I nod. “Also true.”
“It must be fun, though.”
“Money is more fun than fame, but honestly, after a certain point, you’ve kind of bought anything you want. When you’re dreaming about money when you’re young, it’s because you don’t have things, and money offers a sense of freedom. Like to buy that car you think you want, or a trip somewhere, or—”
“Like this?” He taps the bracelet on my arm. “When did you buy it?”
It’s a tennis bracelet set with topazes in a rainbow hue. “After my first movie. I saw one like it at a mall in Portland when I was about fourteen.”
“I remember.” He moves it back and forth on my wrist, setting the red, the purple, the orange and yellow on fire in turn. “You told me about it and I always wanted to buy it for you.” He raises my hand, kisses the knuckles. “Better that you were the person who bought it for you.”
I smile at him. “Yeah, exactly. At the time I first saw it, I wondered who I’d be married to if I ever had a bracelet like this. Instead, I married myself.”
He touches the tips of my fingers, one at a time. “Was it lonely?”
“Sometimes. But not really. I could have married any number of times.”
“I’m sure.”
I can’t resist stroking the smooth skin of his inner arm. “Were you? Lonely?”
Something heavy crosses his face. “I would have been better off not getting married, honestly.”
“So why did you?”
“I thought I should.”
“But neither of us has had another child,” I say quietly. “That breaks my heart.”
“Mine too. Who did she look like?”
“You. She looked just like you. Such dark hair.”
He raises his eyes, showing a deep expression of grief. “I wish I could have held her.”
“Me too,” I whisper, and lean into him, hiding my face in his shoulder. “I bet she’s tall.”
“I wonder if she draws or paints or acts.” He strokes my hair. “I wonder if she’s ever seen you on TV or something and wondered if you seemed familiar.”
A pain stabs my gut. “Oh, that’s a terrible thought.”
“I’m sorry.”
We sit in the quiet, and it feels exactly right, that we should be here so many years later, in this very space where we made love so long ago. Impulsively, I say, “I missed you, Joel. Like, always. Is that weird?”
“Same.” I feel him take a lock of hair into his fingers and thread it around his knuckles. “I tried to see you once.”
I lift my head. “When?”
“I don’t know exactly. I knew you were going to be onstage with a movie premiere in Seattle.”
“Because you stalked me?”
His grin is swift and sexy. “Yes. I did.”
“So what happened?”
“I mean, I went to the premiere and I was in the audience, like right up front. I kept hoping you’d see me and then we’d have this big reunion and”—a shrug—“I don’t know. You didn’t. And your life was clearly so good.”
A little shattering sensation moves across my heart. “You were in the audience? I hate that I didn’t see you. It’s so bright that it’s hard to see anything. I wish you would have sent me a note.”
“I didn’t think you wanted to talk to me.”
“I called your mom once,” I say, running my hand over his chest. “She told me you were married and I should leave you alone.”
“So many missed chances,” he says.
“Not this one.”
He brings my hand up and takes my index finger into his mouth. I’ve never thought I would like this, but heat rushes through me. His eyes are molten dark and I can feel the wet give of his inner lip. I bend in and kiss him, and this time we take each other with a kind of starved brutality, leaving bruises and banging teeth, joining in a kind of frenzy. I collapse on his chest, his hands on my bare back and think, How will I ever survive this?
Chapter Nineteen
Phoebe
“Nana,” Jasmine says as I’m getting supper ready. “I need to talk to you.”
“Of course.” I slide a cookie sheet of soy “fish” sticks and Tater Tots into the oven. It’s a horrible meal, but I have to admit I like it, too. I sit down across from her. “What’s up, darling girl?”
“I don’t want to move to England.” She pulls out her notebook. “I made a list of my reasons. I want to read them to you.”