‘We made a book for River to keep – well, Brooke made most of it.’ I remove the book from Brooke’s lap and lean over the table to put it into Wendy’s hands. River inclines closer, eyes a little wider and head angled to study the cover, which depicts a beach view of the western horizon over the Pacific at sunrise. ‘It has some pictures of Los Angeles, where we live – parks and other cool places. And a few pics of us.’
I reach over and squeeze Brooke’s cold hand as Wendy turns the pages, reading the descriptions to River, who doesn’t take his eyes from the book until she’s done. And then he reaches over, turns back to page one, and looks at her expectantly until she begins to read it again. Brooke clutches my hand as if she is hanging over a deep gorge, her eyes never moving from him.
Handing him the book after the second read, Wendy says, ‘River, why don’t you show Reid and Brooke your room? And put this with your other books.’
He eyes us for a moment before hugging the scrapbook to his chest and leading the way down a short, dim hallway, and into a cramped bedroom that contains a set of bunk beds, one separate twin bed, a dresser and a bookcase. There is no room for anything else. While we stand in the doorway, he walks to the single bed and slides the book beneath his pillow. The pillowcase is covered with cartoon depictions of cars and trucks in primary colours, and it occurs to me that here is a boy who would have loved my yellow Lotus.
Going to his knees on the tiny wedge of open carpet, he pulls a box from beneath his bed. I tug Brooke into the room by her elbow and urge her to sit down on the floor beside me. ‘What have you got there? Ah, Legos – they were my favourite thing in the world when I was your age. I wanted every set that came out.’ What I don’t say: I got every set that came out. All stored somewhere in my parents’ house, no doubt.
The three of us are sitting on his bedroom floor building things when Wendy appears in the doorway and announces that it’s time to wash up for lunch. I check my thick-banded watch and am dazed to find we’ve spent nearly two hours here. My eyes meet Brooke’s and she nods, subtly. Time to go.
I clear my throat. ‘We should go and get lunch too.’ River finishes snapping a plastic brick on to what appears to be a spider the size of my hand that he’s fashioned out of the black and grey rectangles. He’s used two red squares for eyes – at least I think they’re eyes – on a creature that only exists in nightmares for most little kids.
With an intense blue gaze, full of his hesitation and all the reasons for it, he examines me and then Brooke, alternating between us. Brooke seems as guarded as River, and almost equally quiet. I have no idea what she’s thinking; I can’t read her. It’s not like we’re all that familiar with each other now, as weird as that is, considering the fact that we’re attempting to adopt a child together.
‘Thanks for letting us come and play, bud.’ Still sitting cross-legged, I hold a fist towards him – something I might do with John or any other guy under twenty-five. He considers my knuckles, his pale brows drawing together, and for a moment I’m sure I’ve made a careless miscalculation, but after a quick glance at my face, he raises a very small fist and bumps mine lightly with it.
And then he smiles. It’s fleeting and subdued, but it’s definitely a smile.
‘It was so nice to meet you, River,’ Brooke says then, her voice soft. After a glance at me, he offers his knuckles to her, and she bites her lip and bumps them gently, her eyes glassy. At which point I figure I’d better get her out of here.
Brooke and I walk to the truck in reflective silence. At the kerb, I turn and look back at the house. River is standing with Wendy in the doorway, his expression disturbingly stoic. I wave, and Wendy waves. River stands like a toy soldier, straight and unblinking, but the fingers of his right hand wiggle.
Neither of us speaks a word during the twenty-minute drive to my hotel. The enormity of what we’re doing is too staggering. We need time to select the words and formulate their order. When we arrive, Brooke parks the truck and automatically follows me inside, and I’m vaguely aware of fellow guests identifying us between the door and the elevator.
Brooke and I both released box office hits almost three weeks ago, and I’m the lead in the in-production film version of one of the decade’s most popular novels. Our STARmeter ranks are glowing green, and our days of occasionally roaming around in public sans bodyguards are all but over – especially when we’re together. It’s clear we’re about to be together a lot.
Following me from the elevator to my room, she collapses on the small sofa next to my open suitcase and stares out of the lake-view window at the cloudless sky.
I got a late checkout approved, but it’s already noon.
‘Lunch?’ I suggest, and she nods.
Grabbing the room service menu, I ask what she wants, and she waves a hand, mumbling, ‘I don’t care.’
After calling in sandwiches and fries, I grab a couple of bottled waters from the mini fridge and slump into the armchair next to her. While she sips silently, I swallow half my bottle.
‘So what now?’
Her eyes shift to mine and I blink, hard. She looks wrecked. ‘I want him, Reid. I’ve never wanted anything so much. Is it wrong? That I want him?’
For the space of a breath, I wonder why she’d think that wanting River could be wrong. And then it hits me. ‘You don’t trust your own intentions.’
She shakes her head, her eyes welling up.
I lean up and take her hand for the third or fourth time today. It’s still so cold that it feels bloodless. ‘Brooke, I’ve never seen you be less sure of yourself, and yet more on a mission. I knew when you said you were going to give up Paper Oceans to get him that you’d rocketed past my preconceived notions about Brooke Cameron.’ The image of River thumping his small knuckles against mine knocks the breath out of me. And that brief, barely-there smile. ‘But I guess I’m drinking the Kool-Aid, because I want him too. I can see that he’s good there with Wendy, but she’s a short-term solution and always was. My dad was right. If we don’t do this, we’ll live to regret it – sooner rather than later, I imagine.’