IAR 38-B
***
This is the flashback to three years earlier-when Caroline was sixteen.
***
Miranda knocked on Caroline’s door and waited.
“Come in, Mom.”
Miranda’s mouth twitched as she opened the door, wondering afresh at the level of irritation and scorn Caroline could pour into that one-syllable word.
She regarded the marvel and mystery of her daughter, who’d obviously stood up from her desk chair to receive her. Short, black scruffy hair, blue cruelty-free military boots which were in her opinion a bit of an oxymoron, black J Brand boyfriend jeans and a blue t-shirt emblazoned with the words I Can Explain It To You But I Can’t Understand It For You.
Miranda thought the slogan was a perfectly apposite description for nearly every conversation a parent could have with a teen and vice versa. She was still getting used to her daughter’s hair, which was certainly striking given the girl’s milky white skin and pale blue eyes. If Caroline had been shooting for the belligerent gamine look, she’d succeeded.
“To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“Your outburst at dinner.”
“It wasn’t an outburst, Mother. It was an observation. I didn’t raise my voice.”
“Correction accepted. Perhaps I mistook the volume of your sentiment for that of your voice. We can talk about your observation, then. May I sit down?”
Caroline glowered in her general direction but not at her and jerked a thumb toward her office chair, “Chair’s more comfortable. I’ll sit on the bed.”
“Thank you.”
As Miranda took a seat, she had to admire her daughter’s posture as she sat across from her. The girl’s fanatical martial arts training had eradicated any tendency toward teen slouching. She looked, and was, extremely physically fit and ruthlessly capable in her discipline. She also looked, and was, extremely emotionally wary, something Miranda was unsure if the girl knew she telegraphed so obviously to others. Seeing the juxtaposition of these two truths sometimes made Miranda’s heart ache in her chest.
“Would you like to make any further observations now that I can answer you without casting a pall over the dinner table?”
Caroline hesitated exactly as if she might be counting to five before answering coolly, “You and Andy brought her up, Mom. You know for a fact this whole Isabelle Malara reclamation project makes me want to throw up a little in my mouth every time I hear about it. So I wasn’t the first person who made dinner uncomfortable tonight, was I?
“Andrea only asked about the book foreword.”
”Like that matters. I. Don’t. Care. You guys have the whole rest of the house and tons of time that doesn’t include me to talk about your BFF fresh out of prison. If you don’t want me to act out at the dinner table, you shouldn’t provoke me at the dinner table. How hard is that?”
“I concede your point-up to a point. But please…tell me more about your observation.”
Miranda watched Caroline’s eyes narrow and her cheeks redden. Embarrassed and angry. She’d certainly seemed surprised that she’d said what she had out loud.
She lifted her chin and shrugged, “I think it’s self-explanatory.”
“I think so, too. You asked if I’d have helped Isabelle if she hadn’t been so good-looking.”
Caroline pursed her lips but made an effort to look unconcerned. “Like I said-just an observation.”
“A remarkably hurtful one.”
Caroline looked at her mother and immediately felt slightly nauseated. She’d actually hurt her mother’s feelings. She’d wanted to but it was one thing to want to and another to really do it. “I’m sorry.”
Miranda waved one hand. “Why be sorry? You wanted to hurt me, didn’t you?”
Caroline lowered her eyes and her mouth pursed into a thin pale line.
“Yes. You did. By suggesting I’m the sort of person who could only have and/or extend compassion to persons I find aesthetically pleasing. I don’t deny it might be fair enough that some people could think that about me, given my position and reputation. But you’re not just some people and it wasn’t just a snide remark about my job. It was a jab at who I am as a human being. As in I’m not much of one.”
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
”Look at me, Caroline.”
The girl raised her eyes and Miranda smiled in a way that made the girl’s stomach flip. “You’re a smart girl. I’m a smart woman. I didn’t misunderstand you. Of course you meant it exactly like that. There’s no other way to interpret what you said. You meant to hurt me by hitting me in a place you know I’m vulnerable because I have my guard down as your mother. You succeeded in hurting me in a uniquely personal way when others could not have. Well done.”
Caroline took a deep breath through her nose as tears welled in her eyes, brimmed, then fell down her cheeks.
“Don’t cry, sweetheart. I’m only and merely hurt. I’m not angry with you because it’s typical for people like us to lash out, even or especially with people we love, when we’re confronted or provoked. Note that I said people like us. We two are alike in many ways and you know that, don’t you?”
Caroline wiped her cheeks and nodded.
“I want you to know I commiserate with you. I can imagine sometimes it’s not particularly happy for you to look at me knowing that.”
The girl hesitated before answering while looking at the floor. “In some ways no, in some ways yes.”
“Look at me now, Caroline. I need for you to listen to me. I promise you I’m not going to say anything that you can’t tolerate. I may make you uncomfortable but I won’t hurt you.”
“Mom-if that’s reassurance, you’re doing it wrong.”
Miranda smiled a small, satisfied smile. “I love it when you say that.”
Caroline looked at her mother, rolled her eyes, and softly said, “Shut up.”
Miranda stunned her daughter by spinning around in the desk chair. One quick, complete revolution. Caroline gawked at her and Miranda was thoughtful before saying, “Would you believe, given the innumerable desk chairs I’ve sat in over my 56 years, that I’ve never done that in my life?”
“Why not?”
Miranda shrugged, which was another uncharacteristic gesture. “I suppose I never saw the point. If you’re looking or moving forward, why spin around only to land exactly where you were before?”
“Because it’s fun?”
Miranda snorted as she looked down at herself, at the chair. “Yes. That neatly explains it.” She looked up into Caroline’s eyes. “I do regret that, you know. For your sake and for Cassidy’s. That I’m not more fun.”
Caroline blinked at this surreal admission. “You’re…fun. I mean sort of. In your way.”
“Do you know the phrase ‘damning with faint praise?’”
“Yes-but you know what I mean. You’re not ha ha fun. You’re more like skewer fun.”
“Fine. Give me the skewer over the ha ha anytime.”
“Me too,” Caroline smiled wanly, “But you said you wanted to talk about something. That’s sort of hanging over me now so could we…”
“Ah yes. Of course.” Caroline watched her mother compose herself for whatever she was going to say but when the woman looked at her, her eyes were surprisingly soft and gentle and adoring-like she was looking at some clumsy, fuzzy puppy or a sweet little baby. Caroline thought for a moment and felt her throat constrict, realizing her mother was seeing her baby.
“One of the hardest things to do as a mother is to watch your children growing and becoming themselves because you’re constantly wondering when to step in and when not to. If you step in too soon, you might stunt their independence. Step in too late or not at all and they suffer for your lack of support. It’s been hard for me to know where to step in for you, Caroline, because you’re so like me.”
Caroline nodded because she didn’t know what else to do.
“That said, you are not me and never will be. We both may be loners but you’ve never truly been alone. I’m the only child of parents who didn’t particularly like me. I didn’t make friends at school. I didn’t make friends out of school. Until I gave birth to you when I was forty years old, I’d never needed anyone or had to share anything with anyone or base my decisions on anyone but myself. Not even with your father, which made it completely predictable and reasonable that he divorced me. It was a brilliant recipe for my professional success but it was a disastrous recipe for life. You spent the first ten years of your life with that person and I know you remember her.’
“Yes.”
“I’ve watched you like a hawk since the first time I was shot and the second time I was shot. Of every one of my family and friends, I believe those events shocked and frightened you the most.”
Caroline’s posture stiffened and Miranda said, “That’s not saying anything bad about you. I believe, to a large extent, the others looked to me both times to decide how they should feel about it. If I seemed okay, they were okay. After all, it’s part of my life description to be above it all. I don’t mean to diminish their anguish over what happened but I believe their ultimate take-away from my brushes with fate was that I was and am just as indestructible as advertised. I believe your take-away was that I was anything but and that I just got lucky. Is that fair to say?”
Caroline swallowed visibly before saying, “Yes.”
“I happen to agree with you.”
“Really?”
“Really. Life is capricious in the best and worst possible ways and it’s very hard to know that and not arm yourself, isn’t it?
The muscles in Caroline’s jaw twitched, “Yes.”
Miranda nodded. “So, as I’ve said, I’ve watched your arming yourself year by year, Caroline. With your attitude. Your distancing yourself behind your camera. Making life kinder than it is with your diet. Controlling life by controlling your body. Defying life’s violence against your family by training yourself to be capable of killing. Defending me noisily and profanely on the Internet. Reacting to press interest in you with ‘touch me not’ clothing and hair. It’s all been quite meticulous, quite methodical.”
“And quite a bit too obvious, obviously. Are you finished making fun of me?”
“Breathe, Caroline. Is that what you really think I’m doing?”
Despite herself, Caroline obediently took a few deep breaths before answering, “I don’t know.”
Miranda reached forward and touched Caroline’s knee with one hand. “I haven’t interfered with you because these activities and interests you’ve healthily chosen and healthily pursued as protection have helped you. They might be things some parents would send you to a professional for but I’m not that parent. I’m not the sort of naïf who believes people need therapy for donning healthy armour. How could I? Look at my hair.”
Caroline snorted and Miranda smiled.
“Please know I’m on your side but I’m going to say a few things about Isabelle and you can throw up a little in your mouth all you want.”
Caroline crossed her arms and hated the fact her mother noted her discomfiture with one lifted eyebrow.
“I understand Isabelle changed your life but I had no defense against what happened to me after she shot me.”
Caroline felt completely unequal to what her mother might be about to say so she sneered and didn’t say a word.
Miranda read that reaction and lifted her chin. “I can explain it to you, Caroline, but I’m sorry I can’t understand it for you.”
Caroline wanted to punch something or someone hearing that but she answered, “What if I didn’t want to understand?”
“Then you’d be the poorer for it but I won’t say, as you did, that I don’t care because I do care. You focus on the fact that Isabelle shot me. I focus on the fact that Isabelle shot me without intention and without malice.”
She paused and ran one hand through her hair, another uncharacteristic action that fixed Caroline’s attention.
“I focus on the fact she shot me and I survived. If Isabelle had only just shot me and I’d only just recovered as quickly as I did, I think we all could almost imagine that nothing had ever happened. But something did happen because she shot me, Caroline. And it wasn’t that I was in the hospital and it wasn’t that we all had some big scare.”
“I’m going to ask you to tell me the truth now because, excepting myself, you’re the one person I know can face any truth if you have to. Even and especially if it hurts. Don’t tell me how you or anybody else felt or how unfair or awful my being assaulted was. Your feelings will always matter more to me than you’ll ever know but I want you to tell me the most important thing that happened because Isabelle shot me.”
The girl shook her head at the answer that instantly popped into her mind and bit the inside of one cheek before saying quietly, “Andy happened.”
“Correct. And what happened because of Andy?”
Caroline’s mind flashed to the unrelenting upheaval Andy’s presence had caused her family at the beginning of her reappearance in their lives. Flashed to the fantastical and bewildering difference between their stark and insular family then and her extended, exuberant and happy family now. Her answer was the only one she could think of. “Everything.”
Miranda nodded curtly, leaned forward and rested her elbows on her knees. “Exactly. I don’t pretend to understand the reasons behind that, Caroline. I don’t know them and I’m not happy I was shot.” Miranda paused and then continued in a voice full of quiet conviction. “But I don’t believe for a second that Isabelle was just an accident in my life. You can resent my thinking that but your disdain will not change what I intend to do for her. That said, I would ask two favours of you before you encase your attitude toward her in cement.”
Caroline exhaled. She didn’t like most of what her mother was saying but the worst was over if she was asking for favours. “You’re so predictable, Mom. Emotional bonding and then the sales pitch.”
Miranda’s face was a blank slate. “Really? I do that?”
“You’re kidding, right?”
Miranda raised both hands in mock surrender. “Fine. Favour one. Read Isabelle’s book. You don’t have to like it or her. You don’t have to give me a book report. Favour two. After you’ve read it, shoot the author’s photo.”
Caroline mouth dropped open in sheer astonishment. She shook her head before saying, “I don’t have to like her or the book but I have to meet her and do her a massive favour. Seriously?”
“It’s not a command, Caroline. Who knows? It may be therapeutic for you. I’m sure you’ve thought about shooting Isabelle many times and in that way you could do so without going to prison. Take the photo you think she deserves. She and I will accept your verdict.”
Miranda looked so breezily satisfied with this pronouncement and with herself that Caroline almost laughed before she said, “Asking me to photograph her is a little outrageous. You do know that, don’t you?"
Miranda ignored her as she stood up. “Speaking of work, Isabelle’s book is a religious one. Not spiritual. Religious.” She tapped Caroline’s cheek, “Enjoy-and thank you for talking.” She leaned down, kissed her cheek and pulled her into a quick hug.
As she left the room, Caroline flopped onto her back in her bed, feeling both emotionally exhausted as only her mother could make her. Yet oddly content.
***
Three Weeks Later…
Caroline tapped lightly on her mother’s open study door as she entered the room but her mother didn’t react. She was sitting at her computer apparently completely transfixed by her screensaver. Which was a picture of Andy. Which was too much information for Caroline.
She couldn’t know her mother wasn’t looking at Andy. Miranda was wondering whether she should secretly pursue fantasy football, how many days it would take before she would inevitably unburden her guilt secret to Andy and how long the woman would laugh at her. She’d been thinking it would almost be worth the jeering for the laughter.
Caroline touched her mother on the shoulder and waggled an 8x10 folder when she had her attention.
“Don’t let me catch you mooning over Andy again. Here’s your picture. I didn’t give you choices because the choice was obvious.”
Miranda opened the folio and found a perfect-the perfect-picture of Isabelle Malara. She was moved to the point of stupidity. Her entire reaction was the word, “Wow.”
Caroline smiled, saying over her shoulder as she crossed the room, “Yes, I completely rock. I know but I gotta jet. Me and Cass and Jace are hitting MoMA before lunch.”
She paused at the her mother’s study door, “Just so you know, that picture’s my book report. You can’t read that book and hate the person who wrote it. I know I’m not old enough to understand all of the why of how I feel about that but the book and meeting her were both very…I suppose wow is the word.”
Miranda looked at the picture again after Caroline had left the room and then shouted, “Thank you!”
Caroline shouted from the hall, “Whatever!”
Miranda smiled.
***
End flashback. The Interview interview continues with Caroline (19) and Isabelle.
***
DPP: By the way, when I showed Mom your author’s photo, she said you were the height of hot Pre-Raphaelite penitent chic.”
IM: Oh my God. She did not!
DPP. Well no. I totally made that up but you sort of bought it for a second.
IM: I’d buy all but the hot part-the rest sounds like her.
DPP: Yes. Let’s not explore your hotness.
IM: Let’s not. That would be the shortest expedition on record.
DPP: I beg to differ. Contrition’s such a hot look for you that I almost want to make you do bad things so I can watch you feel guilty.
IM: I can’t believe you just said that. And now, readers, you know why we’re not dating.
DPP: But we are working on a book together.
IM: It’s called Semi-Religious Women, which was a term in the later Middle Ages for women whose lives weren’t secular but weren’t strictly and legally religious either. Throughout history, there have been women whose faith led them away from their societal roles as wives and mothers but didn’t lead them all the way to the convent. There are women who live those lives today. It’s a book of essays about that middle path. In other words, I’m writing one humdinger of a summer beach read page-turner.
DPP: I’m laughing because that’s so not true. Actually, I’m taking pictures so it can be a coffee table book.
IM: And now I’m laughing. But not at Caroline’s photography. Her photos can be tremendously meditative and I’m incredibly lucky she’s helping me on a project that means so much to me.
DPP: I consider it an honour, Iz, but let’s not make me sound thoughtful.
IM: If I implied you were thoughtful in any of this, I promise it was an accident.
DPP: Are we about finished here?
IM: We can be. I think we’ve covered everything.
DPP: Yep. I’m still not interesting. I’m still not on drugs. I still don’t have an eating disorder. Mom still doesn’t write my blog. I’m not dating Isabelle. Oh-almost forgot. No matter how many times you see me holding Juan Carlo Castillo’s hand or hugging him or walking arm in arm with him, I will never be dating him. He’s my best friend and my sister’s boyfriend. There-that’s it.
IM: Yes. That’s that. All in all, I think I managed to make a really interesting person sound pretty boring with my dynamic interviewing skills. Sorry, Caroline.
DPP: Don’t apologize. It was perfect. After reading this, I can’t imagine anyone would ever ask me for an interview again. Mission accomplished. Oh. One last thing. Sorry Interview, for demanding you make my introduction a drabble. That was lame but I couldn’t think of anything obnoxiously rock star enough to ask for.
IM: You could have asked your mother.
DPP. Oh snap! Meow, Isabelle. On that high, high note, thanks for reading, readers.
IM: Yes. Thanks readers. Pray for me.
DPP: I’m laughing and we’re out.
***
Weeks later, after Emily read the Interview interview, she drummed her fingers on her desk for a few moments, turned in her chair and looked out through her floor-to-ceiling wraparound view of the Manhattan skyline. She loved her office.
Years earlier, when Miranda had rather summarily decided that she turn her hand to publicity, Emily had felt a bit stung by what felt like a dismissal. It had, however, turned out to be a job she was ridiculously good at and she’d made a name for herself almost immediately. She was used to bullying and cajoling people, buttering them up or putting them on ice for Miranda. She merely applied her hard-earned and haughty ferocity to the press. It hadn’t hurt that her first client had been Miranda and that the woman had sung her praises to anyone willing to listen. In a matter of two years, Emily had become one of the most feared and respected publicists on either coast. She loved her job.
There were, of course, exceptions. Because of Miranda’s patronage, Emily had taken on Caroline, a charming and talented girl she'd already known would be as unwilling to be molded as her mother. She’d also been forced to take on Isabella Malara. The only happy thing about working with Isabelle was knowing that she’d once been able to punch her a few times. Literally.
Emily thought the Interview interview was actually quite charming but Caroline and Isabelle didn’t have to know that. She told her secretary to schedule a conference call so that she could rake them over the coals together.
***
Three Years Later (Ten years after the wedding. Miranda is 61 and Andy is 36.)
Andy sat at the kitchen table leisurely flipping through the Book as Miranda added percussion to the soft sound of their dinnertime Vivaldi with her vigorous chopping of vegetables for a Thai stir-fry.
“I like these shoes. I can’t tell what color they are, though. Dark green maybe?”
Miranda pursed her lips at the question as she surveyed her ingredients and decided the ginger was next to meet its demise. Having been married to a woman for nearly ten years had taught her that men were not entirely out of order when they complained that women occasionally expected them to read their minds. Nevertheless, she answered pleasantly. “There are more than 600 pairs of shoes in that book, Andrea. What page?”
“I know that but you could shave off about 550 of them because you’d know I couldn’t be talking about them. Page 124.”
Miranda began to peel the ginger as she thought. “They’re rifle green Balenciaga. They’d look very pretty on you.”
“Thank you but don’t get any ideas. I don’t need shoes.”
”I know you don’t need those but I’m sure I could have a nice pair of Mukluks dyed rifle green for our 10th anniversary.”
“And I’d wear them at the party which would completely explode that smart-aleck gesture.”
Miranda finished cutting her ginger into matchsticks and reached for her shallots. “I hope you’re not starving.”
“I’ll be hungry when it’s finished but I could always help you if you want.”
“If you helped, I wouldn’t be making dinner, would I?”
Andy smiled at the book but didn’t answer. The question was purely rhetorical. Miranda was a maddeningly methodical cook. Everything she made was delicious and its presentation was flawless but there was no hurrying her and helping her only slowed her own momentum as she inevitably rode shotgun over her sous chef.
Miranda set her knife down and turned toward Andy. “How would you feel if I told you I was thinking of retiring?”
Andy looked up into Miranda’s eyes. “I’d feel like I needed to feel your forehead for a fever. Are you serious?”
Miranda lifted an eyebrow and returned to her shallots.
Andy stared at the woman’s back for a few seconds and when nothing more was forthcoming said, “Feel free to answer me anytime. Are you serious?”
“The topic’s been bandied about.”
Andy stood up and crossed to stand next to her wife, who continued to chop. “Rewind a little. Who bandied it about?”
“Irving and I have met a few times to discuss it.”
“Miranda! Why didn’t you tell me that rat bastard was trying to force you out?”
To Andy, Miranda’s voice sounded a little guilty. “He’s not. I brought it up.”
Andy put one hand on Miranda’s forearm. “Stop with the chopping. Come sit down for a minute.”
“But dinner-“
“Can wait. Come sit down and I’ll fill your glass.”
Miranda washed her hands and took a seat at the table.
Andy took a deep breath. “Okay. If you’re not kidding me, I’m really wondering why you’d have been thinking about this long enough for it to be serious enough to involve Irv without involving me.”
Miranda toyed with the stem of her wine glass. “I wasn’t keeping it from you, Andrea. I was trying the idea on in my mind. I needed to see how it fit without any outside influence and of course you’re my biggest influence. It’s exactly like when Mike offered you city editor. You didn’t tell me for two days.”
Andy took a sip of wine. “Okay-yes. He offered me the job and I waited two days before I told you but it was only two days and I told you before I took it. You instigated this and it’s had to have been months.”
Miranda sighed, “It’s been on my mind because we’re having our 10th anniversary soon and I’m 61 years old.”
Andy tilted her head. “And that makes you feel like you need to retire?”
“I don’t know. Maybe? It’s not that I feel I have nothing more to accomplish. I’m not tired or tired of the job. It’s just…a few months ago I was thinking about our anniversary party and who would be there and Nigel happened to walk past my office and he smiled at me.”
Andy nodded before asking again, “And that made you want to retire?”
“No. I just had this sudden insight that he has to feel like Prince Charles. How long is he going to have to be the prince? It’s not like I really am the Queen or a Supreme Court justice. I can actually quit.”
Andy smiled tepidly. “That’s…good of you to think about him and it’s really noble but if you retired what would you do?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps I’d take up knitting or bingo or shuffleboard. What do women my age do when they have time on their hands?”
Miranda’s eyes were so filled with mirth that Andy smelled a rat. “They jerk their wives around. What’s really going on?”
Miranda laughed. “Exactly what I’ve said. I approached Irving about my retiring from my position and he agreed it was a brilliant plan. Although I’ll no longer be editor in chief, my plan will keep the shareholders happy because it will maintain a legacy of known and trusted leadership. Runway Prince Charles is going to take my job and Serena will take his.”
“Leaving you as…”
“The Creative Director of Elias Clarke.”
“What?!”
Miranda nodded. “Yes. My reign of terror will now extend over every magazine Elias Clarke produces.”
Andy choked back a laugh. “Oh thank God. I know it’s great you’ve staged a bloodless coup and I’m proud of you and don’t be mad but I just have to be profoundly, crazily relieved for a few minutes. I thought you were having some sort of midlife something or empty nest syndrome gone bad.”
Miranda gave Andy a withering look, “We don’t have an empty nest. Our nest has a loud rancorous parrot in it, thanks to you.”
“Oh no. You agreed Magdalena’s too old to live by herself. And besides, we have a couple of nights all to ourselves to celebrate.”
“Thank God for Wanda and Carlo. I know I wouldn’t dare take Magdalena to see Niagara Falls.” She switched into a hardboiled noir gangster voice, “If you think my mitts wouldn’t be itchin’ to give that broad an oak barrel party over da side, you don’t know nuttin.”
Andy rolled her eyes and said, “I know something. I know you.” She stood, walked around the table and ran one hand over Miranda’s shoulders. “Well enough to think we should go upstairs. All this talk of a promotion and knowing the mayhem it’s sure to cause in that building when it’s announced has to be having an effect you might need assistance with. I bet I know exactly how I could help.”
Miranda looked up into Andy’s eyes. “Lead the way.”
***
“It doesn’t seem possible that you’re still getting better at that. Not that you were anything but stellar from the beginning.”
Andy was wrapped around Miranda and smiled lazily as she traced soft circles on the woman’s stomach. “Good save, Priestly, but I have had ten years of practice.”
“And speaking of ten years. We have to think about an anniversary party.”
“No we don’t. The kids are working on surprising us.”
“Since when?”
“Since Cassidy told me because she knows we hate surprises.”
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I was too busy being kept in the dark about your promotion.”
“I apologized for that.”
“Actually, you didn’t. Is Irv throwing a party for your promotion?”
“No. It will be for my retirement.”
”So that’s how he’s going to play it, huh?”
“Yes-he wants a big reveal.”
“I can hear it now, Miranda. The big reveal and then he’ll drone on and on and on about your beginning a new, exciting chapter in Elias Clarke history.”
“Does that mean I can’t drone on and on about the new, exciting chapter in our marriage at our anniversary party?”
Andy shrugged in Miranda’s arms. “You can if you want to. It’s not like it won’t be at least a little new and exciting. It’ll definitely be interesting. I mean, how couldn’t it be? You’re the main character.”
Miranda smiled and pulled Andy closer, not at all concerned about the ending of this chapter. Or the beginning of the next.
***
The End
***
Author’s Note:
Thank you to everyone reading but especially those few of you who’ve stuck with this story through the years. I deeply appreciate it. A few of you have even stuck with me as a person and for that blessing I can never be sufficiently grateful. Finally, I’d like to dedicate the entirety of It’s All Relative to Rosemary, whose presence in my life is truly nothing short of a miracle.