“And I was racking my brain to see why it sounded so familiar, you know, and all of a sudden it hit me. Timothy, Amelia Rees got cast in this Hulu show.”
Everything around Timothy goes blurry. He clutches the corner of the table. “MyAmelia Rees?ThisAmelia Rees? My Hero?”
“Your Hero. Yes. Exactly. I was going to call you last night, but I couldn’t get a signal in there, and then even though it was asuper-early night, by the time I got home I thought maybe you’d gone to bed, because it was like midnight back east, so I didn’t want to bother you.”
“Ha,” says Timothy. “I wasnotin bed by midnight.”
“Oh! So I could have called. Maybe I should have called. I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news.”
Timothy coughs and tries to find a modicum of good cheer. It’s hard to come by. “It’s good news for Amelia,” he says. “A Hulu show can make a career.”
“Yes. Yes, of course, great for Amelia. But not so good for you.”
“It’s terrible news for me,” admits Timothy.
Long silence, then Alexa says, “Is there anything I can do to help you?”
“Not unless you can find me another Hero on this island.”
“I wish I could. I really do.” Alexa clears her throat. “Timothy?”
“Yup?” His mind is already wading through the possibilities. It doesn’t take long, because there aren’t many: It’s a quick wade. More like a dip.
“While I have you. Just one more question. So sorry. I know your mind is on other things. Understandably. Would you mind if I take Monday and Tuesday off next week? My mom and her husband and my little sister are coming for a visit.”
Timothy doesn’t know that much about Alexa’s life: she’s fairly private. Honestly, he appreciates the restraint. Too many young people hang it all out online these days. (Exhibit A: his very own niece.) Once, when he was going to the funeral of a director he knew, Alexa mentioned that she had a boyfriend who died shortly before she moved to L.A. Sad. But since then she has never mentioned him, and she’s only talked about her family a few times. He knows that her father is somewhere in L.A., but that Alexa doesn’t live with him, and he knows that her mother is newly married and that there’s a little sister, much younger than Alexa. Timothy recognizes that her family coming to visit is a big deal, and he tries for a moment to put the news about Amelia Rees aside.
“Of course. Of course you can have a couple of days off. Take more if you need them. There’s not much to do right now, while I’m out here. Where are they staying?”
Alexa makes a little pffft noise and says, “I’m trying to figure that out. I want to find a hotel that says,Look, we’re in L.A.but not,We’re going to have a stroke when we see the bill.You know? And that’s harder than it sounds. Like, obviously they’re not going to stay at the Chateau Marmont!”
“Sure,” says Timothy. “That classic New England frugality.” Goes along with the manners, he thinks. “Why don’t you have them stay there?”
“Where?”
“There. At my place.”
“Atyourplace? Absolutely not.”
“Why not?”
“Because they’d freak out. The excitement might actually kill them, and then I wouldn’t have my family.”
“It’s there. It’s available. It’s empty. Talk to Marnie, make sure the cleaners come in before and after. Stay there with them, if you want.”
A pause on the line. He can hear Alexa breathing. Finally she says, “Wait, seriously? Do you mean it? Honestly I think that would make my mother’swhole life.”
“I mean it,” says Timothy. “I definitely mean it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to go figure out this Hero situation.”
Amy
Amy drives the rolling hills of Spring Street and Mohegan Trail faster than she should; not a good idea, considering how many bikes and mopeds traverse those roads on a summer’s day. She makes herself slow down around the curves. She pulls down the long driveway leading to Floyd Barringer’s house, parks, rings the doorbell. No answer. She raps on the door with her knuckles, rap rap rap, and still no answer. She rings again. Sam must be in here—right? Where else would she be?
She checks her phone. They have a family location sharing app, but she tries not to stalk her children very often, so she rarely uses it. Now she opens it. Greg is fishing with his buddy Pete at Black Point, Henry is on the campus of Middlebury—philosophizing, she supposes, even on a Sunday—and Amy and Sam are right here, just off Mohegan Trail on Block Island. The screen shows hers and Sam’s little avatars practically on top of one another.
Amy rings again. Sam must besleeping offtheparty that she had. But Amy will wait all day if she has to, to talk to her. She’ll push the curtain person even later. While she waits she surveys the front of the house. She squints at something in the boxwood next to the front door, then bends and looks closer. A Truly can! Flavor: black cherry. She picks it up. Status: empty, slightly dented. She sighs.
Amy is about to ring the doorbell again when she hears footsteps approaching from inside the house. She’d know those footsteps anywhere; Sam has a very distinctive gait. She lands on her heels and rolls through to the balls of her feet. When she was a kid she wore out her sneakers in such a funny way, grinding the edges down. Does she still do that? Amy hasn’t looked at the bottoms of Sam’s sneakers in some time.
