“It means the date was fine,” I said. “He’s nice. Handsome. Well-spoken.”
“Is there a but?” Grady asked.
“Did he make you laugh?” Robbie asked.
“Not really. He’s a serious type of person,” I said. “Very civilized.”
“Sounds awful,” Grady said, exchanging a glance with Robbie.
I narrowed my eyes, watching Grady. His expression, kind of a grimace meets indifference, was not one I’d seen on his face before. I wasn’t sure how to interpret it. He pulled one sock clad foot over his knee, fidgeting as his eyes darted around the room, without once landing on me. Like he had an itch he couldn’t reach in the middle of his back that made him restless and agitated.
“It wasn’t awful. Not at all. He’s very impressive, actually.”
“Great,” Grady said. “You want to watch this documentary with us? There’s only about twenty minutes left.”
“Sure.” I suddenly felt lighter. I could breathe again. Home with the people I loved. “I’ll open wine.”
“There’s some red open on the counter,” Grady said. “The bottle I brought over last night.”
While they resumed their movie, I poured us a glass. I’d had a half glass at the restaurant but had wanted to keep a clear head. Now that I was home with my family, I could relax.
Twenty minutes later, the documentary was over, and I was convinced never to buy a packaged food product again. As if I needed any further push into my hippie mom ideals.
Robbie stretched—yawning—and pushed himself off the couch. “I have to go to bed now. You may resume your adult-like pursuits.”
“Night, buddy,” Grady said.
I blew him a kiss. He didn’t care for goodnight hugs or kisses. “Sleep well, baby.”
Robbie padded down the hallway, his door clicking shut a moment later. Grady reached for the remote and clicked out of the movie app, which took us back to regular television. The late night news was on, but I didn’t pay any attention.
I settled back against the cushions, my glass of wine in hand. “Want to watch something else?”
“Sure, I just need to check the soccer scores, and then we can pick whatever you want,” Grady said.
I froze, my heart sinking. “You missed the game?” I’d forgotten that his favorite team was in the playoffs. “You sacrificed watching to stay with the kids? And Robbie made you watch that awful documentary while your team played.”
“No big deal. I’d rather spend time with them. Robbie was super excited about that documentary. I can check the score now.” He looked down at the remote and then back to the television, clearly preparing to change the channel to a sports network. But instead, he flinched and then stared at the screen. An image of the disgraced Hollywood producer, Sean Hale, appeared. Grady unmuted the sound.
“The death of Sean Hale has been confirmed. Earlier this evening, the entertainment mogul was found dead in his cell,” the anchor said. “He was found unresponsive during a routine check. His bedsheet had been used as a noose. Authorities have not ruled out foul play or suicide. We’ll be sure to keep you updated as news breaks.”
“Wow, no way.” I stared at the television screen before looking over at Grady. “Do you think someone murdered him? To keep him quiet?”
Sean Hale had been one of Hollywood’s most powerful producers. All that changed when an exposé dropped in areputable magazine, featuring interviews with several actresses who claimed Hale had drugged and raped them. More women came forward after that, each with similar stories. One had managed to escape his assault, only to be blacklisted from every studio in town. Several hadn’t even been eighteen yet.
His arrest came swiftly. The trial took months, but the conviction was decisive: life in prison. For a while, the story dominated every news cycle. Now it was back in the headlines. And it begged the question—were there other powerful men who wanted to keep him quiet? There had been rumors all along that there were other celebrities involved in both the crimes and the cover-ups.
Or had he taken his own life?
Grady continued to stare at the screen, his skin looking yellow under his tan. His chest rose once, sharp and shallow, and didn’t quite seem to fall again.
I lowered my glass. What was wrong with him? I didn’t think he’d followed the story, even when the rest of the country couldn’t stop talking about it. Seraphina had met Sean Hale once, during negotiations with producers for the rights to one of her series. She’d said he’d given her an icky feeling. A month later, it all came out.
“Grady, what’s up? You look weird.”
Grady turned off the television, but he didn’t look at me. His jaw worked once, twice, as if he were grinding something down. His fingers curled inward against his knee, thumb digging into his palm hard enough that the knuckle went white.
“I should probably go,” Grady said, the words flat and abrupt.
