Miranda unlocked the door to her home and was met with a wall of sound as the Bose system that was present in every room blasted whatever Cassidy called music. The heavy metal was nearly enough to press Miranda against the door after she closed it behind her.
As loud as the music was, it was unfathomable that she could still hear female voices singing along to it, and they appeared to originate from the living room.
Kicking off her Louboutins, Miranda pushed her feet into the flats she used indoors and hung her coat. "Girls?" she tried, but realized she didn't possess the decibel she required to drown out the male voice roaring throughout her house.
She strode into the living room and stood there mouth agape. Caroline and Cassidy were jumping and twirling as if someone had fed them sugar only for a week. What she hadn't expected was to see Andrea in between them, headbanging and playing air drums as if her life depended on it.
"Girls." Still nothing. Nobody was looking her way, and Miranda knew she had to act. She moved over to the console on the wall and pressed the button that shut down all speakers around the house.
The sudden silence was as strenuous to Miranda's ears as the sudden sonic blast had been when she opened the door. She even thought she heard an echo, which was not possible of course.
If her daughters could have remained suspended in the air when Miranda turned off the sound, they would have. Instead, they landed with two resounding thuds on the hardwood floor. Wait. Where was the carpet? And the coffee table?
"I trust you haven't sold my rug and the table?" Miranda said and placed her hands on her hips.
"Mom!" Cassidy said, gasping for air. "You're early."
"I am. I missed you all as this is my first day back to work in five days." Having been Andrea's assistant of sorts on Thursday and Friday, with her healthcare appointments, Miranda had worked from home and then they had spent the weekend merely milling around the house and going on a few walks in Central Park.
"Welcome home, Miranda," Andrea said and came up and kissed her cheek. "Cara left dinner for us—it just needs reheating."
Studying Andrea's face, Miranda's heart sang at the sight of her red cheeks, sparkling eyes, and the way she had greeted her in front of the girls. Granted, the girls were clever enough to realize that since Miranda and Andrea were still sharing a bedroom, they also shared a certain intimacy.
"As for your rug and coffee table, we were afraid of breaking anything, or chafing at the rug, so we moved them out of the way." Andrea pointed to the other side of the couch. "We'll put it back while you go change."
"Thank you." Miranda kissed her children and then she turned to walk up the stairs to their bedroom. It took her all of the twenty-two steps before she caught herself. 'Their' bedroom? She stopped walking for a moment, but then continued, albeit much slower. When did she start to think of her bedroom as 'theirs'? That way of thinking had simply slid into her inner vocabulary without passing inspection.
Smiling to herself, Miranda walked through the bedroom and into the ensuite. She was relieved to get out of the new, and never-again, bra. It had begun to chafe at her halfway through the day, and even if she could have gone to the Closet at Runway and simply grabbed another one, there hadn't been time. Her assistants had penciled her in at meetings throughout the day, even a working lunch, to make up for her absence.
Sighing in relief, she decided not to toss the bra in the hamper, she pressed the pedal to the bin and dropped the salmon-pink garment there. After freshening up, she put on black leggings and a white button-down shirt over plain cotton underwear, which was such a relief. She was all for being fashionable, she lived for it, but too much pain was never warranted.
When she walked down the stairs, she saw Andrea come from the powder room. She looked up and Miranda could tell the moment she saw her. Andrea's face lit up, and then her lips parted in a way that made Miranda think Andrea might be kissing her in her mind.
"Darling," Miranda said as she stood next to Andrea on the floor. "You look wonderful."
"I look wonderful?" Andrea shook her head, still smiling. "Did you miss the mirror when you left your closet? You look stunning." She cast a glance behind her. "The girls are setting the table in the kitchen." Wrapping her arms around Miranda's waist, she leaned in and nuzzled her cheek. "You smell so warm—and inviting."
Miranda grew rigid and swallowed. "Andrea?" There was something seductive in the way Andrea spoke, and she had missed that tone. The last five days had been all about getting Andrea set up with a chance to deal with her trauma in the best possible way. Intimacy had been about comfort and support, which Miranda had embraced completely. They had all needed to find their bearings, all four of them.
Miranda saw this new development, the flirting, the special undertone in Andrea's voice, as a sign that Andrea had begun to move in the right direction, and she pressed her lips to her temple. Andrea's skin was still damp from exerting herself in the living room, her scent became more obvious. Miranda inhaled it greedily. "That's some welcome, Andrea," she murmured.
"I've missed you too. A lot." Andrea took Miranda's hand and unexpectedly twirled her. "Oh, God. You are in leggings. A first for me—seeing you like this."
Miranda laughed and grabbed Andrea's upper arms so as not to fall. "Glad you approved."
"Mom! Andy! Oven's pinging!" Caroline called out.
"Dinner already. Good. I'm starving," Miranda said. She quickly cupped her hands around Andrea's cheeks and pulled her in for a quick kiss. "What are we having?"
"Chicken casserole. And before you faint, Cara made a small pot with beef instead, for you." Andrea pulled her along through the den and into the kitchen.
"She didn't have to do that. I would have gladly eaten the chicken." Miranda raised her eyebrow. "And I don't faint."
"Well, I asked her to, since it was your first day back after—everything." Andrea lowered her gaze for a moment. "I know you don't like me saying it, but I owe you a lot."
"You're right." Miranda quickly stroked the back of her curled fingers along Andrea's cheek. "I don't like you saying that, but perhaps I would say something similar if the roles were reversed." She let her hand fall onto Andrea's shoulder. Shaking her gently, she looked her firmly in the eyes. "No more of that, all right? I mean, you can be as thoughtful as you like with what I like to eat, for whatever reason—except that. You don't owe me anything at all."
"Got it." Andrea's eyes glazed over, but then her brilliant smile appeared. "Then let's eat before we embarrass the kids any further.
Miranda looked over at the kitchen table, which the girls had set family style with the casserole pots in the center and were now busy browsing their phones. "You were saying, Andrea? We could fall into a sinkhole where we stand, and they'd still be on TikTok."
"Nah." Andrea shook her head. "They're just being considerate."
Miranda studied her children as she walked over and sat down next to Cassidy, and opposite Caroline. Seeing the secretive smiles play on the girls' faces, she had to hand it to Andrea. The girls had just given them their privacy while still in the room.
"Oh, good. You're here. We can finally eat." Cassidy nudged the ladle toward Andrea. "Here you go."
While Miranda scooped some of her beef casserole onto her plate, she studied the interaction between Andrea and her twins. They communicated with such ease, and it dawned on her that Andrea was in a way bridging the age gap between her and her children. Andrea was an adult, but also more in tune with some of the girls' reality than she was. It was as if she saw some of it filtered and translated through Andrea, and perhaps it could work the other way around. She loved her girls endlessly, but she admitted that there were times when things got lost in translation between them. She had a feeling that this was not the case between them and Andrea.
#
The Book waited for Miranda as she came down the stairs to double-check the alarm—something she always did, even if the security company she used insisted that it wasn't necessary and that they were monitoring her elaborate system. Miranda wasn't big on giving up control, and she knew she would probably always check the alarm, no matter what.
Grabbing the Book, she walked back upstairs and found Andrea already in bed with her new laptop, bestowed upon her by the Mirror. She glanced up, a frown marring her forehead.
"What's wrong?" Miranda asked as she crossed the floor.
"I don't know. I mean, it's silly. I miss my old laptop. It had all my stickers and some rhinestones, and it was autographed by two of my favorite journalists. This machine is eon's better, technically speaking, but it doesn't feel like mine, even if I have downloaded everything in my cloud."
"Yet. It doesn't feel like your laptop yet." Miranda walked over to the armchair she favored when she went through the Book in the bedroom. She didn't like using the bed as an office space, as that would mean her head would stop seeing it as a place of rest…and, since she reconnected with Andrea, lovemaking. She had no problem with Andrea using her laptop or tablet while on the bed. Each to their own.
"I suppose," Andrea said and seemed to give herself a mental shake. "I'll just focus on the positive part—it's going to be a great workhorse. It's not as heavy as my old one, and that's a good thing. By the way, I talked to my boss today. I'll go back to work, 50%, on Wednesday. That gives me tomorrow to see the therapist again." She smiled but then stopped. "Miranda?"
"Back to work again, so soon?" She tried to sound casual as she opened the first spread in the Book.
"Unless Delores advises against it, yes," Andrea spoke carefully. "I can't sit around and let things begin to truly fester, Miranda. I feel the longer I delay going to work, the harder it'll get when I do."
Miranda knew it was true. For her, it would definitely have been the best approach. And yet, there was the immense protectiveness she felt toward Andrea, which she had to dial back to not become an overbearing weight for her to deal with.
"I know, darling," Miranda said quietly. "I'm not going to force you to explain yourself over and over. Just know that I worry for you, which has nothing to do with you being independent and capable."
"I suppose Carl wishes I was a little less independent and capable, sort of," Andrea said and sighed. "If I'd been more of the helpless kind, he would have sent an in-house photographer with me, instead of having a Colombian freelance photographer meet up at the school."
Miranda slowly closed the Book. She placed her hands on top of it and folded one into the other. "Hessle sent you alone. To Colombia." Her voice was flat, she could hear it, and so could Andrea, judging from her wide-eyed look.
"Uhm. Yeah. It was just a feel-good kind of story about an all-girl school being funded by the government for all the right reasons. The story's going to be part of the Sunday edition as Carl doesn't want it to get all tangled up with what happened at the hotel."
"I take it you were done with the story, and about to go home?" Miranda forced her voice to remain calm. Belatedly, Miranda remembered that she'd overheard staff pointing out to new hires that the lower Miranda spoke, the farther they had to run to not be tossed out through her inner office windows.
"Yes. I was finished with my lunch and had checked out. I had stowed my bag in a room behind the front desk and was on my way to retrieve it. I wanted to do some last-minute shopping as I wanted to get presents for you, the girls, Doug, and Lily." Andrea stopped talking. "Even if I'd had someone with me, things would have happened the way they did. With the exception that this person could have caught a stray bullet."
"I see." Flattening her hands against the Book, Miranda tried to wrap her brain around what Andrea was saying.
"I promised not to question you, Andrea. If this is increasing your anxiety, let's just keep working." Miranda longed to open the Book and hide in it. She'd done that for so long after Paris, it was second nature to her.
"No, please. If it's all right and if you have a moment before you start editing, I'd like to talk about something. Not Colombia. Not yet anyway, but about us?"
Which was worse? Being berated because she fucked up in Paris, or listening to her…her what? Her girlfriend—partner—or…? Miranda wasn't sure. Her stomach trembled but she merely nodded, still clinging to the Book.
"The nightmare I had after you fetched me at the airport, it seems I didn't suffer through that for nothing. It made me think—and it made me remember some things." Andrea pushed off the pillows and put her computer aside. She tugged the covers with her and sat down at the foot of the bed, covering her legs. "We through some harsh words at each other in the car—but in retrospect and remembering more than I did…I feel I've been unfair."
Miranda blinked. "What are you talking about?" She pressed the Book against her chest, like a shield.
"I still think we both went too far, but a lot happened before the luncheon, and some of it you weren't even present for, so I've been unfair. I think I need to think about this some more, and perhaps talk to Nigel—"
"Nigel?" Miranda recoiled. What good could come from that?
"Yes," Andrea said softly. "If nothing else, then to figure out how he remembers it. What I want to say is that what you said to me in the car, it hurt. But what I said was worse. I had forgotten just how my words fell, and that dream…it was like opening a door to that day, which I slammed shut when I was trying to come to terms with the fact that I lost you. No wonder that I was so certain that you hated me. Please, Miranda. That part of our trip to Paris, what was said in the car, other things were equally—or more—important." Andrea drew a deep breath and smiled tremulously. "Can you see yourself putting that part behind us finally? We've learned our lesson the hard way, haven't we?"
Miranda freed one of her hands from her death grip of the book and pressed her fingers to her trembling lips. She had been so certain that Andrea was going to list all her transgressions, and God knew she had committed more than her share before, during, and after Paris. And here Andrea took the blame for more than her half of the verbal war between them in that backseat.
"Are you sure?" Miranda whispered. Her vocal cords were too drenched in tears to function.
"Yes. Absolutely." Andrea's eyes grew wider. "Miranda? Are you crying?" Looking alarmed, Andrea tossed the covers aside and hurried over to Miranda, just dressed in a long, tattered sleep shirt. "Please…I didn't mean to make you cry…" She knelt next to Miranda's chair and wiped at the tears that quietly ran down Miranda's cheeks.
Miranda had never cried aloud. Not as a child, and certainly not as an adult. She was startled as a few sobs tore through her chest, hurt her ribs, and then escaped.
"Hey. I've got you." Andrea moved up to sit on one of the armrests. She pressed her lips to Miranda's forehead.
Dropping the Book onto the small side table, Miranda pulled Andrea across her lap and tucked her against her shoulder. She held her close and hid her face in the rich, chestnut hair. "I don't cry very often," Miranda murmured. "It's not that I think it's a sign of weakness…I…I just don't have time."
"That I can understand. And perhaps you haven't had anyone to seek comfort with?" Andrea spoke quietly against the skin of Miranda's neck. "I promise you, like you told me, that I'm not afraid of your tears either. You can always come to me, no matter what. Even if your tears are because of me. You can still come to me."
"Darling…" Miranda sighed and tried to control herself. "I will try to remember that."
She held Andrea for as long as her tears kept silently streaming down her face. When she felt Andrea slumping against her, Miranda had to smile. Andrea was still exhausted and would become fatigued easily for a while yet. And still, she couldn't argue about her returning to work. She needed to make that decision easier instead. Miranda made a silent vow that she would support Andrea's decision when her mind was made up like it was now.
What she also would do, was to have a little chat with Hessle about his reasoning about sending a young woman alone on a mission to Colombia. She would bide her time until Andrea was able to share more of her ordeal. She needed more facts. If someone had been careless, or ignorant, regarding Andrea's safety, Miranda would find out. What she was going to do with her knowledge, she had yet to determine—but deep inside she knew she could never keep anything from Andrea, since that would set them back when it came to the trust they'd managed to create between them.
Still, Carl Hessle would know about Miranda's reach within the publishing industry—and among the movers and shakers of New York. If he had fucked up, she would find out.
Continued in part 23