“Oh, Patrick!” There was a glimmer of light in the voice. This wasn’t Cassie after all; she wouldn’t take the charade this far. So who was this new being?
“Please. Let’s not stand on ceremony. Call me Mr. O’Hara.”
There was an awkward pause as this new addition to the team tried to assess if he was joking. “One moment, Mr. O’Hara.”
Patrick emptied the dregs of the coffeepot into his mug, took a sip, and spat it in the sink. Maisie insisted on making the coffee each morning, and while it was drinkable freshly brewed, it did not stand up to the morning. He peered into the living room; it was empty. The kids were reading quietly in their rooms. It was a rare moment of privacy, and he was taking full advantage.
“This is Cassie.” Her voice rang through the phone, serious, assured.
“Amy Adirondacks? Is that really you?”
“The one and only.”
“Neal really did right by you.” Patrick hoped to god this was true.
“Office. Assistant. Company credit card. And I have you to thank. He really listens to you.”
“Everyone listens to me.” The TV came on in the other room. Patrick screamed over the volume. “I said no television!” He could hear Cassie’s smile through the phone.
“I think he’s jealous of you, frankly.”
“Neal?” Gossip was the way to Patrick’s heart.
“He became an agent, but all things considered he would have rather been famous himself.”
“You tell that prick the only way he’s going to see his name in lights is if he changes his name to EXIT.” It was an old line, but Cassie was young and didn’t know all the old lines, and he punctuated it with a new panache, hoping she would later repeat it in the office lunchroom, allowing Neal to overhear. Sure enough, she laughed.
“What can I do for you, Patrick?”
All business, Cassie 2.0. “My Golden Globe is dented.”
“It’s dented?”
“It has a dent in it.”
“A dent,” Cassie repeated. The word was in danger of losing all meaning.
“A dent, a dimple, a depression. It fell. During the earthquake.”
“Oh. Okay. We’ll call over to the Hollywood Foreign Press and see about getting it replaced.” Silence. “Are the kids all right? Do you mind me asking?”
“They are and I don’t mind. Listen. I want you to look into something for me. Without saying you’re looking into it.”
“I’m not sure I understand, but okay.”
Am I going to have to do all the work? “I want you to gauge interest.”
“In?” Cassie asked.
“Employment opportunities.” Patrick swallowed hard, as if trying to force the words from escaping. But it was too late. “In New York.”
“Wow. New York.”
“All right, well, don’t blab it all over town.” Although, wasn’t that exactly what he was asking her to do?
“Any particular kind of employment?”
“I’m not sure I qualify to work at the UN.”
“Television, movies, theater?”
Patrick remembered his protest the first time Cassie came to see him in this very kitchen. He was an unbroken stallion then, a tamed pony now. “Are you going to make me say it? I’m flexible.”
“Okay. So I’m going to look into work opportunities in New York without saying I’m looking into it.”
“Exactly. You’re gauging interest.”
“Any suggestions on how I do that?”
Patrick sighed. “‘I hear Patrick O’Hara’s looking to return to work and might make a run of it in New York.’ That sort of thing. Start with gossip.”
“And if there is interest?”
Patrick was hopeful there would be. “Quietly make note and move on.”
“I can’t do more than make note?”
For Patrick, returning to work was not merely a financial necessity, it was to be the final step of his own recovery. He had to remember how to feel things. And if he had to accomplish that in part by becoming someone else, some new role, then so be it. It was probably safer that way. But that didn’t erase his hesitancy entirely. “Not yet, no.”
“And why is that?”
“Because I’m still gauging mine.”
TWENTY-THREE
The fight had been brewing for days. It seemed the closer they were to Greg’s release the more they all succumbed to their frazzled ideas about what the future might hold. Maisie in particular was sullen, withdrawn—immune, suddenly, to her uncle’s innumerable charms. On Tuesday she refused to do the dishes and told Patrick it was his job to do them as the grown-up. On Wednesday she said she didn’t want to eat lupper, even though Rosa had cooked all day. It wasn’t the menu she objected to, rather she wanted to eat dinner like a normal family.