September Canvas Page 10

  “God Almighty, you must be breathing too much fresh air out here,” Suzy flicked her wrist, “in the sticks.”

  “Grantville, Vermont, is hardly the outback.” Faythe snorted. Trust a super-urban personality like Suzy to consider this beautiful place the sticks.

  “Whatever . I have the best news for you.”

  “You do.”

  “Yes. Yes.” As if a genie had breathed new life into Suzy, her cheeks suddenly glowed and Faythe could have sworn that even her hair glistened more. “CNN wants you!”

  “What?”

  “You heard me.” Suzy pulled out her BlackBerry. “Wait. Let me show you the e-mail. Hang on.” She pressed several buttons, scrolled the wheel on the side of the phone, and mumbled impatiently as her eyes darted back and forth across the little screen. “Here.” Suzy handed the phone to Faythe. CNN had approached Suzy when they heard she was on leave, asking if she was available or already contracted with a network.

  “I can’t believe it.” Faythe scrolled quickly through the e-mail.

  “They want me to anchor a science program. Science? I’m not even comfortable with the subject as a layman.”

  “Bah! They’ve seen you conduct interviews on a multitude of subjects and are impressed with how well you do your research and work with your subject no matter what it is.”

  “I’ve done my share of crazy interviews.” Faythe leaned back and stared at the ceiling, wishing the white boards could provide an answer.

  “Wow. How long do I have?”

  “Two weeks.”

  “Two weeks. I suppose that’s fair.”

  “They’ll offer a terrific salary with tons of benefits and bonuses.”

  “How can you know this? The e-mail didn’t mention anything about money.” Faythe eyed Suzy suspiciously at Suzy. “Ah, I see. You were on the phone with someone you know at CNN within minutes.”

  “I’d be a poor agent if I wasn’t.” Suzy looked flattered. “So, my dear, you now have two options, and I bet we haven’t seen the last of the offers. I know most of the headhunters personally, and they’re all scurrying around like rabbits on speed, trying to scare up fresh faces for their slots.”

  Faythe was still trying to wrap her brain around this unexpected news. “I’m not sure about this.” She tapped the BlackBerry’s screen with her fingernail. “I’ve looked forward to shorter workdays with free time. I can’t see that happening with a high-profile job in CNN’s science section.”

  “Oh, you can do it.” Suzy grabbed Faythe by both shoulders like she intended to shake some sense into her. “You’re not happy if you’re not working, Faythe. Remember you used to tell me how you dreaded going home to your empty condo after a day at work.”

  “Right. I used to think that. I used to feel nothing else mattered. I was wrong. That’s why I’m here. You know that.” Faythe recoiled, suddenly upset. Suzy obviously sensed she was pushing too hard and laughed animatedly.

  “You’ll just have to find a good balance. Now, on to the more delicate matter.”

  “My mother.” Faythe was all for changing the subject, but perhaps not to the topic of her mother.

  “Yes. She called me.”

  “Why would she do that? It’s not like you’re on each other’s Christmas-card lists.”

  “I asked myself that very question. She was very sweet, asking me about my family, my parents. You know.”

  “Yes. She was brought up right, my mother.” It was really funny to think that Cornelia, so busy living her own life and fulfilling her dream of the perfect partner, would take time away from “landing” Chester to approach Suzy. “So?”

  “She’s worried about you.”

  “Is she now?”

  “Yes.” Suzy squirmed in her seat, lacing and unclasping her fingers several times. As much as Faythe liked and trusted Suzy, she also knew she didn’t have much patience and considered anything touchy-feely insufferable mush. “She wants me to talk some sense into you. Her words. She’s afraid you’ll give up fame and fortune.” Suzy paused and took Faythe’s hand. “Frankly, so am I. This thought of a vacation came on awfully quick. You’re more than just a client to me, after all these years, Faythe. You can confide in me.”

  Faythe willed herself not to sigh out loud. “And I have. I’ve told you my motives. I’m not content being the happy-go-lucky morning anchor anymore. If I’m tossed into another interview with a person who’s run with the bulls in Pamplona and now needs someone to pity him while he’s in a freaking body cast, I’ll shoot myself.”

  “God Almighty. All right, all right.” Suzy let go of Faythe’s hand. “I hear you. It’s just that this transformation from loving your job to hating it came pretty quickly.”

  “For you. For my parents. But I suppose it’s a good sign that they’re actually listening at all.” Still annoyed, Faythe drew a deep breath. “These feelings have been creeping up on me for a long time. Maybe two years.”

  “Two years. And you’ve never said anything?”

  “The feelings weren’t strong enough until now.” Suzy transformed from the typical eager agent to a pensive human being, intent on trying to understand. “You really are serious, aren’t you?”

  “I really am.”

  “I thought it was just a phase because you were bored.” Suzy made a helpless gesture, palms up. “Several of my clients constantly need something new, something challenging, but when push comes to shove, they’re back doing their soap, or their talk show, looking quite content.”

  “So you thought that was the case with me?”

  “Yes.” Suzy smiled gently, which altered her expression completely, and Faythe once again realized why Suzy’s husband worshipped her.

  “But your mother is still up in arms, so to speak, and really concerned you might be making bad choices for all the wrong reasons.”

  “I’ll explain to Mom. Again.”

  “You better, because she won’t settle for hearing it from me.” Suzy reached for Faythe’s hand again. “So, my dear, favorite client. What’s my new mission when it comes to you? I take it CNN is off the table.”

  “Yes. It is.” Faythe squeezed Suzy’s hand and knew this woman wasn’t only out to make money. She was also a true friend. “As for my future, I have enough set aside to keep me in oatmeal for quite a while. I’m actually writing right now, trying out different styles and topics, to get my bearings. I haven’t written long pieces in ages, and I need to get my feet wet. It’s fun. It’s difficult. But most of all, it’s what I want…no, it’s what I need to do.”

  “I can tell. Well, I’ll be happy to research literary agents et cetera for you, as soon as you have something you want to show anyone. I have connections in that world, remember?”

  “Guess it doesn’t hurt to be married to a publisher, huh?” Faythe winked. “Smart move.”

  “My love for books brought us together.”

  “Your love of tall, dark, and handsome men brought you together.” Faythe corrected her with a grin. “At least that’s how your better half tells the story.”

  “Him? He’s a notorious liar.”

  “Liar? So when he declared his undying love, he was lying?” Faythe raised an eyebrow, laughing at Suzy’s wry look.

  “He better not be.” She glanced at her watch. “Oh, God Almighty, I’ve got to go. Another pit stop before turning the car around toward civilized territory.”

  Faythe was about to object, but quieted when she realized that nothing outside Manhattan would ever feel like anything but the boondocks to Suzy. “Drive safely,” she said as they stood. “You never know what creatures you may run into this far from civilization.”

  “Funny.” Suzy wrinkled her nose in a less than ladylike manner and snapped her enormous briefcase closed after tucking away her BlackBerry. “Actually, I have a date with my husband at a bed and breakfast in Barre.”

  “Oh, cool. Enjoy your stay. It’s quite the cultural center.” She doubted Suzy would see Barre that way, since she wa
s the essence of a spoiled New Yorker, but Faythe had gone over to Barre many times as a child to attend the opera, among other things, with her aunt.

  “Thanks. So I’ve heard.”

  They parted after a few more minutes of small talk and Faythe remained at the front door, letting the crisp autumn air into the house.

  “She must think I’m bonkers to give up such a dream job.” She shook her head. Maybe I’m acting like a spoiled brat, not wanting to play in the same playpen forever. Faythe knew as soon as the thoughts appeared that this wasn’t true. She wanted to write, and she wanted out of the media circus. Strengthened at the core of her being because she was being true to herself for the first time in years, she thought about the next topic close to her heart: Deanna. She hadn’t heard from her since last night, but Deanna was probably in shock because she had lowered her guard. Faythe wondered if she would have to coax Deanna out of her foxhole again.

  Closing the door to the now almost bright yellow trees, Faythe couldn’t wait to get back to her laptop. She knew exactly what to write about. Just as she flipped her laptop open, her cell phone rang and the display read “Ben.” Curious what her father might want since he rarely called her unless he wanted to discuss something practical like money, she answered.

  “Hi, Ben.” Faythe never called him Dad anymore. Ben Hamilton had asked her to call him by his first name when she was a high school senior. Faythe had felt awkward about the request and wondered that first year if he was tired of being her dad. Ben kept reassuring her it was because her eighteenth birthday had come and gone, and she was an adult now, like him.

  “Faythe, I’ve just heard from your mother. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  Chapter Fourteen

  The pink business card lay tucked into the top drawer of the old oak dresser just inside the front door. Deanna glanced at the drawer every time she passed it. Sometimes she shuddered, but it also distracted her and made her pensive. The card represented so much hurt and fear that it was almost like a live entity.

  She had worked two all-nighters and slept late, a habit she resorted to while under pressure of a deadline. “Or under any pressure.” Deanna sharpened her pencils with a craft knife. She always worked better late evening and night. I suppose that has to change if I ever strike it big and can afford that studio with the big windows. No use in having windows unless there’s daylight. Huffing at her own sarcastic words, Deanna returned to her work area. She’d nearly completed her illustrations and was surprised that she was far from tired of drawing the cute bunnies and their friends. She’d always wanted to make a name for herself as an avant-garde, edgy artist, and here she was painting rabbits with aprons and tool belts, and dressed as firemen and doctors. Deanna jumped as the phone rang.

  “Hello.”

  “Hi. It’s Faythe.” Faythe’s voice sounded off.

  “Hi.”

  “I know it’s late.”

  “No problem. I’m working late these days.”

  “Oh, you’re working. I’m sorry.”

  “As I said. No problem.” Deanna’s thoughts whirled. What could be wrong? Last time they spoke, Faythe was the strong one, the nurturing of the two. Now her voice was stark, but with a certain frailty.

  “I didn’t want anything in particular, really.” Faythe spoke hastily. “It can wait. I mean, I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Or later in the week.”

  “Hey, wait a minute.” Deanna thought quickly. “You got some cocoa?”

  “Cocoa? Yeah. Why?”

  “I’m out, and that’s what I drink when I pull an all-nighter,” Deanna lied, thinking she sounded completely lame. “And since you’re up, and I’m up, and I plan to be up all night working, I figured I need some hot chocolate.” Damn, I’m babbling.

  “Oh. I see. All right.” Faythe’s staccato voice made Deanna wince, but at least she sounded approachable. “Want to come over here, or should I bring the cocoa?”

  “I’m on my way.” Deanna hung up and tossed her pencils to the side, then locked up and jogged along the moonlit path to Faythe’s house. Only when she knocked on the back door did she realize that she’d passed the dresser for the first time since she tucked the card into the drawer without looking, or even thinking about it.

  Faythe opened the door and motioned for Deanna to come in, her face hidden in the shadows. “Hi.”

  “Something’s wrong.” It wasn’t a question because it was obvious.

  “I’m fine.” Faythe stalked out of the kitchen only to return. “Damn. Forgot to make hot chocolate.” She flipped on a light and yanked a canister from a shelf. With equally jerky movements, she filled a glass pitcher with milk and placed it in the microwave. She stood there staring at the revolving pitcher, unmoving. “What am I forgetting?” she murmured.

  “Mugs?” Deanna could see Faythe trembling and now she was really concerned.

  “Mugs. Yeah. Good idea.” Faythe placed two blue ceramic mugs on the counter. Suddenly she spun around, nailing Deanna with her green eyes. Like a cat’s, they seemed fluorescent in the dim light.

  “Faythe. What’s wrong?”

  “Wrong?” Faythe smiled, a professional, broad, and very white smile, which Deanna figured she’d perfected to use at work when her interview subject was not her forte. But in the setting of a cozy kitchen, the smile was almost scary.

  Deanna knew better than to push verbally, but also saw how small Faythe seemed in her oversized white T-shirt and black leggings. She looks so cold. Not thinking about any repercussions, she strode over to Faythe, who merely stared up at her. Taking her in her arms, Deanna merely held her as the microwave oven pinged and stopped revolving.

  “Really, I’m fine.” Faythe talked directly into Deanna’s shoulder. “Honestly.”

  “I know you are.” Deanna refused to let go. If she did, she might not get a second chance. “You’re very fine.”

  “Deanna.”

  “Shh. I’ve been self-absorbed lately. Thinking of very little but myself and what’s going on in my life. I never meant you couldn’t share your feelings, your problems. Just give me a chance and I’ll show you that I’m actually a good listener.”

  “I don’t need a listener.” Faythe stood rigid in Deanna’s embrace. “I don’t need any more words.”

  “I think you do. Something’s got you worked up. What?”

  “Please, Deanna. I know I called you, and I’m grateful that you popped right over. I know you made up the stuff about the cocoa.” Faythe leaned her forehead against Deanna’s shoulder. “I just don’t want to talk.”

  “I won’t make you.” Deanna rocked Faythe gently. “But you’d be the first to tell me it’s better to talk about things.”

  “I’m such a bitch.”

  Stunned, Deanna stopped rocking. “What?”

  “I’m not exactly practicing what I’m preaching, am I?” Faythe sighed against Deanna, her warm breath penetrating Deana’s sweater.

  “I’m not sure. You’ll have to tell me.”

  Faythe half laughed, half sobbed. “You just don’t give up, do you?”

  “No. Not in my nature.”

  “You’ll think I made a mountain of a molehill, that I exaggerate and am totally oversensitive.”

  “There’s no such thing as being oversensitive. Either you’re sensitive or you’re not.”

  They stood still in the kitchen, Faythe shielded in Deanna’s embrace, until finally Faythe cleared her voice. “My mother is worried that I’m throwing my life and my career away.”

  “By taking time out?” Deanna tried to understand.

  “Yes and no. My agent was here a few days ago, with a fabulous offer from CNN. I turned it down because it’s the direct opposite of what I want. You know, long hours, no social life, no room for anything but work.”

  “I understand.”

  “So, my agent had an ace up her sleeve. My mom had called her. Suzy, that’s my agent, is a pro and would never break confidentiality, but she delivered Mom’s m
essage.”

  “Which was?”

  “Get your act together, or else. I’m kidding. She said she was concerned and asked Suzy to talk some sense into me.”

  “And that’s when the CNN job showed up.”

  Faythe pushed away from Deanna a little. “Yes. I’m sure Suzy would have placed that on the table anyway—but it sure was timely.”

  “It was.”

  “And then someone else butted in. My father. Ben.” Faythe’s lips were a pale, fine line. “He’s called every day for the last few days.”

  “Something tells me he wasn’t calling to show his support.”

  “You’re very astute.” The sarcasm was obvious.

  “Want to talk about it?” Deanna kept Faythe’s hands in hers, reluctant to lose her touch.

  “Oh, he agreed with Mom for the first time in over a decade. Told me just how worthless and stupid my career move is.”

  “Good Lord.”

  “Yes, and every day, he’s become more agitated. I can’t seem to do anything right these days. And it bothers me that I’m so upset! I’m a grown woman, for heaven’s sake. I’m only accountable to myself. He’s always been shallow, so I know better than to take his words seriously.”

  “But he’s also your dad, whom you want to please and be praised by,” Deanna said quietly.

  “Yeah, that’s what I figured, and that’s why I told him about what I’ve been writing for nearly three days straight. I was so sure he’d be interested and excited, since I really do have a good idea for a book. I honestly thought he’d eventually see things my way and not be so hung up on my last glossy, glamorous job.” Faythe grabbed a paper towel from a roll. “I should’ve known better, but I can be so damn naïve.”

  “What happened?” Deanna didn’t let Faythe’s reluctance bother her. She hugged her close and kissed her temple.

  “He laughed. He laughed out loud and told me it was time to get my head out of the clouds. Saying that books like the one I want to write are boring and nobody reads such things anyway. He went on and on.”