“I understand.” She eases back. “And I understand some of what you’re going through now. When you’re ready, please call me. Let me be here for you now. If there is anything I can do to help, anything at all, just pick up the phone, and I’ll do it.” She presses a business card into my hand.
“Thanks, Ash. I’ve missed you.”
“Missed you too. So fucking much.”
Cath pulls me in for a hug. “We love you.” She kisses both my cheeks.
“I love you too.” It’s true. I’ve always loved their family. They cared for me as if I was one of their own. I have no beef with Dillon’s family, and I’m not surprised they turned up en masse today. It’s who they are, and I haven’t forgotten how they opened their house and their arms to me in Ireland.
It’s not their fault their son is a lying, scheming bastard.
She kisses my brow. “You mind yourself, and hopefully, we’ll see you soon.”
“I’ll give you space,” Dillon says as his family walks toward the door. “But we do need to talk soon. I won’t pressure you into anything. I just want a small window to get to know Easton.”
And I just want to pound my fists into your self-centered face until you bleed. “Goodbye, Dillon,” I snarl.
He glances out the window, his expression a mix of pain and longing, before casting one final look at me. “I meant what I said. I know you don’t believe me, but I still love you. I always will. Even if you can never forgive me.”
17
VIVIEN
“Are your parents flying in for the reading of the will?” Audrey asks, handing me some of Charlotte’s delicious homemade lemonade.
“They can’t take any more time off, so they’re going to join us via video.” My parents only returned to the set last week, and it took massive amounts of persuasion to get them to leave. The studio had run out of patience, and they were threatening to sue for breach of contract. I won’t have my parents bankrupted or their reputations sullied because of me.
Easton threw a hissy fit when they left, and he had nightmares the first few nights. He’s terrified they’re not coming back, and I can relate. I’m clinging to my son, gluing him to my side, because I’m petrified something is going to happen to him.
“Reeve was so organized.” Audrey drops down onto the lounger beside me. “We don’t have a will. I guess it’s something we should get around to.”
“That’s probably the only good bit of advice Simon Lancaster ever gave his son. When we got married and built this place, he told Reeve to ensure his affairs were in order.”
I never imagined it would turn out to be prudent. Pain licks at my insides, and I’m tempted to make some vodka cocktails, but that’s a slippery slope I don’t want to fall down. If it wasn’t for my son, I think I’d be numbing my pain in a vat full of Grey Goose or a box of Valium.
Easton is splashing in the pool with Nash, and I’m glad he’s presently happy. His moods are as fickle as mine lately. One minute, he’s laughing, and the next, he’s lashing out at something or someone. I know he’s struggling to process his feelings, hence why I’ve hired a grief counselor to come to the house. She’s going to do a session with Easton—with me present—and then do a one-on-one with me.
Mom forced me into it. It was the only way she would agree to return to the movie set. If it was up to me, I’d wallow in misery and grief because the thought of talking through everything with a shrink makes me want to puke.
“Did you speak to Easton’s camp instructor today?” she asks, lathering sunscreen on her legs.
Easton has been attending summer camp since he was three years old. It’s the same one Reeve and I attended as kids, and it’s where his love of acting developed into his passion. There is a huge focus on the arts, and Easton loves the singing and drama classes, but they also do sports and outdoor activities too. I really didn’t want to let him go this summer, as I panic any time he is away from me. But he wanted to go, and I know it’s important to keep up his routine.
To help to give him some sense of normalcy, so I’ve been driving him there and back each day. I still can’t get in a car with anyone else driving. I need to be in control. To know if anything happens, I control the outcome.
“Yes. She was sympathetic,” I explain. “She understands he’s grieving, but, at the same time, he can’t go around hitting other kids.” There was a situation yesterday where Easton got into a fight with another boy when they were outside playing football. I was terribly upset last night, because it’s not like E at all. He’s always been sensitive to other kids’ distress, and he’s usually the first kid to reach out a helping hand if anyone is hurt at Little League.
“Did Easton say anything else?”
I tried talking to Easton last night, but he was angry and sulking and he wouldn’t talk about it. I didn’t push, waiting until this morning to ask him again when he had calmed down. “The other boy told him his daddy was a drunk and he deserved to die,” I say, through gritted teeth.
Unfortunately, the toxicology reports from the accident were made public and it’s been reported in the media. I haven’t watched any of the TV reports or read anything online, because I don’t want to know how they are tearing my husband’s reputation to shreds. Of course, Reeve’s fans are defending him to the hilt, according to Edwin Chambers, Reeve’s publicist. I have retained his services for the moment, as we deal with the aftermath of the accident and his death.
Audrey gasps. “What a little shit.”
I nod my agreement. “It’s no wonder Easton got angry and lashed out though I had to explain that he can’t do that again. I told him he can defend his daddy with his words, but he can’t use his fists. I said if anyone says anything nasty or mean it’s best if he tells one of the instructors and lets them handle it.”
It’s hard to tell your kid not to retaliate when someone says something so horrible. I can’t let violent behavior go, but I’m not punishing my child for protecting his daddy’s memory either. I’m hoping by the time Easton returns to school in August things will have settled down and the press will have moved their focus to someone else. “I feel like I’m failing as a parent,” I add. “Maybe I should remove him and just keep him home.”
We haven’t ventured outside our property, except for camp, because the paparazzi follow us every time we leave, hounding me for a quote and shouting shit at my son. I almost punched a photographer in the face last week when he asked Easton if he talks to his daddy’s ghost. Some of these people are scum of the earth and they have no empathy or respect for our privacy.
“I know it’s hard, Viv, but I think routine is important for Easton, and being around other kids is too.”
“I just want to swaddle him in cotton wool and keep him safe here.” I sip my lemonade through the straw while I share the truth with my bestie. “I’ve been having these nightmares.” I swallow painfully. “I’m trapped in the car, but this time, Easton is there too. He’s looking in the window, crying, and I can’t reach him. He runs away, continuing to cry, and I watch as he races out onto the road and—” A sob bursts from my chest, and I set my drink down on the small glass table, turning to the side so Easton can’t see me upset. “I can’t even say it, but I’m scared, Rey. I’m scared of something happening to E too. He’s all I have left.”