of Zack and his aunt, watching the sunset from her front porch. He’s safe and loved. Saved.
Charles’s triumph is tempered only by the fact that Portia and Emma aren’t alive to share it with him. Emma was so important to the book; her story inspired it. If only her ending could have been as serene as Zack’s. The publicity surrounding his gallant attempt to save her was the beginning of his career resurrection. Even the whispers of an affair only add to his reputation. How bitterly ironic it all is. The only solace Charles can take is in the book’s dedication: “In memory of a lovely lost child.” He thinks of it as Emma’s book as much as his own.
Charles, after a long run, is getting dressed for the party. Anne must be down in Eliza’s nursery, the former guest bedroom. So much about the apartment has changed in the last couple of months. As part of a clean break with the past, Charles has moved his office to a studio on Riverside Drive. Anne is knocking down the walls between the two rooms of his old workspace, creating a bright and sunny bedroom for their daughter. Things have been going so well between them; their lives are back on track, running smoothly. He’s so lucky to have her, taking care of things, turning chaos into order. Those months with Emma were frightening-Charles feels as if he came to the very edge of madness, peered into the abyss. But now he’s back, safe and sound, nurtured by Anne.
She’s in an incredibly up mood; he hasn’t seen her this happy in months, maybe years. It’s the baby, of course, but also his triumph. She’s been so supportive during the whole ordeal. He’s going to be a wonderful husband-and father-from now on. It’s time to buy a country place, maybe up on the Hudson.
Anne is leaning over the crib, tickling Eliza’s perfect tiny tummy, and her daughter is laughing, looking up at her mother, her eyes filled with recognition and love. Anne strokes her silky red hair-so much for beach vacations. She’s enthralled by her baby-by her fingers and toes, by the way she feels and smells and moves, by the noises she makes and the grave intelligence in her eyes. Anne takes her to the office every day, can hardly bear to be away from her.
Her phone rings.
“Hello?”
“Hello, darling.”
“Hi, Mother.”
“I’m so excited about this party. Wait until you see what I’m wearing.”
“Tell me now.”
“DKNY jumpsuit. All black. Am I hip or what?”
“You’re hip.”
“You sound terrific, Anne.”
“I’m in love,” Anne says, looking down at Eliza.
“John Farnsworth tells me your profits have zoomed.”
“They’ve zoomed so much that I won’t be needing him much longer. It’s a pity he and Marnie couldn’t make it down for the party.”
“They’re keeping a very low profile.”
“I’m not surprised,” Anne murmurs.
“The dedication ceremony at the Museum of Fine Arts was agony for them. The story of John forcing himself on that business-woman was splashed all over the front page of the Boston Herald that very day. They both kept up appearances, but the occasion was ruined.”
Kayla’s friend, professional that she is, has sent Anne a copy of the Herald. She was tempted to frame it. Revenge cost her twenty thousand dollars, but would have been a bargain at twice the price.
“I’m so sorry I couldn’t be there to support them,” Anne says.
“The woman wanted him to finance her company and he insisted on sex. Right there in her suite at the Four Seasons! She apparently tape-records all her business meetings. Smart girl. John’s language on the transcript was terribly crude. Did he think she was some kind of glorified prostitute or something?”
“You’d think John of all people would know that business is business.”
“Exactly. It’s going to be a while before he can show his face in public. Poor Marnie.”
“Poor Marnie,” Anne agrees.
“I better go hurry Dwight along. See you soon, darling.”
“Good-bye, Mother.”
Anne reaches down into the crib and Eliza grabs her forefinger.
“You’ve got a strong grip there, young lady.”
Eliza giggles with delight.
Charles puts on his jacket and smiles into the mirror. Yesterday, Norman fucking Mailer called to tell him how fine the book is. He’s going to get a good run out of this one. A good run.
The in-house phone rings.
“Yes?”
“Your limousine is here, Mr. Davis.”
“Thank you.”
Where is Anne? It’s virtually impossible to pry her away from that child. She’s even been sleeping in the nursery. New mothers.
“Anne, the car is downstairs,” Charles calls from the doorway.
Anne walks out of the nursery-wearing jeans and a T-shirt.
“You’re not dressed,” he says.
“I’m sorry,” Anne says calmly. “Eliza and I were deep in conversation.”
“How is it you two find so much to talk about?”
“We have a lot in common.”
There’s an edge in her voice. That’s all right, he has to expect these little waves of resentment to wash in every once in a while. Anne’s done a remarkably good job of forgiving, but he knows it’s going to take a while for her to forget. He follows her as she walks into the bedroom.
“The car is downstairs, Anne. We’re running late. You’re going to have to do a quick change.”
She smiles at him humorlessly and says, “I’m not planning to change.”
“Oh? Well, at least no one will accuse you of being overdressed.”
Again, that icy smile of hers. She goes to her bedside table and takes a folder out of the drawer. “The point is, Charles, I’m not going.”
“Anne, I know how hard-”
“I have something here that might interest you,” she says.
What the hell is all this about?
“When I was supervising the packing up of your office, I found these pages in Emma’s bottom desk drawer. They were tucked away under some old magazines. It was almost as if she had hidden them there.”
Anne crosses to Charles and opens the folder in front of him. She begins to leaf through manuscript pages of The Sky Is Falling. The margins are heavily scribbled with notes to Emma in Charles’s handwriting.
Charles hears a ringing in his ears; his mouth goes dry.
“So interesting, to see a work in progress,” Anne says. She closes the folder and hands it to him. “You might want to save these for your archive at Dartmouth. I have lots more.”
“More?”
“Yes. In a safe deposit box. My lawyer has the key.”
Charles opens the file and looks down at a page. There’s a streak of smudged ash-Emma was smoking when she read his notes. Emma.
Anne goes and sits on her side of the bed. Charles stands absolutely still, the open folder in his hand. He looks so stupid-and he’s such a smart man.
“I’m divorcing you, Charles, and I’m getting full custody of Eliza. You won’t see her, or me, again. When you walk out of this apartment tonight, you’re never coming back.”
Charles opens his mouth to speak, but it takes several moments for him to form the words.
“Anne, please…”
“I’m letting you have the book, Charles. Don’t push your luck.”
“It’s the process,” he manages. “We worked together.”
“That’s bullshit and you know it. You stole that book. I’d like nothing more than to expose you for who you really are. But then my life-and Eliza’s-would be tainted too, wouldn’t they? I can’t let that happen.”
