Would we ever see each other again after this?
He was probably used to girls throwing themselves at him, and I was just another in a long line of available teenage groupies. He wouldn’t give me another thought once we parted.
I found this hard to grapple with, because somewhere in that kiss, my own feelings had emerged, vibrant and strong. Desperately strong. As he said lines to me, I could barely concentrate on his words. I kept getting lost in the curve of his jaw, the way his eyes had a power to speak on their own, and the movement of his lips.
I’d been able to talk to him so easily. I’d told him all about myself. Being with him made me feel as though everything would work out all right. I didn’t want to give that up. I didn’t want to go back to being alone again.
I had been counting down the minutes until we reached Henderson. Now I’d count them down for a different reason. I didn’t want them to end.
We reached the climax of the script, where Robin Hood finally caught up with Maid Marion and she realized it was him and not Sir Guy’s henchman following her. As she ran through the forest, he swooped down from a tree and grabbed her in his arms. At first she tried to fight him off, but then he called her name and she stopped struggling and threw her arms around him.
“Robin,” I read to Steve, trying to mimic Maid Marion distressed-damsel voice the best I could, “it’s you.”
He gave me the Robin Hood grin. “Of course it’s me. Did you forget I invited you to our May Day feast? You didn’t think I’d let you avoid the invitation that easily, did you?”
“Oh, Robin . . . I thought that . . . and then . . . I was so afraid.” It’s this sort of dialogue that makes me want to slap Maid Marion, but I read the line anyway.
“You don’t need to be afraid.” He leaned closer to me, his voice intent yet tender. “You’re stronger than you think.”
I glanced up from the PDA. “That’s not the line.”
“What?”
“The line is: You don’t need to be afraid, not as long as I have a say about it.”
“It should be the other way,” he said, and then I knew he was actually reading the line to me and not to Maid Marion. This should have made me feel better, but it didn’t. I didn’t want to be strong; I wanted to be comforted.
I looked back down at the PDA and waited for him to say his line the right way.
“What happens after that line?” he asked me.
I scanned through the stage directions. “You kiss Maid Marion.”
He nodded as though adding it to a mental checklist. “You don’t need to be afraid, not as long as I have a say about it.”
Then he leaned over and kissed me.
I froze. For a moment, I wouldn’t kiss him back. I didn’t want to be a practice Maid Marion, and I refused to be just another available teenage groupie. But that only lasted for a moment; then I leaned into him. I was either stupid or in love. Probably both.
Headlights came up behind us, and we pulled away from each other. “How’s that for timing?” Steve asked with a smile. He didn’t wait for my answer before he opened his car door and stepped outside.
For a minute I sat in the car, staring ahead and trying to collect my thoughts. Then I followed after him. I had to. I didn’t know where you were supposed to sit when they towed your car.
Steve and the tow truck driver stood by the truck. They were about the same height, but the driver was twice as wide. He shook his head, a tired baseball cap covering his graying ponytail. His belly bulged out over a pair of greasy-looking jeans, and all I could think was that Steve had better not make me sit next to this guy.
“It’s fifty dollars to come out here and four dollars a mile after that.” While the driver spoke, he chewed on something. I thought it was gum until he spit part of it out. Chewing tobacco. I bet the inside of his cab was a mess. “You got a credit card on you, kid?”
Steve handed him fifty dollars of his cash. “I have the money to pay you the rest, but not on me. I didn’t bring my wallet with me, but when we get back to your shop, I’ll have my personal assistant wire the rest to you.”
The driver let out a snort. “Your personal assistant? Why not your fairy godmother? How old are you, kid?”
I walked up, but Steve didn’t look at me. The driver did, though. His gaze ran over me in a way I didn’t like.
Steve said, “I have the money. I’m Steve Raleigh.”
The driver chewed his tobacco without showing any recognition.
“The actor,” Steve said.
Still no recognition.
“You know, Teen Robin Hood.”
The driver held his clipboard down and gave Steve the once over. “Right,” he said without emotion. “I didn’t recognize you without your Merry Men.”
“So you know I’m good for the rest of the charge. Now if you can just take my car—”
The man let out a disgruntled sigh. “You got your name on the car registration?”
“Well, no, actually it’s the studio’s car—”
“And let me guess, you ain’t got no driver’s license, either?”
“Not with me.”
The driver shoved Steve’s bills into his pants pocket. “So what you’re telling me is that you went joyriding around with your girlfriend in a car that ain’t yours. You ran into trouble, and now you want a ride back to town, but it’s been a busy night, and I got things to do besides wait around for the Sheriff of Nottingham to show up and tell me I got a stolen car on my hands. Too much paperwork.”
Steve’s words came out in a low growl. “It isn’t stolen. I am who I say I am.”
“He is,” I added.
But the man turned and walked to his truck. “I seen the show advertised. Robin Hood’s got blond hair.”
“It’s a wig!” I called out, but he’d already climbed in the cab and shut the door. I turned to Steve. “Why don’t we—”
He held up a hand to cut me off. “No. We’re not jumping on the back of the truck or whatever wild idea just entered your head.” He took a hold of my arm as though to emphasize the point and keep me from flinging myself at passing vehicles. “I’m not actually Robin Hood, and neither are you. In real life, sometimes you’ve got to accept your setbacks.”
“I was about to say, ‘Why don’t we get your costume out of the back of the car and prove it to him?’”
Steve let out a groan and dropped my arm, but it was too late. The tow truck had already pulled away. Steve walked back to the car, muttering angrily. I followed after him, and we both climbed into the car.
“Where are the paparazzi when you need them?” he asked. “They show up at every special occasion and mundane event, but not when the tow truck driver doesn’t recognize you.”
I leaned back in my seat and pulled his jacket around me tighter. “Yeah, if one showed up now he could give us a ride.”
It was nine-thirty. And we were still almost an hour and a half away from my house.
Steve picked up his PDA from the seat and turned it on. I glanced over to try and see what he was doing. “Are you calling another towing company? One of them is bound to be up on Hollywood’s who’s who.”
“I’m calling who I should have called in the first place.”
“Who?”
“My brother.”
Chapter 14
The call was short, to the point, and when Steve hung up, I couldn’t tell what his brother’s reaction to the situation had been. Steve said, “My brother is calling a tow company, and he’s driving out to switch cars with us. Unfortunately, it will be about forty minutes until either gets here. They’re coming from Apple Valley.”
“I thought you were estranged from your family.”
“Just my parents. My brother and I still talk sometimes.” His voice told me he’d left a lot unsaid, but I didn’t press the point. “I have some e-mail to go through,” he said. “Why don’t you try to get some sleep. We’ve still got a long night ahead of us.”
I knew I wouldn’t be able
to fall asleep. After all, it was only a little after nine-thirty, and I have a hard enough time falling asleep in my own bed. Still, I leaned the passenger seat way back and shut my eyes.
I liked being next to Steve. Hearing the movement of his hands mixing in with the hum of the heater comforted me. He seemed so sturdy, so concrete. I shut my eyes and saw him in my mind as I’d seen him on TV so often, surrounded by the brilliance of trees and sunshine. He smiled with contagious confidence. As Robin Hood, he could do anything and knew everything.
I opened my eyes and saw his profile, handsome, perfect, and concentrating on his PDA.
“What do you think the purpose of life is?” I asked.
He glanced over at me, his eyes warm, but without the confidence of Robin Hood. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s different for each of us.”
This was disappointing. The vision of Robin Hood standing all-knowing in the sunshine faded from my mind.
Steve’s gaze flickered from his PDA to my face. “What do you think the purpose of life is?”
That was the problem. I didn’t know anymore. “My Grandmother Truman used to say it was to make the world a better place. She said we’re all given different gifts in order to help people. I always planned on becoming—I don’t know—a defense lawyer or a detective or something, because I can figure people out so quickly. I thought that was the way I could make the world better.”
“You don’t believe that anymore?”
“Jeremy might never get the chance to use his gifts to make the world better. Not everybody does. So how can that be the purpose of life?”
He didn’t answer. His expression was unreadable in the darkness. Finally he said, “I don’t have any answers for you. I’m not even a good role model. You want to use your talents to make the world a better place. I’ve only used mine to make money.”
“Your acting makes people happy.”
“I wasn’t talking about acting. I take business classes when the show goes on hiatus. I’ve made some investments, and being able to figure people out quickly also helps during a deal. I know when people are being straight with me, when they’ll go lower on their price—” He broke off his impromptu business lesson. “Maybe you’re right. I’m not much like Robin Hood. I don’t suppose Robin ever cared about interest rates or profit margins.”
More to myself than to him, I said, “Why can’t life turn out like it does on your show—neatly and with the good guys always winning in the end? Why can’t stories be real?”
He reached over and moved a piece of hair away from my cheek, a small touch, but one of consolation. “Some stories are real. And a lot of stories that aren’t real are still true.”
“How is any of it true if it isn’t real?”
His voice turned as soft as the hum of the heater. “Robin Hood might not have existed. Maybe there was never a band of Merry Men waiting in Sherwood Forest for King Richard’s return. But I’d like to think it happened. We’ve seen him in other times and places. Some people still stand up for what’s right, some people do protect the helpless, some people fight for justice—and that’s what makes the story of Robin Hood true.”
Not real but true. I liked the thought.
I shut my eyes again, conjuring up the image of Robin Hood I’d had before. In my mind I reached out for him, saw myself with him, the mythic Robin Hood, and then I fell asleep.
I dreamt I walked with Robin Hood in the bright, sunlit forest. But my dreams never stay bright anymore. Eventually the forest turned dark, foreboding, and I walked alone. Even the birds stopped chirping, and I knew the Grim Reaper was there, gliding somewhere among the trees, sweeping all life into his cloak. He would find me soon.
Then I heard voices around me—Steve and someone else, and I remembered I was in the car, but felt too sleepy to move.
A voice that sounded like Steve but wasn’t him said, “I see you have a new girl. What happened to the old one?”
“Which old one?” Steve asked.
“I don’t suppose it really matters, does it?”
Now I was all the way awake, but I still didn’t move. I didn’t want them to know I’d heard them talking about me.
Steve said, “I broke up with Karli a couple of months ago.”
“I guess I’m not up on my tabloid news. I thought you had something going on with the Maid Marion chick.”
“That’s just publicity hype.” I felt Steve leaning over me, gently shaking me. “Annika, my brother is here. It’s time to go.”
I opened my eyes and blinked from the glare of the overhead light. The door stood open, and cold air billowed into the car. When my eyes adjusted, I saw him. His hair was lighter and he was a couple inches shorter than Steve, but the resemblance was still solid. He had the same jawline and soft brown eyes. He even had the same grin.
Steve helped me out of the car. I caught a glimpse of myself in the rearview mirror as he did. My hair looked thick and wild, like I’d emerged from the jungle.
“This is my brother, Adam. He’s going to let us use his car.”
“Hi,” I said, my voice still heavy with sleep.
Adam walked over to his car, a red sporty-looking thing, which I couldn’t identify and was too tired to care about. He shook his head. “You can borrow my car, but not until you come home and spend the night at Mom and Dad’s.”
“That wasn’t our agreement,” Steve said.
“It’s too dangerous to drive through the night.” Adam opened his car door and slid in behind the wheel. “You’ll fall asleep at the wheel.”
“It’s only ten-fifteen,” Steve said tightly.
“But it will be a lot later when you’re driving back to California. Do you want to use my car or not?”
Steve took a step toward his brother. “I paid for this car, you know.”
“Yeah, and you put the title in my name.” Adam shut the car door, but leaned out the window. “What? You think a good night’s rest will kill you?”
Steve folded his arms. “Mom and Dad do not want me to spend the night.”
“Yes, they do. Besides, it will be eleven by the time we get home, so chances are they’ll be asleep.”
I knew Adam was lying. Probably Steve did too. I said, “We’ve got to drive to Henderson now. Steve’s got to be back at the studio in the morning.”
Steve glanced at his watch with resignation. “Jeremy is asleep. And even if we did drive straight there, you wouldn’t want me to wake him up at midnight to teach him how to shoot a bow and arrow. We’ll get a few hours of sleep and go early in the morning. I’ll call the studio and ask them if they can shoot my scenes in the afternoon.”
Steve took another step toward the car, but I didn’t move. Technically his eleven-hour obligation to me would be over by then. I hoped that wouldn’t make a difference to him. He turned back and took my hand. “Come on, Annika, you’re shivering.” I let him pull me into the car and phoned my parents to tell them what had happened.
They weren’t happy about this new turn of events. My dad kept saying that he was going to drive down and pick me up, and I kept pointing out that I’d be safer at Steve’s parents’ house than sitting out on the freeway for the next hour and a half waiting for him.
“You want me to let you go off to a stranger’s house?” Dad said.
Which upset me on Steve’s behalf. He was after all spending a lot of time and effort to visit Jeremy, who was a stranger to him. But I couldn’t say any of that with Steve sitting in the car in front of me. “Steve’s a good guy,” I whispered into the phone. “This is really one of those judgment things you’re going to have to trust me on.”
There was a long pause and then Dad said, “There’s only one reason I’m not in the car already: I do trust your judgment.” Another pause. “But I still want you to call me when you get to the Raleighs’ house.”
That made me smile. “I will. And I’ll be home first thing in the morning.”
“You’d better be. It’s our day to spend with Jerem
y.”
He didn’t need to remind me about that. We were all taking off from school and work to spend the last day before surgery with Jeremy. “I’ll be there,” I told him, “and I’ll bring him his special surprise.”
The trip to the Raleighs’ house was uneventful. I sat in the car wishing we weren’t backtracking on I-15. Steve and Adam talked, getting caught up with one another, but in a stiff manner. I didn’t quite know what to make of Adam. He seemed to both resent and admire his brother, and I didn’t know how such contradictory emotions could fit together.
Finally, as the clock crept toward eleven, we pulled up to a large stucco and stone house flanked on either side by spindly Palo Verdes. The porch light shone dimly against the front door, dwarfed by the interior lights. Adam pulled into the four-car garage, got out, and retrieved Steve’s bag. “Looks like someone is up, after all.” Adam tried to feign surprise but didn’t really do a good job of it. I knew he’d brought us here because he wanted Steve and his parents to meet. Adam swung Steve’s bag over his shoulder and walked inside without giving either of us a backward glance.
Steve and I dragged ourselves out of the car. He put his hand on my back, guiding me to the door, but he did it so tensely I wondered whether he was using me as a shield.
We walked through a laundry room and into a sprawling kitchen. A stone floor spread out before us. Nothing cluttered up the black marble countertops—a kitchen clearly not frequented by six-year-olds. I took it all in for a moment, then turned to Steve’s parents. They sat at an elegant table waiting for us.
I don’t know what I had expected. Perhaps people who looked glamorous enough to give birth to a TV star. They looked like regular parents, though. Mr. Raleigh was tall and still fairly fit, with a receding hairline. He smiled at us, but his wrinkles gave him a stern expression. Mrs. Raleigh had blond hair that still looked perfectly coiffed this late at night, and she wore traces of makeup. Only the extra weight she carried saved her from looking immaculate. It softened her and made her look huggable. Steve just nodded in their direction, though. “Mom. Dad.”
His mother stood and walked toward us, her glance switching back and forth between Steve and me. She seemed not to know what to do with her hands. “Hello, Steven.” Her glance settled on me. “Are you going to introduce us to your friend?”