Remember When 3: The Finale (Remember Trilogy #3) (6 page)

  
He had his hands jammed into his pockets as he nodded his head toward the wall. “Remind me to get someone over here to fix that tomorrow.”

   “Don’t sweat it. I’ll give
Rymer a call in the morning.”

  
“Rymer’s a contractor?”

   “
Rymer’s a little bit of everything these days.”

  
Trip was silent at that, letting the new information sink in. He stood there for a beat, looking embarrassed, his tail between his legs.

  
“Look. I’m sorry, Lay. I’m sorry you saw that.”

   I could have used the opportunity for some big psychoanalytic development, some
it-wasn’t-your-fault,
Good Will Hunting
-type breakthrough. But it’s not what he needed from me at that moment. I knew we’d get through it eventually; it just didn’t have to be right then. So, instead of opening my big mouth, I shut up and slipped my arms around his waist for a hug.

   He sighed, running
the fingertips of his damaged hand along my back, lowering his lips to the top of my head. “I really am sorry.”

  
It had been an emotional day. Nauseated to trepidatious, heart-swelling to heart-breaking. Sad to happy to silly to sexy to contented to furious to remorseful.

  
What can I say? It was the Trip Wilmington roller coaster ride all over again. I wouldn’t have had it any other way.

  
I squeezed his waist and gave him a shy smile. “I know.”

Chapter
8

YOURS, MINE AND OURS

   I took a break from the computer when I heard the troops heading up the stairs. I tended to get lost in a zone whenever I was writing and didn’t even hear the doorbell ring. But nothing could ever distract me from the sound of Lisa in the vicinity.

   My beautiful g
oddaughter reached my office first, however, rushing into the room with a squeal, so I spun around in my chair and scooped her up in a big hug. “How’s my sunshine?” I asked, getting a giggle in answer. She tried squirming out of my grasp almost immediately, and I knew that snuggle time would be over almost as soon as it had begun. She was such a little perpetual motion machine. I held her tighter, though, my hand raised in The Claw, threatening a massive tickle. “You know what I want to hear. Don’t make me use this.”

  
Julia’s eyes opened wide and her mouth gaped open, pretending to recoil with fear.

  
Just then, her twin brother came bounding into the room, appraising the scene and saying, “Uh-oh, Jooya.”

   I gave
Caleb a wink and flinched my hand at the stubborn little monkey on my lap, psyching her out. But it was enough to make her scream, “Auntie Layla is my favorite aunt!”

   She squirmed again, so I released her from my clutches and opened my arms to
Caleb for a hug. He was dirty and sticky—like all good little boys are supposed to be—and I buried my face at his shoulder to blow razzberries into his neck. He smelled like watermelon Jolly Ranchers.

   “Did
Grampa Kenny give you candy already?” I asked.

   They
both nodded their heads as Caleb said, “Are you gonna cwaw me now?”

   I raised my hand in The Claw. “Do I need to?”

   He giggled and yelled, “Auntie Waywa is my favewit aunt!”

  
Caleb could hit decibel levels that didn’t exist on this planet. He’d totally inherited Lisa’s loudness gene. Burn.

  
“I have trained you well, young patawan.”

   I set him back down as Lisa came in
to the room. “You have to stop teaching them to say that. They have another aunt besides you, you know.”

   I shrugged and said, “Yes, but Aunt Penny’s not their
favorite
aunt,” giving my two favorite tiny humans a conspiratorial look, which made them break into a new fit of giggles.

   Lisa just shook her head and said, “You guys know that you should never ever say that in front of Aunt Penny, right?”

   They both nodded their heads reverently before running off to destroy my bedroom.

  
Lisa plopped herself down on my old, padded futon across from my old, well-worn desk. I’d moved back home over four years before and used some of the stuff from my New York apartment to convert Bruce’s room into an office.

   I know it seems kind of pathetic that I was thirty-one and living in my father’s house. Not only should I have wanted a bit more privacy for myself, but Dad had a girlfriend, so you’d think that he’d want a little privacy, too.

   But we were used to living together. Heck, we’d done it for the first eighteen years of my life. And the fact was, he was spending a lot of his time at Sylvia’s anyway. He actually liked the idea that I was there taking care of things while he was gone. Plus, he knew I was saving every penny for a down payment on a house of my own and didn’t want me wasting my hard-earned cash by paying rent on some random place.

  
Hard-earned might be an exaggeration, however. I definitely put everything I had into my writing, but I could scarcely consider it “hard work” when it could be done in my PJs.

   I wa
s presently, officially, and blissfully a not-so-starving artist. I’d given up on a career in journalism to become an author. I wrote books for a living—mostly fiction—and I actually got paid to do so. It was awesome. I was living out a dream I never knew I always had.

   Funny that it coincided with the only
other
dream I’d ever had (but I’m pretty sure I always knew I had that one).

  
Back in 2000, I’d called that agent who left me a message the day I was fired from
Now!
Magazine
. Diana Cavanaugh and I just clicked from the get go, and I spent the entirety of that following year writing my first book. It wasn’t quite the factual exposé
she’d originally been campaigning for, but it was a good story and managed to find an audience. For my second novel, I actually received an advance, so I took my sweet old time getting that baby out. There were a couple novellas and a few short stories sprinkled in there, but I was currently dabbling with some ideas for my third full-length book.

  
Lisa was on her third baby, too.

   She gave a rub to
her lower back, and I could see her baby bump straining against her DKNY sweatshirt. “Ow. Four months in and this one’s already killing me.”

   “Don’t complain to
me, sister. You’re the psycho that decided to have another kid after a set of
twins
.”

  
She ignored my jab and got down to brass tacks. “So, you know what I came here to hear. Tell me about Trip! This is really happening, huh?”

  
We were both smiling like a couple of loons. “Yeah. Finally.”

  
An unspoken understanding passed between us at the situation. Lisa knew better than anyone what a long road it had been. She was there from the first minute and had been there for every moment since. She was the one who helped me survive in those first weeks after Trip announced his engagement. She was the one who helped me stay sane. She was the one who got me through that very long winter, kept me focused on the many good things I had to look forward to, didn’t allow me to sink into the crazed depression my mind was begging for.

  
That’s the thing about Lisa. She’s always up for some good times, but she doesn’t run away during the bad ones.

   A
huge, contented sigh came from my best friend. “I’d love to give you a big lecture here. I should probably feel compelled to warn you about everything that could go wrong again.” She looked up at me, and she actually had tears in her smiling eyes. “But I just can’t. Seeing you two together… It’s like… like it’s…” she trailed off, a dreamy expression on her dazed face.

   “I know. And it is.”

   “’Bout time.”

   “Tell me about it.”

   She shook her head, laughing. “A freaking movie star. Leave it to you.”

   I
had a flash of that freaking movie star’s beautiful body poised above me, reducing me to a heaving pile of useless flesh the night before, and a delightful shiver made its way down my spine. I tried to contain my smile. I really did. But Lisa saw my battle and her eyes went wide. “You already had sex with him!”

   I let my smile turn into a huge grin. “I did.”

   “You slut!”

   “
Shh! Your kids are in the next room!”

   “Well, I think it’s best that they know something like this now. Hey kids! Your aunt is a tramp!”

   I leapt onto the couch and stifled her stupid, loud mouth with my hand. She was trying to squirm out of my grasp, but I held firm until she pinched my arm. “Ow!” I yelped as we both cracked up.

   She was just looking at me, shaking her head. “This is like, so weird.”

   I rubbed my forearm and answered, “I know. But Lis… I can’t even tell you. Trip and me… we’re like, even better than we ever were. It’s as if every stupid thing we’ve ever done to each other was worth it just to get us here, you know?”

   “There
were a lot of stupid things.”

   “I’m quite aware of that, thank you.”

  “So, this is it, then. You guys are really doing it this time.”

  “Holy shit. Yeah, I guess we are.”

  
Lis smiled, and I was just getting ready to spill all the sordid details when Caleb came tearing into the room. “Mommy? When will Daddy be home?”

  
She shook her head and directed her commentary to me. “Every flipping day with this question,” she lamented before answering Caleb, “No game tonight. Daddy will be home at the regular time, baby.”

   “Will he do
fwips wif me?”

   Pickford was an insanely amazing father. He doted on those kids every minute he got.
His coaching job wiped him out every day, yet he still found the energy to roughhouse with the twins when he got home at night. I can’t tell you the number of times he’d start a sentence with, “You can’t believe what those two did the other day,” before regaling me with prideful stories about the latest adorableness to ooze from his precious children.

   “Yes, baby, he’ll do flips with you. Hey.
Auntie Layla has to get back to work. Why don’t you find your sister and we’ll walk down to Gramma and Pop Pop’s. Then we can hit Chuck E. Cheese.”

   “I don’t
wanna hit Chuckie. I wike him.”

   We cracked up at that as Lisa explained what she really meant.

   “Oh. Okay! Wet’s go now! JOO-YA!” he shouted at the top of his lungs.

   I laughed. “Don’t yell, monkey! Go in the other room and get her, you wacko.”

   He skipped out of the room as I whispered to Lisa, “Oh my God. Please reconsider your decision to send that kid for speech. I freaking love hearing him talk.”

  
“Yeah. I’m sure it’ll be real cute when he’s president or something.” She rolled her eyes, admitting that she agreed with me, however, as Caleb stuck his head back around the door.

  
“Mommy?”

   “Yes, baby?”

   “What’s a twamp?”

Chapter
9

THE TALENT GIVEN US

   A couple days later, I was back at my desk, attempting—again—to get some actual writing done. My head was still spinning from the sudden reemergence of Trip in my life, and we’d spent practically every minute together since then. I needed a day just to concentrate on my
pre
-Trip persona. At least for a few hours.

  
I wasn’t on any sort of imposed deadline for the next book, but I normally liked to set some timeline goals for myself just the same. The problem was that I hadn’t really nailed down exactly what I’d be writing about yet. I had pages of outlined ideas, just waiting for one of them to spark, catch fire, and suck me into its world.

 
My mind was wandering, and I found myself pulling out an old file, some of the research I’d done while writing my first book. Originally,
Beachlight Publishing
had used Diana as their middle man, asking if she’d sign me as her client. They were expecting her to convince
me to submit a memoir about my high school days with Trip and actually thought it would have more teeth if I used real names. They soon found out that there was no way I’d ever agree to write such a thing. Instead, I’d offered up a fictional retelling of my life. They didn’t go for it.

   T
hankfully, however, Diana did. She put out her feelers to a few different publishing houses, and eventually, it managed to find a home.

   Nevertheless,
I still had tons of leftover notes from that time; random scraps of paper or envelopes or napkins, thoughts jotted down on whatever writing surfaces were at hand whenever a memory struck. Most of the compilation read more like diary entries as opposed to an outline for a book. Once I sat down to actually write, however, I hardly had any need to consult my factual notes while getting lost in the fabricated story.

  
But that day, I dug it all back out and revisited it. I suddenly had the inexplicable urge to tell Trip’s and my story in all its many details, get it all down on paper. Not to publish, of course, but I was thinking that it would be a special gift for him. I wasn’t much of a scrapbooker, but I could document our life with words. It’s not like I didn’t have the time.

   I got pretty lucky when that
first book took off as well as it did. Because of that, Diana was pretty understanding about letting me work at my own pace. I’d made a few friends in the book world, and from the sound of it, some other literary agents weren’t quite so lax. It helped that Diana was not only a pit bull, but on my side. She was a champion for all the “artists” under her tutelage and didn’t take kindly to being told how to manage her talent.

   So, it was pretty phenomenal that I was afforded a fairly long leash in regards to my career. Essentially, I was self-employed, a circumstance I’d never had during my working life and one in which I found an unexpected discipline.

   Not so disciplined that I couldn’t take some time to swim through some writer’s block every now and again, however.

  
I had a membership at a nearby full-service gym just so I could use their indoor pool. I knew it would be a great way to keep fit over the winter, but I hadn’t been there more than a few times. Now that Trip and his marble-carved muscles were back in the picture, I figured it was high time I got myself back into shape. Over the seventy-two hours he’d been back in my life, I made it a point to hit the pool every day since the wake. I could already feel my body coming back to me, which was a good thing, because I refused to let my boyfriend be prettier than me.

   W
ho am I kidding? Even if I were in top form, he’d still be prettier than me, dammit.

  
So, there I was, back in my office after my morning swim, a big, fat, personal folder screaming for attention, an entire as-yet-to-be-determined novel waiting to be written… and what was I doing?

  
Organizing my desk drawer.

   Granted, with my obsessive tendencies, such a task was a weekly undertaking, but with two huge projects hanging over my head, it wasn’t the most pressing matter at the moment.

   The one thing that stole the
highest
priority in my mind finally took precedence as I allowed myself to dial the phone.

  
Trip’s mom answered.

  
“Hi, Mrs. Wilmington. It’s Layla. May I speak to Trip please?”

  
Oh my God. I’m seventeen.

  
“Sure, honey. Hey, I’m sorry we didn’t get much chance to talk the other day.”

   The woman was a bit preoccupied
dealing with the death of her husband of almost forty years. It’s not like I blamed her for not taking time away from that to catch up on our gossip. “Umm. You were a
little
busy.”

  
“It was still good to see you. I’d like to catch up.”

  
It was a sweet thing to say. She and I had always gotten along pretty well back in the day, and I guess I didn’t realize how much I’d been missing her until she said that. “Well, don’t worry. I’ll be around from now on.”

  
I could hear her smile on the other end of the phone. “Well, I’m glad to hear that. Hang on, I’ll get him.
Terrence
!”

  
There was a fumbling on the other line, then I heard Trip’s voice. “Hello?”

  
“Hi!”

  
“Hi there.”

   “What’s up?”

   “Hang on.” He held the phone away from his mouth and yelled, “Ma! I got it! Hang up!”

  
Click!

  
“I can’t believe I just had to say that.”

   I laughed.
“Well, if you’d just join the rest of us in this millennium, you’d get yourself a cell phone.”

  
“Never.”

  
“What’s the matter? Big strong guy like you afraid of a little brain cancer?”

  
“No. Big strong guy like me is afraid of an even bigger and stronger Big Brother.”

  
“You can’t be serious.”

  
“As a brain tumor.”

   I rolled my eyes at that one.
“So… Guess what?”

  
“What?”

   I wrapped the cord around my finger and sing-
songed, “My father’s going out tonight… I have the house to myself…” I was only half-kidding. It was getting ridiculous with the both of us living at our parents’ houses. We came this close to screwing in his truck in my driveway the other day. But then my father started flicking the porch lights to bust our chops and we just died laughing. Kinda broke the mood.

  
He chuckled at my invitation. “Should I bring the keg? Call the football team?”

  
With that, I had a quick flashback of that beautiful man as the beautiful teenager he once was. Jeez. We really did do a lot of partying back in the day. “No keg. Just bring that sweet little ass of yours over here. I wanna squeeze it while we make out on the couch.”

   There was
a distinct pause before he breathed out, “Christ, that was hot.”

  
I laughed. “See you later.”

* * *

   I was really looking forward to my “date” with Trip. It was going to be weirdly awesome to have him sitting on my family room couch again, watching a movie just like we used to do as teenagers. I very carefully chose a few DVDs for our viewing selection and figured I’d give Trip the ultimate vote on what we watched. After dismissing nearly my entire collection, I was confident that I’d come up with a handful of films that would meet with his approval, ensuring that I wouldn’t have to listen to his tireless critique all night.

   When I heard the doorbell ring, my heart actually leapt into my throat. I was almost as nervous as the first time he’
d ever come over.

  
Get it together, Warren!

   Dad had answered the door, and as I came up the stairs, I saw the two of them reuniting. Trip tu
rned and smiled as I shyly said hello. I didn’t know what my deal was. I went into the kitchen to grab him a soda as Dad invited him into the living room to meet Sylvia.

   It was surreal, having him there in the house once again, chatting it up with my father as if fifteen years hadn’t passed since their last conversation. I braced my hands on the counter and tried to steady my breathing. I didn’t know why I was feeling so freaked out about everything.
Maybe just having him there in my house again brought up all the old insecurities. I mean, the first time he’d ever come over, we were just a couple of stupid kids. Just two friends who didn’t know how to change that status. Now… Well, now we were “adults.” Having him there suddenly seemed like a much bigger deal.

  
Trip, Dad and Sylvia were in the living room chatting when I came in to join them. Neither of the men acknowledged my presence, but I saw Dad smirk before he asked, “So, Trip. Just exactly what are your intentions toward my daughter?”

  
“Oh my God! Dad!”

   That had him laughing
and made Sylvia almost spit out her club soda.

   “Would you rather I lecture him about being responsible?” He turned toward Trip again and said, “I hope you plan on using protection, son.”

   I almost leapt across the living room and strangled him.

   Trip took
the digs with the humor they were intended, but answered just the same. “Sir, I learned years ago that there’s no protecting me from
that
.” He pointed in my direction and all eyes turned toward me as he added, “Believe me. Lord knows I’ve tried.”

   I pursed my lips together, trying to contain my smile. Was he not just the cutest thing?
I handed him his drink and sat down next to him on the couch. He didn’t take his smiling eyes off me the entire time. Oh, God. We were turning into two big sappy idiots all over again.

  
He turned back to my dad and changed the subject. “Hey, you’ll never guess who I ran into at the Super Bowl last month. Your nephew, Jack.”

  
“No kidding! Loo, did you know that?”

   Obviously, I did not. I was g
oing to have to remember to murder my cousin the next time I saw him. How could he just forget to tell me something like that? “No, I didn’t. I just talked to him last week and he never mentioned it!”

   Dad chuckled and said, “Well,
maybe he just didn’t want to look like he was bragging about hanging out with powerful movie stars.”

  
From anyone else, a line like that would seem pretty cheesy, but the way my father said it, it came across as funny. I got the impression that Dad found it amusing that the carefree
teenager he once knew had just been named to TIME’s Most Influential list. I couldn’t say as I blamed him. I’m sure he still saw Trip as that same punky young kid, as opposed to the world-famous actor presently sitting in his living room.

   Trip
just smiled and took the hit with his usual charm. “Trust me, I wasn’t the most powerful guy in that skybox. He was there with Lutz Hamburg.”

  
“Lutz Hamburg? Who’s that?” I asked.

  
Trip grabbed my hand casually, and I could tell by Sylvia’s expression that the little move hadn’t gone unnoticed. But I didn’t think Trip was even aware that he’d done it. I loved that.

  
“He’s a music producer. The guy’s a pretty big deal, and Jack was his guest. I was there with the director for my next film, and I was introduced to them both. Turned out, Carlos had invited them to talk about working on a soundtrack for the movie.”

  
Jack used to be in a band that found some moderate fame back in the mid-nineties, but he gave up the rock star lifestyle when he got married and had kids. He still played some local bars just for fun nowadays, but how the heck did he wind up in a skybox in Jacksonville with Lutz Hamburg? I wondered just exactly what was going on there.

  
Dad shot me a smile as he announced it was time to go. Trip stood and shook his hand, but he gave Sylvia a kiss on her cheek. She actually blushed and was flustered and stammering just the slightest bit as she offered, “It was very nice to meet you.”

  
I realized that Sylvia had been sucked into the Trip charm, maybe even a little blown away by it. She didn’t have the advantage of knowing him as the goofy teenager he once was like my father and I did. I could barely handle him at full capacity, but at least I was able to ease into it over the years. Poor Sylvia was getting smacked with the overwhelming force of
Movie Star Trip
right out of the gate. And let me tell you, that guy’s presence was intense enough as it was, even when he wasn’t being
him
. He had that effect on people. It’s what made him so famous.