Page 9 of First Touch

A lot of the time, I hadn’t actually been vulnerable with them. But I could play the part. It was the reason I’d become an actress – because I already knew I was good at pretending.

Back then, of course, the roles were well-defined. The lies straightforward. Yes, I’m twenty-one. Yes, you’re my first. Yes, it feels good.

Now the lies were ones of omission and that made things trickier. Instead of being clear-cut, everything became half-truth. It meant walking around in grays. It meant I had to screen my life and filter out what I would and wouldn’t say, all the while praying that I came off as an open book.

At least the dividing line was unambiguous. I could tell Reeve that my childhood was average but I wouldn’t tell him that, at seventeen, I met the friend who would finally get me out of my average life. I’d tell him I’d dated rich men, not that I’d spent several years as what some would call a glorified prostitute. I’d tell him I was at his resort to relax, not that I’d come to try to find the one person I’d been so determined to leave behind.

The dividing line was Amber. I’d answer Reeve’s questions, but I’d leave out anything that had to do with her. Eventually, I hoped he’d tell me everything that had to do with her.

CHAPTER 3

“Are you still close to her?”

I looked up from my meal, panic rising in my chest. Reeve couldn’t be asking about Amber. He had to mean someone else. I quickly replayed in my head everything I’d said in the last few minutes, trying to find a “her” that I’d mentioned. “You mean my mother.”

He nodded and I let out a silent breath of relief.

“No, not really. She still lives in Bakersfield and I’m in West Hollywood. I visit when I can. The rest of the time I pay for someone to take care of her.”

“That’s no substitute for daughterly love.”

His judgment irked me. “And the shell of a human she’s always been isn’t a substitute for a mother.” I immediately regretted the sharpness of my words. They were counterproductive and really, he hadn’t said anything I hadn’t thought myself on a million guilt-laden occasions. Besides, it shouldn’t matter what he thought of me.

It shouldn’t matter and yet I found myself needing to explain. “She doesn’t even know me most of the time now. Alcohol-induced dementia. Possibly undiagnosed schizophrenia. The specialist I took her to said it’s hard to be certain and there’s not a lot to be done at this point. I visited her last week, on Christmas. Took her out for Chinese. Halfway through dinner she accused me of trying to poison her. She’d forgotten who I was. Said she’d never seen me before in her life. Got belligerent. Combative. The restaurant owner called the police.”

My jaw clenched remembering how much it had upset me. “It wasn’t the first time she’s been that way with me, and I should have expected it. Just… when I’d seen her last, at Thanksgiving, she’d been good.”

She’d greeted me that day with bright eyes and a tight hug. I’d been the first to let go for once. Then she’d remembered the voice message on her machine. “From Amber, honey. I’ve been saving it for you.”

I’d thought she was confused, but I had humored her and listened to the message. And there was her voice. Amber’s voice. Then it was as if only hours had passed since I’d seen her instead of years and every feeling, every memory was alive and present within me. I’d spent the rest of the day consumed with Amber. Missing Amber. Wondering about Amber.

I realized now that that day may have been the last I’d ever see my mother well. And I’d spent it thinking of Amber.

Suddenly my throat felt tight and my eyes wet. I didn’t get upset easily, but I’d been edgy and emotional for weeks. There were only two women I’d ever loved, and both of them were lost to me in such different ways. My mother was gone for good. But Amber I might still be able to find.

Reeve shifted in his chair, reminding me of my surroundings. I peered out over the valley and attempted to compose myself. Damn, how had I managed to get so worked up? Well, thinking of Amber had caused me to look vulnerable. I silently thanked her.

When I turned back, I offered a shaky smile. “Anyway. She’d been better. And I guess I forgot that wasn’t who she was most of the time.”

“That sounds terrible.” His tone was sincere and tender. “I’m sure you’re doing the best that you can with her. Don’t be too hard on yourself.” Even after knowing him for only five minutes, I was positive this was the closest the man came to an apology.

It moved me.

I nodded, afraid to say anything else.

Reeve pushed his plate out of the way and stood. I hadn’t eaten much but was more than happy to stop. I stood as well, following him to the stone bench near the fire pit. We could sit right next to each other here, but I left a space between us when I sat, not sure if closer was necessary. It was completely dark now except for the few lights that hung around the patio and the blaze from the pit. The ambiance was beautiful, romantic even. Maybe a little eerie as well, but strangely, I was finally feeling at ease.

I pretended to be lost in watching the flames flicker and spurt until the waiters finished clearing our dinner plates. When they were gone again, I turned the tables on Reeve. “What about you? Were you close to your parents before they died?”

He hesitated, and I wondered if his reluctance was because of the subject matter or because he didn’t like to be in the hot seat. Finally he answered, “Yes. I was.”

“You were sixteen, right?”

“Looks like I’m not the only one who knows how to Google.”

I avoided the comment. “So you were a kid, basically, with a huge empire. That must have been overwhelming.”

He pinned me with his eyes. “Emily, I’m not someone who is easily overwhelmed.”