one of Nan’s scarves around Lola’s neck.
A comfort in scent, Cate thought, until gradually Lola had regained her always happy demeanor.
Another funeral for the Sullivan clan—and the world. Another celebration of life for the family.
While she understood why the loss and the rituals brought back the nightmares, the anxiety, that didn’t make them any easier to get through. Even now, with the dog splashing, with so many of her family inside the cottage, she caught herself looking toward the woods on the side of the lake.
In case she saw movement, in case someone waited.
She knew better—she wasn’t a child anymore—but still she looked.
She knew those woods, just as she knew the garden, as she knew every room in the cottage. For most of the last seven years, this had been home. The time spent in L.A. was just visits.
The trips to England or Italy, just trips.
For the first year, her father had turned down every script, every offer, shielding her, she understood now, as much from the press as from her fears.
But she’d had Nan and Nina right there, and G-Lil and her grandfather in L.A. on those visits. Aunt Mo and Uncle Harry and the rest on visits to New York.
She’d been glad when Nina fell in love and got married, even though it meant she didn’t live in the cottage or the guesthouse in L.A.
Now Cate couldn’t live in the cottage either. Her nan was gone; her father had work. So now she’d live in L.A., and her time here would become visits.
At last Lola climbed out of the lake, shook off a wild torrent of water. Then she rolled around on the wet grass in pure joy.
“You’re getting as wet as she is.”
She broke out a smile—she knew how—for her grandfather. “It’s barely a drizzle.” When he put an arm around her shoulders, she dropped her head to one of his. “I know she was ready to be with Grandda. She talked about him so much the last few weeks. Sometimes . . .”
“Sometimes?”
“She talked to him.” Looking up, she saw the rain adding yet more shine to his hair, that shining silver hair. “I’d hear her talking to him, half expected to hear him talking back. I didn’t, but I honestly believe she did.”
“They loved a lifetime.” As always surprised that her head reached his chin now, he pressed a kiss to her temple. “It’s hard on us being without them. I know it’s hard for you to leave here now. You’ll come back. I promise.”
It wouldn’t be the same.
“I know I can’t take Lola. This is her home, and it wouldn’t be fair. She loves Nina and Rob and the kids, so she’ll be happy with them.”
“What can I do for you, Catey? What can I do to make this a little easier?”
“Don’t let Dad turn down good scripts because he’s worried about me. I hate when I know he does. I’m seventeen. I need to know he trusts me to . . . to just deal.”
“What do you want, for you?”
“I don’t know, not exactly. But, well, I’m a Sullivan, so I think I should try, again, to do what we do.”
“You want to act again?”
“I want to try. I know it’s been a long time, but it’s in the blood, isn’t it? I mean, just some little part, some little thing. Get my feet wet.”
“I might have just the thing. We’ll talk about it on the flight home.”
Everything inside her tightened and clutched. “Is it time to leave?”
“It’s getting close.”
“I—I want to walk Lola over to Nina’s. Say goodbye to everyone.”
“Go ahead. I’ll tell your father. Caitlyn,” he said as she started toward the dog, “life’s a series of turns. This is another one for you.”
She stood, dark hair damp with rain, eyes as blue as a summer sky. And as sad as a broken heart. “How do you know where it’s going to take you?”
“You never do. That’s part of the adventure.”
What if she didn’t want an adventure? she thought as she hitched on her backpack holding Lola’s favorite toys. What if she wanted the quiet, the ordinary?
What if she didn’t want to turn in a new direction?
With no choice—it grated to always have so little choice—she called the dog, and with Lola started down the path that skirted the woods.
The familiar path, one she’d walked countless times, often with Lola for company, sometimes just alone with her thoughts. Wasn’t she allowed to hate leaving the familiar?
Where would she find these damp,