For the first time in two days, Graham felt the muscles around his jaw unclench, and he let out a long breath, shaking his head in relief. “But all that publicity?” he said. “It can’t be good for—”
“It’s always good for something,” Mick said. “First rule of the business. Besides, it never hurts for the lead to be seen as a bit more of a tough guy.”
Graham glanced down at his hand, which still ached this morning. “I guess,” he said. “But I am sorry. Really.”
Mick groaned. “Two minutes with you, Larkin.”
“Huh?”
“That’s all it took to undo your new image.”
“Sorry,” he said again, and Mick rolled his eyes.
“Look, as long as we get that kind of fire out of you today on set, we’re still in good shape,” he said, giving him a pat on the shoulder before peeling off toward the catering truck.
On the set, a production assistant was waving to Graham, already herding him in the direction of the makeup trailer. There was a sense of urgency to the shoot today, everyone trying to get this portion of the filming wrapped on schedule, and the frenzied atmosphere made it feel like the last day of summer camp. On Monday, they’d all be meeting again in L.A., and there would be two more weeks of production there. But that didn’t make today feel like any less of an ending. And like every ending, it was a strange mix of exuberance and sorrow.
Graham was already seated on a canvas chair, a woman with a powder puff stooped before him—peering at his sunburned nose with a dissatisfied expression—when he noticed Harry crossing the lot. He was on the phone, gesturing with his free hand, and he wore his exhaustion like a heavy coat, his shoulders rounded as he trudged across the set. But when he glanced over and saw Graham, his face broke into a smile. He paused just long enough to give him a thumbs-up, and when Graham started to stand, Harry waved him back down and pointed to his phone. He stood there for another moment, grinning broadly and producing yet another thumbs-up, and then he continued on his way.
Olivia had arranged herself on the chair beside Graham, who sneezed as the woman whisked the powder puff across his face. She drew back, frowning at him, and then started again with a disapproving shake of her head.
“I heard he bailed you out,” Olivia said, waving in Harry’s direction as the big man disappeared around the side of a trailer. “Even I have to admit that was some impressive spin. He managed to make you look like some sort of hero, defending the love of your life from the big, bad paparazzi.” She raised her eyebrows. “Not bad.”
“It’s why I pay him the big bucks,” Graham said with a smile.
“Think he’s got any extra room on his roster?”
“Nobody has enough room for you,” he teased her.
“Well, you certainly got yourself some headlines,” she said, rolling her eyes, though he could hear a hint of admiration in her voice. “Your girlfriend too. I feel like this place is some kind of alternate reality where you’re the interesting one.”
“Don’t worry,” Graham said with a laugh. “A few days from now you’ll be back in the clubs, where you belong.”
“And you’ll be back at home with your pig.”
“Yes, well, if you need any tips on getting yourself some extra media attention in the meantime…” he said, lifting his hands. “I’m happy to help.”
“Your technique leaves something to be desired,” she said, but he could tell she was amused, and as the makeup artist stepped back to examine her work, he took in a deep breath. Around them, the production crew was preparing for today’s scene, and the hum of activity made the day before them seem full of promise. It was always in these moments, away from the fans, before the cameras were pointed in his direction, when he felt an odd energy coursing through him, and he knew with an unshakable certainty that it was going to be a good day.
As he walked from the makeup trailer over to where Mick was waiting for him, Graham glanced up at the sky, which was pale and pocked with birds, the whole thing like a negative of yesterday’s fireworks display. When he lowered his gaze to the hotel, he found himself thinking back to last night, when he’d stood in that very spot, watching a herd of children weave through the crowds, holding out sparklers like magic wands.
It was exactly as he’d imagined the Fourth of July here, exactly as it was where he’d grown up, but still, a part of him had wanted to walk past it all, to just start moving and see where he ended up. It had been a day of journeys, of boat trips and bus rides, and it seemed a fitting end to his time in Henley to head off in no particular direction, north or south, up or down, until he’d gotten himself good and lost.
There’d been a lull as the band lowered their instruments, and an expectant hush fell over the crowd. From where he was standing, Graham had looked up at the sky, though there was nothing but the first faint glow of the stars. When his phone buzzed in his hand, he glanced down again. He’d grabbed it on his way out the door, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to return any of the missed calls. He simply wasn’t in the mood to talk to lawyers or agents or publicists just yet. Those were all things that belonged in L.A. And for the moment, at least, he was still in Henley.
But just as he was about to shut off the phone entirely, he realized that it was his mom.
“Hi,” he said, bringing it to his ear. It wasn’t until he’d already answered that he realized she might be calling because she’d seen him on the news. It hadn’t even occurred to him; his mother and his acting career were about as far apart as was possible on the spectrum of his life, and trying to account for them within the space of the same thought was like trying to bring something blurry into focus.
“Hi,” she said, and then there was the sound of whispering. “Hold on,” she told Graham, who began walking over to the sea of blankets that checkered the green. It was too dark for most people to tell who he was, though a few tracked his progress with squinted eyes. On the phone, he heard laughter and a tapping sound, and then suddenly everything was amplified as she put him on speaker. “Your dad’s here too.”
Graham cupped a hand over his free ear so he could hear better, sinking down onto the cool grass at the far edge of the park. “Is everything okay?” he asked, not sure he wanted to hear the answer. But to his surprise, his mom only laughed again.
“Are there fireworks?” she said, half yelling over the noise in the background, the barbeque at their neighbor’s house. He could picture them there, Dad in his traditional blue polo and Mom wearing a red-and-white-striped T-shirt, both of them huddled around the phone.
“Where?” Graham asked, confused. “By you?”
“No,” Dad said. “By you. We checked this morning to see what time the sun was setting in Maine. Are there fireworks yet?”
“Not yet,” Graham said, but just as he did, the first one streamed overheard like a shooting star. “Actually, yeah. They just started.”
“They’re not on for another few hours here,” Mom said. “But we wanted to watch them with you.”
Graham smiled, unsure what to say. The thought of them looking up the time of the sunset, waiting until they were sure it was dark, and then sneaking off to call him was so unexpected that he didn’t know how to respond.
“Remember that one year when we watched from the park?” Dad said. “And you burned your finger on one of the bug candles?”
Graham laughed. “Remember that time we watched from the beach?”
“And your father dropped our watermelon off the rocks?” Mom said, her voice full of amusement.
“Hey,” Dad said, but he was laughing. “That seagull snuck up on me.”
Overhead, two more fireworks went off with a crackle, each sparking a different color. “I wish you guys were here,” Graham said quietly, but even this, even the muffled sound of their breathing, was a comfort. He watched the fireworks go off one at a time, each one different, but each a kind of echo too, a memory of all the ones they’d seen in the past, all the many times they’d watched
together as a family. Graham cleared his throat. “The last few days have been—”
“We know,” Mom said. “We tried calling earlier when we saw the papers.”
“I’m sorry,” Graham told her. “I just—”
“Those guys are vultures,” Dad said in the same tone he used to talk about things like Republicans and opposing baseball teams. “They had it coming.”
“Thanks,” Graham said. “But I feel pretty awful about it.”
“You’re working too hard,” said Mom. “All this filming, and as soon as you get back, they have you doing the interior scenes, and then there’s the publicity tour coming up…”
Graham laughed. “How do you know all that?”
“We subscribe to Variety,” she said, a note of pride in her voice. “And the Hollywood Reporter.”
“You do?” Graham asked, unsuccessfully trying to picture his mother reading through the daily entertainment news.
“Of course,” she said, like it was the most natural thing in the world. “We like to know what you’re up to.”
“And it’s always interesting to keep tabs on the world of colorized films,” Dad joked, and Graham laughed.
“We usually just call them movies.”
“Colorized movies then,” Dad said. “Your name’s been bandied about quite a lot lately. All sorts of interesting roles…”
“Don’t believe any of it,” Graham said. “I haven’t decided what I’m doing next.”
“Well, I think you’d be good in anything,” Mom said. “Remember how great he was in Guys and Dolls?” This was directed at his father, who grunted in acknowledgment. “We’re so proud of you.”
Graham swallowed hard. “Thanks, Mom.”
“When exactly are you getting back?”
“Day after tomorrow,” he said, his eyes on the sky. “It went by fast.”
“Has it been good otherwise?”
He nodded, knowing they couldn’t see him. But he was surprised to feel his throat go thick at the thought of leaving this place, and he blinked fast. “Yeah,” he said. “It’s been really good.”
“I made key lime pie for today,” Mom said. “I’m saving you a piece, so you’ll have to come over when you get back.”
“Okay,” he said. “I will.”
“Sounds like you could use a break,” Dad said. “We should go do something this weekend. Are you working Sunday? Maybe bowling, or the batting cages…”
A firework exploded in the shape of a star, and the pattern lingered long after it had died out, like a stamp across the sky.
“Or fishing,” Graham said, and Dad let out a soft laugh.
“I guess it’s been a while since we’ve done that,” he said. “We didn’t have much luck last time.”
“Sure we did,” said Graham, feeling a prickle on the back of his neck. He half turned, and as the shadowy figures on a nearby blanket came into focus, he was surprised to see Ellie. He adjusted the phone in his hand, distracted. “We caught a ton, remember?”
Beside Ellie, her mom was saying something, making broad gestures with her hands, and Graham’s father continued to talk in his ear, reminiscing about their fishing trip while the fireworks exploded overhead.
But Graham was still watching Ellie, and it was as if a great quiet had fallen between them, as if there was nothing and nobody else around.
“We were just about to give up,” Dad was saying. “We didn’t catch a single thing until the last day.”
Graham had smiled. “That,” he’d said, his eyes still on Ellie, “is the only one that counts.”
From:
[email protected] Sent: Friday, July 5, 2013 8:18 AM
To:
[email protected] Subject: do over
Let’s try this again…
Would you like to have dinner with me at the Lobster Pot tonight?
He was already there when she arrived, waiting beneath the wooden sign. The evening had turned unexpectedly cool for early July, and he was wearing a long-sleeved button-down with khakis, his hair still damp from the shower. He hadn’t seen her yet, and so Ellie took her time, walking slowly, trying her best to memorize him, as if that alone would make it last.
Already the crews were breaking down the set from today’s shoot. Behind them, the fishing boats were coming in for the evening, and the clatter of lobster traps mixed with the scrape of metal as the trailers were loaded. There was still one more day of shooting, but Graham would be done in the morning, and Ellie knew he’d be flying back right afterward. By this time tomorrow night, the street would be cleared, the barriers gone, the trucks driven off, and it would be like the whole thing had never happened.
Earlier today, she’d walked down to the water to watch them filming along the pier. It was less exciting than she might have expected, mostly just a whole lot of starting and stopping as they played out the same moments over and over, each time seemingly the same as the last. Graham would say something to Olivia, palms up in a conciliatory gesture, and she would bow her head, then turn and walk away, leaving him standing on the edge of the dock again and again.
Ellie was too far away to hear what they were saying, but even from a distance, there was something striking about seeing Graham like that, all focus and intensity. It reminded her of that day on the beach, when she’d emerged from the grove to see him with new eyes, when Graham Larkin the movie star fell away, and all that was left was the boy with a smile that seemed intended only for her.
It was that way now too; he’d shed something of himself, become someone else entirely, even if only for the space of a moment. And Ellie could see for the first time just what it meant to be an actor, that it was more than red carpets and paparazzi, that it was a kind of art. And that he was good at it.
She stayed there for a long time, unable to pull herself away. A production assistant recognized her from the papers and waved a hand to invite her past the metal barricades, but Ellie just smiled and shook her head. She didn’t mind observing him from afar, was in fact steeling herself for that very thing. Tomorrow he’d be gone, and there would be no other choice but to see him in the same way everyone else did: in movies and magazines, online and in the newspapers.
Standing there among the rest of his fans, she felt something well up inside her, and she realized that she was saying good-bye. There would be other opportunities, of course, at dinner tonight and maybe even tomorrow before he left, a proper farewell where they would say all the usual things: We’ll keep in touch and I’ll miss you and Thanks for everything.
But this right here was Ellie’s version, and she stayed there long past the time she was supposed to be at Sprinkles, knowing that Quinn would cover for her. Last night, after the fireworks, they’d walked down to the beach together, emptying a bag of firecrackers onto the sand and then setting them off one at a time, the two of them watching as they pinwheeled out over the black water.
It was the same as it had been every year. It was better.
Now, as she approached the Lobster Pot and Graham turned around, Ellie’s heart picked up speed, and she realized she wasn’t ready to say good-bye after all. Not nearly. She was reminded of the words she’d written to him during their very first e-mail exchange: I’m not sure I’m quite finished saying hello yet. She felt that way again now, more than she ever imagined possible.
“You look nice,” he said, and she glanced down at her green sundress.
“It’s the same one I wore—”
“I know,” he said, interrupting her with a kiss on the cheek. He’d just shaved, and his skin was soft against hers. “It looks even nicer this time around.”
“Thanks,” she said, then waved at his shirt. “You look nice too.”
There was an awkward moment as they regarded each other. For all the hours they’d spent together, this was the first time they’d been on anything resembling a real date, and they were suddenly weighed down in the niceties, the things you say to people when you’re meeting them for dinner, a
s opposed to the things you say when you’re rescuing them from photographers or stealing lobster boats or just walking on a beach.
The door to the Lobster Pot swung open from the inside, and Joe appeared in the doorway. “You’re all set,” he said to Graham, then looked over their heads at the street, the people strolling by in the falling dusk. “Nobody for me to get rid of?”
Graham shrugged. “Guess not.”
“You must’ve scared them all away,” Joe said with barely concealed delight, then ushered them inside with a sweep of his arm.
Graham stepped in first, followed by Ellie, but they both paused just beside the coat rack that was shaped like a giant fishhook. Every single pair of eyes in the restaurant had snapped up at their entrance; forks were lowered and lobsters forgotten as they collectively stared at the pair by the door. Ellie’s first instinct was to duck behind the hostess stand, or to turn and walk back outside; after so much time spent worrying about this exact scenario, it was odd to stand here before a crowd of faces—some familiar, others not—and let herself be seen with Graham. But it was no longer a secret, this thing between them, and there was no longer a reason to hide.
Joe was motioning to their table, in the far corner, in an area he’d left otherwise open so that they’d have plenty of space to talk. But it wasn’t until Graham reached for her hand that she felt herself come unstuck, and she followed him to the back of the room, her eyes on the floor. At their table, Graham pulled out her chair and then sat down across from her, and Joe produced a matchbook from his pocket to light the candles, winking once at Ellie before leaving them on their own.
“So,” Graham said, leaning forward, and Ellie couldn’t help smiling.
“So.”
“You still holding up okay?”
Last night, as soon as the fireworks were finished, Ellie had walked over to where Graham was sitting. All around them, families were packing up their blankets and picking up their sleepy children. She sat down beside him in the grass, and the two of them had stayed there like that for a long time without speaking.