Little Known Facts: A Novel by Christine Sneed Page B

or five years ago, but I’d be lying if I said that they didn’t bother me. She is a very young girl. Renn is not a young man. He is a fool, but actors usually are, their egos so fragile and enormous. How does Elise Connor feel about his egotism? Perhaps she doesn’t care, accepting it as a hazard of the trade, or else she is still blind to it. She is less than half his age, and I feel a little sorry for him about this May-December cliché. Especially because it is hardly the first time.
    None of the gossip columnists ever mention me in connection with Renn anymore, in part because I’m not famous, nor are our children, and of what interest am I, except to the fans who have researched him so thoroughly that they know more about him than most of his close friends do? Those people are out there, a dishearteningly large army of fanatics. I have met some of them, before and after the divorce. How do you live with the fact, peaceably or no, that your husband is an institution, a movement, a cult with numerous irrational adherents? I never quite figured out how. That we stayed married for almost fifteen years was, I have to admit, a miracle.
    “Poor Billy,” I finally managed to say. “I wish he knew how to be happier.” Yet who really does? I wonder. I’m not sure if it’s a skill that can be cultivated or a talent a person is born with. I often think it’s the latter, having seen so many people who should be happy but aren’t, and so many who should be miserable but are decisively the opposite.
    “I know. I told him to start seeing his therapist again, but I don’t know if he will.”
    “I wish he’d never gone to New Orleans to work with your father.”
    “Well, he did.”
    “Yes, he did.”
    In October, he was with Renn for too long on the set of
Bourbon Street,
or whatever he’s calling it.
A Shot of Bourbon,
maybe?
Bourbon in Winter?
Some earnestly poetic name. My son is a grown man, free to come and go as he pleases, but sometimes I wish that Renn hadn’t set up those trusts for our kids after the divorce. So much money, an unconscionable amount, really. Anna has been smart with hers, and although Will hasn’t been a spendthrift, not that I can tell, he hasn’t been able to find a career postcollege that he wants to pursue. Renn’s guilt-stricken generosity has succeeded in robbing our son of any desire he might have had to establish himself in one field or another. But Anna, I have no doubt, will excel at medicine. Her patients, her staff, her community, will adore her. Eventually she will fall in love, marry, and probably have a child or two. She will be happy and will continue to be a source of joy for her father and me until we die. Regarding these predictions, I don’t think anyone will ever turn to me, pretending sympathy, and tell me that I’m wrong.
    “I’ve been thinking about where I want to do my residency,” Anna said. “I think it should be at a hospital with an underserved population. I’ve thought about going down to New Orleans or Biloxi, but there are so many people in L.A. that need help too.”
    “Yes, that’s true, but if the hospital doesn’t have a lot of resources, you’re not going to learn as much as you would in a place that’s well funded.”
    “Actually, I think I could learn more.”
    “Maybe, but I doubt it. Don’t decide on anything until you talk to me first. You have the medical centers at UCLA to choose from, and they’re both excellent. Or you could apply to work at Cedars-Sinai with me.”
    “I know, Mom.”
    “If you really want to work with the poor, you should do it in L.A. Your friends and family are here.”
    “I’d make other friends.”
    “I have no doubt that you would.”
    “I want to live somewhere else at some point. I’m not going to stay here forever.”
    I hesitated. “No, I suppose you won’t.”
    She has already traveled to so many places, so many different countries. Her father and I have both made sure of that. She has never