performers.
“she’s going to be my breakout star,” Charles had crowed to Flynn years back when he’d called to thank him for sending her his way.
“I hope so,” Flynn had said sincerely, though he was fairly certain that Rae Hamilton wasn’t destined for cinematic greatness.
She, like Mallory Eden, is beautiful, and smart, and funny.
But her pale beauty is considerably less accessible than Mallory’s fresh-faced loveliness had been; it’s almost too deliberate, as though she has spent the last hour and a half applying makeup and styling her hair.
And her Ivy League background is a little too apparent; get her talking about a classic novel and she’ll go off on a tangent about themes and metaphors and leave everyone in the dust.
Meanwhile, her quick wit is a little too direct; some comments too barbed for comfort.
Sharp .
Yes, that certainly does describe the actress sitting before him.
There will never be another Mallory Eden.
Flynn Soderland clears his throat and lifts his glass.
Rae Hamilton follows his cue.
“To Mallory,” he says quietly. “Wherever she is.”
Chapter
3
“M anny?”
The child, who had been running across the small gravel-paved playground toward the swingset, turns at the sound of his name.
“Elizabeth,” he says happily, doing an about-face and making a beeline in her direction.
She is reminded of the first time she ever laid eyes on him, a few years ago. She had been strolling through the small park in the winter dusk, huddled into a down parka, her head bent against the wind that whipped off the bay. She had assumed she had the place to herself until she followed the path around a bend, through a grove of evergreens, and came upon the child. There was something so desolate about the way he sat in the swing, barely moving, his feet scuffing the worn, muddy spot in the gravel beneath him.
He had looked up, spotted her with those enormous brown eyes, and offered a halfhearted smile that melted her heart.
From that moment on, Manny Souza has been her sole friend in Windmere Cove. Just as she is his.
And she had fallen in love with the child long before she realized that his background was nearly identical to her own. That merely sealed the bond.
“What are you doing here?” he asks, obviously thrilled to see her.
He hugs her, knocking her large sunglasses askew.
She hurriedly rights them, then says brightly, “Visiting you. How have you been?”
“Good.”
She nods but looks him over, taking in the frayed cutoff jeans, the ripped, stained white T-shirt, the dark circles under his big ebony eyes. He hasn’t been sleeping. That’s nothing new. But there are no new bruises; none that she can see. The mark on his right cheek where his grandfather bashed him with a fist has almost faded.
“How are your grandparents?” she asks him.
He shrugs, knowing what she means; that she’s not merely inquiring after their health, though ever since his grandfather’s heart attack, that has been a family issue. But Elizabeth wants to know how they, as his legal guardians, have been treating him this week.
“They’re okay....”
“Manny, is everything all right at home?” Elizabeth persists, reaching out to ruffle his thick straight black hair.
“Yeah …”
She knows him too well to believe that’s all there is to it.
“What happened?” she asks him.
“Nothin’.”
She waits.
“My mom stopped by yesterday,” he says at last, kicking at the gravel with a worn sneaker. “She wanted money. My grandfather threw her out.”
“Did you talk to her?”
“Nah. I was busy watching TV.”
Sure you were, Manny .
She pictures him, huddled in front of the television set, trying to shut out the screaming voices of his mother, the crack addict, and her poverty-stricken parents, who have been saddled with the care and feeding of an asthmatic grandchild who might as well be an orphan.
Elizabeth has never met Manny’s family, though there have been times when she
“she’s going to be my breakout star,” Charles had crowed to Flynn years back when he’d called to thank him for sending her his way.
“I hope so,” Flynn had said sincerely, though he was fairly certain that Rae Hamilton wasn’t destined for cinematic greatness.
She, like Mallory Eden, is beautiful, and smart, and funny.
But her pale beauty is considerably less accessible than Mallory’s fresh-faced loveliness had been; it’s almost too deliberate, as though she has spent the last hour and a half applying makeup and styling her hair.
And her Ivy League background is a little too apparent; get her talking about a classic novel and she’ll go off on a tangent about themes and metaphors and leave everyone in the dust.
Meanwhile, her quick wit is a little too direct; some comments too barbed for comfort.
Sharp .
Yes, that certainly does describe the actress sitting before him.
There will never be another Mallory Eden.
Flynn Soderland clears his throat and lifts his glass.
Rae Hamilton follows his cue.
“To Mallory,” he says quietly. “Wherever she is.”
Chapter
3
“M anny?”
The child, who had been running across the small gravel-paved playground toward the swingset, turns at the sound of his name.
“Elizabeth,” he says happily, doing an about-face and making a beeline in her direction.
She is reminded of the first time she ever laid eyes on him, a few years ago. She had been strolling through the small park in the winter dusk, huddled into a down parka, her head bent against the wind that whipped off the bay. She had assumed she had the place to herself until she followed the path around a bend, through a grove of evergreens, and came upon the child. There was something so desolate about the way he sat in the swing, barely moving, his feet scuffing the worn, muddy spot in the gravel beneath him.
He had looked up, spotted her with those enormous brown eyes, and offered a halfhearted smile that melted her heart.
From that moment on, Manny Souza has been her sole friend in Windmere Cove. Just as she is his.
And she had fallen in love with the child long before she realized that his background was nearly identical to her own. That merely sealed the bond.
“What are you doing here?” he asks, obviously thrilled to see her.
He hugs her, knocking her large sunglasses askew.
She hurriedly rights them, then says brightly, “Visiting you. How have you been?”
“Good.”
She nods but looks him over, taking in the frayed cutoff jeans, the ripped, stained white T-shirt, the dark circles under his big ebony eyes. He hasn’t been sleeping. That’s nothing new. But there are no new bruises; none that she can see. The mark on his right cheek where his grandfather bashed him with a fist has almost faded.
“How are your grandparents?” she asks him.
He shrugs, knowing what she means; that she’s not merely inquiring after their health, though ever since his grandfather’s heart attack, that has been a family issue. But Elizabeth wants to know how they, as his legal guardians, have been treating him this week.
“They’re okay....”
“Manny, is everything all right at home?” Elizabeth persists, reaching out to ruffle his thick straight black hair.
“Yeah …”
She knows him too well to believe that’s all there is to it.
“What happened?” she asks him.
“Nothin’.”
She waits.
“My mom stopped by yesterday,” he says at last, kicking at the gravel with a worn sneaker. “She wanted money. My grandfather threw her out.”
“Did you talk to her?”
“Nah. I was busy watching TV.”
Sure you were, Manny .
She pictures him, huddled in front of the television set, trying to shut out the screaming voices of his mother, the crack addict, and her poverty-stricken parents, who have been saddled with the care and feeding of an asthmatic grandchild who might as well be an orphan.
Elizabeth has never met Manny’s family, though there have been times when she
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