everyone walk all over me,” he said in defense. It sounded flimsy in his own ears, in his own head.

  “You never even let anyone close enough for that.”

  “I do,” Jake argued, thinking of Cassie, her brightness overcoming the dark. He opened his eyes, finally, squinting in the light. “I do.”

  Emma said nothing else. When his eyes finally adjusted, he was ten years old again, standing over that austere, wooden casket, the cascade of flowers framing his dead sister’s face.

  He awoke with tears in his eyes and his heart in his throat, sitting up in bed and letting the covers pool down, sweat drenching his chest, his back. Once his breathing returned to normal, he glanced at the clock.

  2:08 in the morning.

  What had he just been dreaming about?

  He remembered his sister, the flowers. It bit him, that memory, like a rabid animal gnawing at his chest. Before that day at the park with Cassie, he never thought of Emma. It was just one of those things he buried away; interviewers knew better than to ask about it, his mum and dad never talked about it anymore, at least not to him. Why had he shared it with her?

  She was sad - more than sad, really. Sometimes he caught the expression on her face before she knew he was looking and he could tell, somehow, that she was not over the death of her father. He’d wanted to ask her about it, but he stopped himself every time.