Chapter Seven

When Miranda got home, she went up to her second-floor study and opened the door to the small balcony overlooking her 200-sqft backyard. The sun was setting, and there was a warm spring breeze. She hadn't realized how exhausted she was until she walked in the door to her empty house. With the girls at their friend's house, she poured herself a glass of wine and curled up in the armchair, gazing out at the city skyline.

Several hours later, she woke with the ding of an incoming text message. She quickly turned on a lamp and shut the door, then poured herself another glass of wine before looking at her phone: All is forgiven. These macaroons are my favorite, and the flowers are beautiful. x

This was the second time Andrea ended a text message with an "x" and Miranda was beginning to question its meaning. Was the "x" the hug or the kiss? As she pondered the unfamiliar signature, another message appeared, and this one was a photo Andrea took of herself with the flowers.

Miranda smiled as a feeling of relief washed over her. She finished her glass of wine, then decided to call Andrea.

"Hi."

"Hi."

"Thank you again for the flowers and cookies. You know, a simple apology would have sufficed," Andy said. "Or wait, I think I read that you never apologize. Am I supposed to be grateful?" While she wasn't all that upset with the fashion editor, she had a rough day and didn't want to deal with a snobby celebrity. That wasn't the woman she met a few weeks ago.

"Andrea, I know I was awful to you on the phone earlier today. I ended the conversation on a sour note, and I shouldn't have," Miranda said. "You're right, I'm not very good with apologies. However, I am acutely aware of when I make a mistake."

"I get it, it's okay."

"I don't know what I would have done earlier today. You had no idea who I was, and you were kind to me. You weren't looking to profit or to use me—you were genuine. You must understand that I see that so rarely, the only way I know how to react is to protect myself."

"So that's what the Ice Queen thing is all about? Protecting yourself?"

"Yes…though by now some of it is just a reputation I must live up to."

"Gotcha," Andy said.

Miranda waited for her to continue, but she left it at that. "Andrea, if you're still upset, tell me."

"I'm not upset. I'm driving. I can't talk and merge at the same time," she said.

"Is that safe—talking on the phone while you drive?" Miranda asked.

Andrea laughed. "You don't drive much, do you? Seems like everyone is on their cell phones, but no, it's not very safe. I actually have you on speakerphone," she said. "It's just me in the car—don't worry," she added.

"Oh, well, we can talk later if it's a problem."

"No. I'm two minutes from my apartment," Andy said. "Back to our conversation. So you froze up on me earlier today when I mentioned my job."

"That is not what we were talking about," Miranda said.

Andrea smirked as she pulled into her parking garage. "No? Oh. I thought it was. You did freeze up when I said that, though, right?"

"Yes."

"Because?"

Miranda rolled her eyes. "An employee performs her job because she has to. If she doesn't, she could be fired or penalized in some other way. Employees generally grow to hate what they're doing for the mere fact that someone else is telling them what to do, that there is no choice involved in the matter," Miranda explained. "I misunderstood you earlier. I heard what I was expecting to hear—that you were just doing your job."

"Okay, good. So, that's why it was important that I cleared that up in my text message, telling you that it actually wasn't my job to do what I did."

"Precisely."

"And you were expecting to hear that because…?" Andy asked. "Oh wait. I forgot. I also read online that no one is allowed to ask you any questions. Is that true? I mean, um, so that's true," she said.

Miranda chuckled. "You seem to be my exception, Andrea. Yes, that's generally true at work, but it's because I've worked with some idiotic people who ask questions with obvious answers, and frankly, it's a waste of breath and energy."

"So efficiency is a big thing for you."

"Was that a question?"

"No?" Andy was confused. Was Miranda playing games with her?

"It wasn't?" Miranda asked.

"Yes? Geez, I don't know!"

"Andrea, you really must relax. You can't believe everything you read in the papers."

"Oh god, the press. Of course! I said I wanted to go into journalism," Andrea said. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that kind of journalism."

"Celebrity sighting and global social issues are not typically covered by the same reporter," Miranda said. An awkward silence fell upon them. "So, I meant what I said before, about helping you to find some freelance work, or even getting you some interviews in New York if you're interested. I mean, you do realize the influence I have in publishing, right?"

"Yes, of course. I mean, I'd be honored. You don't have to do that for me, though," Andy said. "I don't even know if I'm ready to come back to the east coast."

"How about this? Send me some samples of your work. I will review them, and only if I think they're good, will I pass them along. If you get an interview, well, at that point you can make a decision about heading out east. That seems fair, does it not?"

"Absolutely," Andy said.

"Good. I will text you my email, and I'll look forward to perusing whatever you send," Miranda said.

"Great. I really appreciate this."

"Oh, I should probably warn you that my assistants sort through my email inbox, so—"

"You don't even have to say it," Andy interrupted. "My email will be ultra-concise, and I will not bring up how we know each other or any of that."

"Thank you," Miranda said. She wasn't sure what else to say after that, but she didn't want the conversation to end completely. Maybe it was the fact that Andrea was one of a handful of people in the entire world who knew about what happened in Los Angeles. Andrea, it seemed, was thinking the same thing.

"Miranda, have you told anyone?" she asked quietly.

"No." She could hear the young woman sigh on the other line. "I don't exactly have anyone to tell. My daughters are eleven years old. I don't have many…many friends."

"Well at least your husband knows. I know it's not my place, but… He's being supportive, isn't he?" Andy asked.

Miranda took a deep breath. "I asked him to move out. We are filing for divorce. But to answer your question, yes, he was supportive."

"Divorce? Because of what happened?"

"Heavens no! It started long before. He sent me divorce papers a month ago, but we were trying to work on it. I finally signed them last week. It hasn't hit the press yet, so please, don't share that detail."

"Okay, first, I would never say anything about what you share with me," Andy said. She was a little miffed that the other woman felt the need to remind her. "But, are you sure this is a good time to make that decision?"

"Now you sound like Stephen," Miranda chuckled. "Just because of what happened doesn't mean I am incapable of seeing clearly. He and I never fit together well. I can hardly believe we managed to stay together for three years. I never…well, let's just say I'm not an ideal wife. And after what happened, it's not like the situation was going to improve."

Andy paused for a moment. Was Miranda talking about her sex life? "He didn't try to—or anything? Did he?" Andy asked.

"No, no, no. He was very sweet about it all. I just couldn't stand to have him touch me."

"Oh, I see."

Miranda thought about how different Andrea's hands felt. They were small and soft, and though her nails were blunt, they didn't feel…

"Miranda?"

She cleared her throat as she came back to the present. "Yes?"

"Where did you go for a minute there?" Andy asked. She was concerned the woman may have been having some sort of flashback after talking about her husband's touch.

"Nowhere. I'm just tired and starting to fall asleep. That's all," she said.

"Oh gosh, I forgot all about the time difference! It's almost midnight in New York!"

"Yes, but remember I was the one who called you," Miranda said. "I really should be getting to sleep, though. I will send my email address in the morning and I'll look forward to receiving your work."

"Okay. Um, Miranda?"

"Hmm?"

"This was nice. Today, tonight. Talking."

"It was."

"Umm, okay. Have a good night, then. Get some sleep."

"I will. Goodnight, Andrea."

"Goodnight."


The next day, Miranda made an appointment to see her therapist after work. She spent some time thinking more about Andrea, and about how easily she was able to open up to her. If she could talk to Andrea, she should be able to talk to someone else, too. She didn't want her assistants to speculate, so she booked it herself for 6 PM.

The first appointment with Gwendolyn was always the worst. Miranda hated the older woman's desire to be "filled in" on everything that had transpired in Miranda's life since the last time they spoke. Considering she hadn't spoken to Dr. Gwendolyn Harris in eleven years, summarizing her daughters' entire lives was simply exhausting. She was impatient and wanted to get to the point of why she scheduled the appointment, but of course, their hour was up before Miranda could even mention Los Angeles.

"Gwendolyn, I'm glad we were able to catch up, but I was really hoping that we could actually talk about the reason I called you," Miranda said.

"Oh, right. Time just goes so quickly. I can fit you in for a half hour tomorrow morning before my first appointment. Would that work?" she asked.

"Yes," Miranda said, standing up. "I will see you then."

On her way home, she couldn't help but wonder if Gwendolyn was that way with any of her other patients—or if it was reserved exclusively for her. Considering how well the older woman knew her, and how long since she'd first started seeing her, Miranda knew that now was not the time to begin questioning Gwendolyn's methods.

When she returned to the townhouse, she was greeted with two overly-sugared eleven-year-olds. They showed her pictures from their trip to the zoo, told her all about the cupcakes they made with Olivia's mother last night, and begged to watch a movie with Miranda before bed. Knowing they would fall asleep quickly, she agreed on the condition that they could all curl up in Cassidy's bed and watch it on her DVD player.

As expected, her daughters were asleep within ten minutes, and she was able to quietly turn off the television monitor and leave them to sleep. It wasn't until the house was quiet and she had retreated to her room that she began to feel out of sorts.

It was becoming quite a habit, crawling into bed and calling Andrea. Except tonight, the detective didn't answer. Miranda didn't leave a voicemail, but before her mind began creating excuses for the young woman, she received a text: Softball tonight. Can I call you back or is it urgent? x

Miranda forgot that it was Wednesday, the one night of the week she said she would be unavailable. She quickly replied. Later is fine—even tomorrow. Not urgent. -MP

About three hours later, Miranda's phone rang. She had fallen asleep reviewing the Book in bed, and quickly answered the phone before the sound woke her daughters. "Hello?"

"I woke you up, didn't I?"

"No, no, I—" Miranda laughed. "Okay, fine. You did. I fell asleep with my glasses on, doing work in bed."

"Well, I won't keep you then. I just…I wanted to return your call," Andy said. In truth, she was a little concerned and needed to hear the woman's voice for reassurance, but she would never admit that.

"I called earlier because I wanted to tell you that I visited my therapist today."

"Miranda, that's great," Andy said. "I'm sure it was difficult for you to make that call. I'm proud of you."

Miranda smiled and thought for a minute about the last time someone said they were proud of her. Maybe her first husband on the day her daughters were born, then before that, maybe her mother on the day of her high school graduation.

"Is everything okay?" Andy asked.

"Yes, sorry. I was just thinking. How did softball go? It's your niece, right?"

"Yes, my niece Alexis. She's seven years old, and I coach her team for the park district. It was just practice tonight, but then after everyone went home, I took her for ice cream, then back to my brother-in-law's," Andy said.

"Oh, how nice. So Alexis is your sister's daughter?" Miranda asked.

"Yes. Umm, my sister Katie died when Alexis was two."

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Miranda said. "I—I didn't mean to bring that up."

"It's okay. Alexis doesn't really remember her, and it's probably better that way. I moved out to California five years ago to help out Dave—that's my brother-in-law—and to be here for Alexis. I have my own apartment, but I still see her a few times a week. Less so now that Dave's getting remarried, but still."

"She sounds like a very special little girl," Miranda said.

"Yeah, she is."

"And you, my dear, have an enormous heart. When Alexis is older, I'm sure she will be very grateful for your presence in her life."

"You're making me cry," Andy said as she sniffled and wiped her eye.

Miranda didn't want to admit that she, too, had a tear in her eye. "Well, it's getting late. I would like to hear more about your sister and your niece sometime, if you feel up to sharing," she added.

"Sure, maybe some other time," Andy said. "Are you sure there wasn't more you wanted to talk about?"

"No." Miranda certainly wasn't ready to admit that she just wanted to hear the young woman's voice tonight.

"Okay, then, goodnight."

"Goodnight."

Miranda took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. As she set the Book on the nightstand, she heard a knock at her door that could only belong to one of her daughters. "Come in," she called.

A sleepy redhead emerged from the hallway and carefully approached her bed. "I heard talking," she said. "Who were you talking to?"

"Come here," Miranda said, patting the mattress next to her. The young girl climbed up into bed next to her mother. "Caroline, I'm sorry I woke you up. I was talking to my friend Andrea."

"Do I know her?"

"No, sweetheart. She's a new friend I met in Los Angeles a few weeks ago. But she's looking for a new job as a journalist, so she might be coming to New York in the near future. I'm sure she'd love to meet you."

"Did you tell her about me?"

"Just a little. Caroline, darling, it's very late. You have school in the morning, and you need to get your rest."

"Can I stay here with you, Mom?"

"Of course, baby," Miranda said, kissing her forehead. She leaned over and turned out the light, then pulled the covers up over herself and Caroline. Even though she was eleven years old, she would always be Miranda's baby. "Sweet dreams," she whispered, kissing her again, this time on the cheek.

TBC