A Week at the Lake (41 page)

M
ackenzie's cab pulled up directly behind a black town car just as Serena emerged from it. “Serena! What's going on?”

“I don't know! I got a text from Zoe about Emma. I was so afraid the address was . . .”

“Mount Sinai?”

Serena nodded.

“Me too.” Mackenzie tried to get her breathing under control. The cab pulled off as she realized where they were. “Why are we at the Carlyle?” Mackenzie's heart was still pounding so hard it was hard to think. “What's going on?”

“Good question.” They turned at the sound of footsteps and saw Zoe walking quickly toward them, her face creased with worry. “Thank God you came! This way!”

“What's happened?” Mackenzie asked even as they fell into step behind Zoe.

Mackenzie tried to brace for what they might see.
Had Emma had a relapse? Oh, God, had she died?

Her heart in her throat, she picked up her pace to try to catch up with Serena, who was trying to catch up to Zoe as they raced through the entrance. Zoe stayed several steps ahead of them moving urgently.

Serena had her phone out as they followed her into Bemelmans Bar. “Have you called 911? We're not far from Mount Sinai; we can get Paul to drive us there,” she huffed. They rounded the grand piano. Serena skittered to a halt. Mackenzie
slammed into her back. They teetered briefly but regained their balance.

Neither of them were prepared for what they saw. And neither, it seemed, was Emma. Who even now was rising slowly from the banquette, the soft, yellowed light shadowing her face along with Ludwig Bemelmans's murals behind her. She looked even more shocked than Mackenzie felt. What she did not look was ill. Or anywhere near the verge of death.

Serena and Mackenzie turned on Zoe. “What is going on here?”

Zoe began to back away. “I thought it would be a good idea for the three of you to talk this out face-to-face. You know kind of a
Parent Trap
scenario. Like when Lindsay Lohan tricked her parents into being in the same place at the same time because she hoped they still really loved each other?”

“You're joking, right?” Mackenzie asked, trying to slow her heart, which felt like it might beat its way right out of her chest.

“No. It's not a joke.” Zoe continued to back away. “This is totally for your own good.” She took another backward step. “If you want to go ahead and get started I, um, need to go to the ladies' room. But I'll . . . I can send over a waiter.” She turned then and fled.

The three of them continued to stand where they were. Close enough to hear and be heard, not close enough to have committed to staying.

Mackenzie watched Emma's face. Even in the dark her eyes were tired and red, her face haggard, which seemed only fitting. Why should she sleep when Mackenzie couldn't?

A waiter appeared, noted that they were still standing, then asked, “Can I get you something from the bar?”

“I don't suppose you have arsenic on the rocks?” Serena asked. “Or an unregistered handgun or two?”

The waiter's gaze moved across all three of their faces before returning to Emma's and Serena's. Recognition dawned. He
smoothed his hair as he glanced beyond them. “Is this like some new version of
Punk'd
?” he asked hopefully. “I don't see the cameras. But I do have some head shots in the back.” He flashed a very nice set of caps. “Just leave it to me.” He exited chuckling. “Poison and lethal weapons! Ha!”

No one moved. They looked, Mackenzie thought, like three adults contemplating an ugly game of Ring Around the Rosie.

“I had no idea Zoe asked you to come,” Emma said. “But I am glad you're here.”

“She didn't ask us to come,”‘ Mackenzie said. “She texted us that it was an emergency. That something had happened to you.”

“Yes,” Serena added. “We thought we might be on our way back to Mount Sinai. Somebody should explain to her what happens to little girls who cry wolf.”

“But you came.” Emma made no effort to hide her surprise or her gratitude. “Despite everything, you both came.”

It was hard to argue with that one. Mackenzie flushed as she remembered just how quickly she'd dropped everything—including her anger—and raced to get here. Was it only a matter of emotional muscle memory? Blind panic? She'd felt just as frightened as when Emma had been in the coma and she thought she'd never hear her voice again.

“I got a message that Gran's apartment had come up for sale. And I . . . I think I'd like to buy it. I thought it might be good for Zoe and me to be bicoastal.”

“So you and Zoe didn't plan this little get-together, together?” Mackenzie asked.

“We might have if she'd told me what she intended,” Emma said. “Except that I'm done using lies on my friends.”

“It sucks being left out of the loop, doesn't it?” Serena said.

“Yes, it does,” Emma conceded. “But I'm so grateful that you showed up here for me. Even though I don't deserve it.”

The waiter returned with a tray that held three pale green drinks in tall thin glasses. “I've brought you Gin-Gin Mules,” he said, seeming unsure what to do with them. “One of our signature cocktails. They're on the house.” He looked down at his tray. “Of course they would be easier to consume if you sat down.” He looked around once again as if for a camera.

“You can leave the drinks here on the table,” Emma said. “If they don't sit down I may have to drink them all myself.”

The waiter did as requested then left them alone, but not without a splashy bow, no doubt meant for that well-hidden camera.

“What do you think, Mac?” Serena asked. “I'm still pretty pissed off at all that anger showered down on me just because I called a spade a spade. But other than Zoe, well, and Adam actually, you're the most injured party present. Shall we have a drink and get this behind us? See if there's anything left of our friendship?”

“I guess there's no harm in listening.” Mackenzie took the chair, leaving Serena to slide into the banquette next to Emma. The room glowed in the artificial light that lit the murals; heavy lamp shades inspired by the murals cast a similar glow on the wooden tables. The lush carpet muted the sounds as other tables began to fill. “Why don't you start with how you got Zoe to forgive you?”

Emma reached for her drink but didn't lift it. “I'm not sure she has, at least not completely. I'm just grateful that she's speaking to me again and . . . I don't know. I've been composing these huge apologies ever since the shit hit the fan.” She smiled nervously. “And now that you're here I'm not sure I can remember a word of any of it.”

“How odd,” Serena said, her eyes on Emma's face. “I've seen you memorize pages of dialogue in a single sitting.”

“That's because if you get it wrong on set or on a soundstage, you just do another take,” Emma said. “If I screw this up I might never see you again.”

Was that what she wanted? Mackenzie asked herself. To never see Emma again? To let go of their friendship once and for all?

Serena took a sip of her cocktail and sent Mackenzie a questioning glance. “What do you think, Mac? Are you ready for the apologizing to commence?”

“I think so.” Mackenzie reached for her cocktail.

“Okay.” Emma reached into her purse and withdrew a thick stack of handwritten sheets of paper. They shook slightly in her hand as she cleared her throat and prepared to speak.

“You're kidding,” Serena said, eyeing the sheaf of papers. “That's . . .”

“Be quiet,” Mackenzie said. “I want to hear this.” She took a long sip of her drink, which had a gingery-lime flavor.

“I'm sorry, Mackenzie,” Emma said prying her eyes from her notes and turning them on Mackenzie. “I'm sorry for everything. From that stupid, stupid night in LA to my inability to speak up, to . . .” The papers rustled in her hands and she put them down on the table in front of her, drew a fresh breath. “God, I really am sorry for everything.” She glanced back down at her notes briefly before meeting Mackenzie's eyes again. “To this day I really don't understand how that night happened. I mean from the first time he met you, you were the only woman Adam ever talked about. And honestly, he and I . . . it wasn't as if we ever even looked at each other that way.”

Mackenzie looked at the friend she'd always envied. With her small curvy body and beautiful face and that overabundance of talent, not to mention her famous name—who wouldn't choose Emma?

“I'm telling you, Mackenzie. Just in case you think Adam or I could have ever looked back on that night with any kind of fondness.” A small smile tugged at her lips. “There's not enough tequila in the world to turn what happened between us into more than a sad and embarrassing memory.”

“Really?” Serena shot Emma a look. “All that scribbling and this is the best you can do?”

“What are you, the apology police?” Mackenzie snapped. “Just let her finish.”

Emma sighed, leafed through a few pages, then set them aside. “I promise you, if you could have seen Adam's face, both our faces really, when we woke up and realized what had happened . . .” Emma grimaced. “Well, I don't know which of us was more shocked or horrified. We couldn't get away from each other fast enough. Why . . .”

“That's enough.” Mackenzie closed her eyes expecting to combat pain. Instead she felt a surge of relief at having this far less threatening image to replace the eager caresses her brain had been conjuring.

“And of course I know I should have told Adam that I was pregnant. It was wrong of me not to,” Emma continued. “I just didn't want to complicate things when you and he were back together. And I was so afraid of losing you.” She blew a bang off her forehead as she regrouped. “I would take every bit of it back,” Emma said. “I'd wish it all out of existence. Except then there'd be no Zoe.” Emma's eyes glittered with tears. “And no matter what, no matter how many stupid words I put down on stupid pieces of paper, I can't wish there was no Zoe.”

Mackenzie nodded. She hated the circumstances, hated pretty much everything that had come to light, but she would never wish there was no Zoe, either.

“And that's the thing. I know the whole fairy godmother idea was kind of lame, but the longer I went without telling Adam or you the truth, the more impossible it became. And then when you lost your baby . . . I wasn't trying to hurt you. I just . . . I wanted to share Zoe with you. And it was the only way I could think of that would let me share her with both of you.” Emma swiped at her tears.

Mackenzie felt tears of her own threaten. “I've loved being
Zoe's fairy godmother. Even when it hurt, I loved being a part of her life. Right up until you pushed me out of it.”

Serena nodded. “You pushed both of us out, without any warning or explanation. For five years. Do you have any idea what that felt like?”

“I do know. I have parents who did that to me my whole life. I'm sorry. It was just the older Zoe got the more I started noticing the things she'd gotten from her father. I guess I just panicked. I didn't know how to tell you and I was so afraid of losing you.”

“So you just went ahead and got rid of us,” Serena said.

Emma nodded, no longer trying to stop the tears. They dropped onto her notes, wetting them and causing the ink to run and blur. “I pushed away the very people I was the most afraid of losing.” She looked up at them through the sheen of tears. “How stupid and wussy is that?”

“Extremely,” Serena replied, her eyes now glittering with tears. “I'd like to say I've never been stupidly wussy, but that would be a lie. And while we're at it, I'm really sorry I didn't process things a little bit before I accused Adam of cheating on Mac and ignoring the daughter he didn't even know he had.” She picked up a cocktail napkin and tried to stanch the flow of tears. “Oh, God, this is pathetic. I hope that waiter/aspiring actor doesn't have any paparazzi on speed dial. I don't look anywhere near as attractive as Emma does when I cry.”

“Who does?” Mackenzie sniffed. But for the first time she not only heard Emma's and Serena's apologies, she received them, felt them sink all the way in.

Adam had told her he loved her, had always wanted to marry her, and was eager to share what lay ahead with her. She could tell herself that he was lying because she was somehow unworthy or inherently unlovable. Or she could allow herself to believe that he'd meant what he'd told her. Allow herself to finally let go of all the insecurities she'd thought she had
discarded but had actually clung to for so much of her life. The ones that had made her jealous of Emma, and uncertain of Adam, and sent her scurrying back to Indiana after all the effort she'd gone to to leave it.

“Are you okay?” Emma reached for her hand and squeezed it.