After the Climb Read online

  Fortunately, as I stopped in front of her, Rodney unnecessarily at my side, rolling my Tumi that I could roll myself, but also cutting me off from view of the bar that was also on this floor, she simply smiled before she spoke.

  “Ms. Swan. We’re delighted you’re staying with us at The Queen. And I’m happy to report, your suite is ready for you.”

  “Thank you,” I replied.

  Her eyes shifted to Rodney, and back to me, and she asked, “Would you like us to help you upstairs with your bag, or—?”

  Rodney butted in. “I have it.”

  “Of course,” she said to him. But to me, “Your PA’s instructions for check-in have been understood.”

  Translation: I was booked under the name Virginie Forbes.

  Even now, semi-retired, precautions had to be taken.

  “And the manager of the spa has been alerted to your appointment,” she went on. “Just so you’re aware, when you arrive at our facilities, a member of staff will escort you to the locker room, and make sure it’s cleared so you can change. And phones have been banned in the lounge, though we encourage that anyway. Regardless, you’ll be escorted straight to your treatment room, once your valuables have been secured.”

  “That wasn’t necessary,” though it absolutely was, “but thank you.”

  “Ms. Sinclair believes it is,” she replied, referring to the owner of the place. Having been fiddling with things at her desk, she handed me my key card. “You’re on the top floor. Room four-oh-one. With a view to the square. We have your cell number on file in case of emergencies, and your credit card in case of incidental charges, so all is well. The elevator is behind me, to your right.”

  “Again, thank you.”

  “My pleasure, and should you need anything else, please don’t hesitate to ask any member of staff.”

  I nodded.

  After she gave me a thankfully non-obsequious smile to end the equally thankfully non-obsequious check-in process, she busied herself with something at her desk.

  Rodney continued to shield me from the bar as we moved beyond it toward the elevators.

  When we’d stopped at them, and he’d shifted in order to shield me from the lobby, I looked up to him.

  “Honestly, I can take it from here.”

  “I’ll see you to your room, Ms. Swan.”

  I was sensing from his demeanor that he would.

  I gave in. We entered the tiny elevator. And we were silent on the way up, the short walk to the door to my suite, and through it after I touched the key card to the pad.

  Rodney moved directly to the sizable, antique, free-standing wardrobe as I looked around.

  The room was large, as it would be, considering it was their deluxe suite, taking half the top floor and spanning the entire front of the hotel.

  Six arched windows (I suspected two more in the bathroom). Black-backed wallpaper adorned with gold and blue and cream with purple-edges flowers. Camelback settee with scrolled arms covered in an ivory brocade damask. Tufted armchairs angled across from it in brown velvet. Heavily carved, oval coffee table in between that held an attractive urn stuffed full of fresh peonies, dahlias and trailing greenery that looked tipped with berries.

  The king bed up against the wall to the right was high, huge, dizzyingly carved, padded and radically covered with pillows.

  There was a writing desk at an angle beside one of the two fireplaces, facing the room. It had delicately swooping legs and was accompanied by a Belvedere oval-backed chair.

  There was also a small bistro table with two chairs in front of one of the windows, the better to enjoy morning coffee and a croissant with a view to the bustle of the square.

  And oddly, since it was situated all the way across from the bed, double doors opened to an extravagant Victorian bathroom with gold wallpaper, marble-edged copper basins, a sunken tub, intricately carved wainscoting painted coin-gray, all of this topped with an opulent chandelier.

  Last, there was a silver bucket containing a bottle of champagne, a napkin precisely folded and draped over it. And beside the floral arrangement was a plate of what looked like homemade chocolate chip cookies under a glass dome.

  It was extraordinary.

  I loved every inch.

  So much, I could stay in that space for weeks.

  But honestly, they had me with the cookies.

  My son called me the Cookie Monster.

  And there was reason.

  Rodney’s voice took me out of my admiration of the room and thoughts of my second born.

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to take you home?”

  I turned to him to see him at the door, but on my way, I noted he’d erected the luggage stand, and laid my suitcase on it. “I’m fine.”

  “Are you sure?”

  I licked my lips and felt my face soften.

  Even the best of actresses could not pull one over on the kindest of souls.

  He knew nothing, and yet, having sat often behind the wheel with me in the back, or me in the back with one or both of my daughters and/or my son, he sensed everything.

  “Truly, I’ll be all right,” I lied.

  He knew I was lying and did not hide that fact.

  Even so, he said, “I’ll be back tomorrow at eight to take you home.”

  I nodded.

  He moved to the door.

  He then gave me a long last look, dipped his chin, and left the room.

  I stared at the closed door and my eyes started stinging.

  “No, no, no, after the facial,” I said to myself, and then got busy.

  Unpack first, since I hated living out of suitcases, even only for a day, and hated more not having my toiletries and toothbrush at hand when I needed them.

  Check.

  Go to the floral arrangement and read the note sticking out. Heavy stock. Folded once. And at the front, an embossed SIENNA SINCLAIR.

  Handwritten inside,

  Ms. Swan,

  We’re honored you selected The Queen.

  If there’s anything my staff or I can do to make your visit more enjoyable, please do not hesitate to ask.

  Yours,

  Sienna

  Nice.

  Classy.

  Read.

  Check.

  Peruse room service menu and call down to order, giving them a time to deliver, so it’d be ready when I was. Then ask them to refresh the ice in my champagne bucket so I could enjoy it with dinner.

  Check.

  Change from fancy outfit I never should have worn when confronting Duncan into dove-gray pleated joggers and slightly see-through, V-necked, long-sleeve tee and pull out gray Valentino slides to wear down to the spa.

  Check.

  Text Chloe and share I was good, and I’d call her later.

  Check.

  Text Mary and share that I’d arrived, the hotel was fabulous, and I was going dark for a bit so I could enjoy my facial and some downtime.

  Check.

  Turn off phone.

  Check.

  Slip on the slides, grab keycard, lock my purse and valuables in the in-room safe, and head to the spa.

  Check.

  *****

  “Hey, Mom.”

  Hearing Chloe’s voice, all was well in the world.

  At least for now.

  “Hey, honey,” I replied, stretching out my legs and leaning back in bed with my champagne.

  The room service tray was in the hall.

  The cookies were up next after I talked with my girl.

  And now, I’d just turned on my phone and called my Chloe.

  Unsurprisingly, it had immediately binged with a text from Mary.

  I ignored that to focus on my daughter, who I knew would be worried about me.

  “How’d it go?” she asked.

  “It went,” I answered, just as my phone binged with text two, also from Mary, and it started with nothing but !!!!!!.

  My brows inched together as I took a sip of champagne in prepar
ation to set it aside and swipe.

  “That’s it, ‘it went?’” Chloe pressed.

  I paused before swiping.

  Because this was a situation that Tom and I had created.

  That being drilling into our children’s heads the concept that honesty and transparency was the most important thing in any relationship.

  And when they were little, if they came to us with an issue, or if they’d done something wrong or bad, and confessed it, we were very careful to temper our reactions, and if there was any punishment, to allow for their honesty.

  We’d done it with the goal that they would feel open when the issues became serious, like sex, contraception, possible bullying, plans they wanted to make for their futures. And then we could tackle them before we had such things as unplanned pregnancies or cutting.

  However, to teach, we also had to demonstrate.

  This was something I began doing with much more openness when they got older, to the point that, since Chloe was living in Phoenix now, meant I’d shared with her about the box…

  And Duncan.

  Not in detail.

  But I felt it safe to explain he was my first love, and how it had ended, and where (I thought at the time) Corey fit in all that.

  Now, this life lesson didn’t seem so good and not because I didn’t want to talk about it due to the fact that, when I did, there was a very real possibility I would break down.

  It was because she had a relationship with Corey.

  To the kids, he was Uncle Corey. He’d been in their lives since they could remember. He’d loved them, and they’d loved him.

  But to have kids who did, indeed, approach when kid stuff got serious, this kind of situation occurred.

  And at least what I had on my hands now was far better than what Tom dealt with when we’d decided to divorce, and why, and then we’d had to tell the children.

  Tom didn’t lose his girls. They were daddy’s girls, for one, and although they were disappointed and things were tense and upsetting for a good while, they were also momma’s girls.

  They came around.

  Matt’s relationship with his father, however, still needed a good deal of healing.

  “Mom.”

  Chloe was getting impatient.

  I sighed.

  And I made the only decision I could, considering.

  Then I asked, “You know how I told you that Duncan broke things off with me because he thought I’d cheated on him?”

  “Yeah.”

  Now she sounded hesitant.

  I thought I knew the cause, considering what her father had done.

  “I didn’t, honey,” I assured. “But what was in that box was a letter explaining that Corey told him I did.” God, could I say it? I guessed I could. “With him.”

  I fancied I heard a wooshing in my ear, considering all the sound left the world in that instant of her silence.

  Then, my oh-so-beautiful diva Chloe shrieked, “What?” But before I could say anything, she asked wrathfully, “With him? Like, with Uncle Corey?”

  “Yes.”

  “You and dweeby, gawky, skinny Uncle Corey?”

  “Yes, Chloe, and a person is not just what they loo—”

  “This guy’s best friend?”

  “Yes.”

  “Your best friend?”

  It was harder to repeat it on that.

  But I did.

  “Yes.”

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

  “A lady doesn’t—”

  “Mom, this is a fuck moment for certain.”

  I didn’t argue and not only because I didn’t have the chance.

  “What now?” she demanded.

  “Sorry?”

  “What now? With you and this Duncan guy?”

  Another text came through from Mary, but I sat motionless on the bed, staring at the phone lying on my thigh, speechless at her question.

  Because there was no “now” with this Duncan guy.

  But damn, how my heart had skipped a beat when she’d said that.

  “Mother,” she hissed.

  “Nothing now, honey. It ended years ago,” I forced out.

  “Okay, so, you guys were like, in love. Like, the way you described it, really in love. And you can’t think you told me about him, and I didn’t Google the shit out of his ass. He’s way hot, for a dude that could be my dad. He’s rich, maybe not as loaded as you, but with all those stores, he can’t be hurting. He’s also divorced. And so are you. So what now?”

  “Chlo—”

  She didn’t even let me finish her name. “What did he say about all this?”

  “Well, I mean, it’s not like he’s unaware that there’s a great deal of water under the bridge,” I hedged.

  “That isn’t an answer to my question. What did he say when he found out Uncle Corey did something that whacked?”

  “He was understandably upset.”

  “And?”

  “And…we both were. Upset that is. We shared some words. But there’s nothing we can do about it now.”

  “Why did Uncle Corey do that?”

  “He, well, he had a crush on me.”

  “Yeah. Duh. He was totally in love with you.”

  This stunned me.

  Was I the only one who didn’t see?

  “But I’m in love with Ryan Reynolds,” she ranted on. “And I’m not going to do something psycho to break him up with Blake.”

  “You don’t know Ryan Reynolds, darling.”

  “The point stands, Mom.”

  It did.

  “Okay, honey, the truth is, I’m having a real tough time wrapping my head around why Uncle Corey would do this to me. To me and to Duncan, but real honesty, especially to me. He was like a brother to me. He knew how I felt about Duncan. And he knew I did not feel that for him. So I have a bottle of champagne, courtesy of the owner of this lovely hotel, and a plate of chocolate chip cookies that look divine. Not to mention, Mary is texting with a goodly number of exclamation points, so I need to find out what’s happening with her. To end, I can understand you’re upset, because he was like an uncle to you. But I really cannot process this with you now.”

  Her tone was much calmer, and definitely tender, when she said, “Right, Mom. I was just freaked.”

  “I understand that feeling.”

  “Yeah, I bet you do. I’m so sorry, Momma.”

  I was too.

  It was like he’d died all over again.

  But worse, because I didn’t even have the memory of him to sustain me anymore.

  “Me too, darling. Now, you’ll come over for dinner when I get back. I’ll make something you love.”

  “No way. Beckett’s Table. My treat. I’m jonesing for their short ribs.”

  My girl, dramatic.

  And driven.

  She’d come back from France, took her trust fund, and to her father’s despair, and my concern, opened a boutique in the Melrose district of Phoenix.

  But she had style. She had flair. And she was, as her brother described her, baller.

  That boutique was a year old, it was turning a tidy profit, and she’d already made the cover of Phoenix magazine, their cover model for an article on up-and-coming female entrepreneurs.

  And during their interview, they’d only asked her one question about her father and me.

  In other words, she could buy me dinner.

  Though, that was not happening.

  “It’s a date,” I agreed.

  “Great,” she replied. “Now, are you going to be okay? Do you want some company?”

  “I’m two hours away, it’s getting late, and I’m fine. I mean, not fine-fine. But I’ll be okay. I have a great day planned tomorrow. And then I’ll be home.”

  “I’ll come over tomorrow night.”

  “I won’t be home until the earliest ten.”

  “So? I’ll mix up some gimlets and we’ll binge Glow or something.”

  “We’ve alread
y binged Glow.”

  “Yeah, that’s why I added or something.”

  “Smart aleck,” I teased mock-severely.

  “Momma, you love me just as I am, so don’t even try to pretend you don’t.”

  And again, I felt better.

  My daughter knowing that with that kind of certainty?

  Yes, all was well in the world.

  “Love you, darling.”

  “Love you more, Mom.”

  “Thanks for chatting.”

  “Anytime, and Mom?”

  “Right here.”

  “Don’t think you got around the talk about this Duncan hottie.”

  I said nothing, because she disconnected.

  I took a fortifying sip of champagne to get me past her parting comment, and another one before I opened my texts.

  I didn’t get to read them.

  The screen came up with Tom’s picture telling me he was calling.

  Damn.

  I answered because I knew he’d be worried too.

  “Hey there.”

  “Hey, Genny, honey, you okay?”

  “I’ve been better, but I’ll survive.”

  A moment of silence, and then, “Gen.”

  On his knowingly saying my name, I had the rare thought that perhaps our decision to be adult and get beyond his betrayal and my inattention to salvage the friendship part of our relationship in order to keep our family strong was the wrong one.

  And then I said, “It was Corey. The box had a letter sharing that Corey told Duncan that I’d slept with him. Corey, that is. He told Duncan that I’d slept with his best friend. And he also shared he’d been lying in order to break us up, because he was in love with me.”

  Another moment of silence, and then, with what after years I knew instantly was barely controlled rage, “Why would he do such a thing?”

  “He was in love with me.”

  “And I’ll repeat, why would he do such a goddamned, motherfucking, obnoxiously selfish, insanely damaging thing?”

  “Tom, calm down.”

  “Calm down? Seriously? How can you be calm about this?” he asked in disbelief.

  “I’m not. Though it’s not brand-new news to me.”

  “Jesus Christ,” he bit out.

  “I’m processing now with champagne and chocolate chip cookies, homemade. And tomorrow I’ll process with Heddy. Then Trish and Scott. And Chloe is coming over for gimlets when I get home tomorrow night.”

  “Thank God you have the cookies.”