Page 72 of Paging Dr. Summers

“No,” I stammered, shaking my head. “It’s just that anytime I was sad—no matter how warm it was outside—my mom used to bring me cocoa.” I wished she were with me now, except I knew how heartbroken she would have been to learn that Maxwell would remain a disappointment.

“It’s a mom thing.” Marianne carefully handed me the mug, and with it came a kiss on my head. She waited for me to take a sip before scooting Eden over and joining us on the bed.

The warm liquid felt good on my raw throat. It felt even better to my soul. “Thank you,” I said, more in control of my emotions.

Marianne picked up the wedding photo I’d left on the bed. Oh, jeez. Why didn’t I put that back? It made me look nuts. And maybe I was. But after recent revelations, I didn’t want more attention drawn to the fact that I was starring in a CW drama. Especially because getting caught with that photo made me look more like the psycho side character than the heroine with a tragic backstory. Although I’d never considered my story a tragedy. But I would be lying if I said it didn’t hurt that my father didn’t want me.

I wanted to disappear under the covers while Logan’s mom glanced between the photo and me. She must have noticed how uncomfortable it was making me; she did the kindest thing she could and set it back on the nightstand. Bless her.

Marianne patted my leg and said with an air of motherly wisdom, “You know, after my Steven died, I used to beat myself up over the way I’d complained about the dirty clothes he’d leave next to the hamper, or how he had this propensity to steal all the hot water in the mornings taking a bath while he read the paper.” She smiled, fondly.

“I started making myself believe I thought it was cute and part of his charm, and that I actually loved lukewarm showers. And his clothes by the hamper were symbolic of how busy he was and how hard he worked for our family, and that’s why he couldn’t take the extra half second to toss his clothes where they belonged.” She paused and took a breath. “But you know what?”

“What?” I was eager to see where she was going.

“I hated cold showers, and I wanted to wring his neck every time I tossed his clothes into the hamper. But after he died ...” Her voice pitched a tad higher, but she didn’t let the emotion get away from her. “I made some aspects of our life into a damn fairy tale.” She laughed. “I thought that was the best way to memorialize him. In reality, I was just doing him and myself a disservice. Steven wouldn’t want to be remembered as perfect, and painting him that way just made me more miserable, as if missing him weren’t enough. Don’t get me wrong: He was a good man—one of the best—but he was a man, not a god.”

I took another sip of cocoa, carefully measuring what I was about to say. “Soooo,” I exaggerated. “Are you saying that Erica wasn’t a perfect goddess? Or am I just reading too much into your story and have now way overstepped my bounds?”

Eden and Marianne both laughed.

“You’re a smart cookie.” Marianne patted my cheek.

I wanted to ask why Erica wasn’t perfect, but that seemed too self-serving, and honestly, I never wanted it to seem like I was trying to replace her or tarnish her memory. If Logan loved her, she had to have been a lovely person. I couldn’t see him loving anyone who wasn’t. But even if she wasn’t a fairy tale ...

“I don’t know if Logan will ever see her as anything but perfect.”

Judging by the way both women sighed and nodded, they seemed to agree.

I snuggled back into the pillows and sipped the cocoa, trying notto let the news devastate me. After all, this was just supposed to be a fling. I’d known that going into it. In fact, I had set the terms and conditions. It wasn’t Logan’s fault that I wanted to change them now.

I mean, hewaskind of to blame. Why did he have to be so wonderful? The thought reminded me. “How long has Logan been gone?” I still couldn’t believe he’d gone to tell off Maxwell. He was kind of a knight in shining armor. If you replaced the armor with tanned, muscled perfection.

“It’s been over an hour now,” Eden responded.

I bit my lip. “Do you think he’s okay?” Surely, Maxwell wouldn’t have done anything to him, right? Other than maybe throw him out and tell him to mind his own business. But if that were the case, Logan would have been home by now.

“That’s a tricky question,” Marianne replied.

“What?” I sat up, panicked. “Should we call the authorities?”

“Oh, honey.” She waved her hand in the air. “I didn’t mean to imply Logan was in physical danger. I’m sure he’s not,” she said, not so surely.

“Mom, he’s fine,” Eden interjected.

“I just worry. I’m his mom, after all, and the Harringtons are well connected and respected in this town. People like them don’t like to be told they’re in the wrong. And they don’t like scandals. Not that you’re a scandal, dear,” Marianne clarified.

I cringed, feeling more and more like a soap opera come to life. “Ugh, I bet that’s how people will see me. I’m like Liv Tyler when she found out Steven Tyler was really her father. Except my mom wasn’t aPlayboyPlaymate, and she never convinced another man to sign my birth certificate.”

Eden giggled, and I laughed too. It was better than crying.

“Well, my mom wanted me to discover something new about myself this summer. Boy, did I ever. Cross another item off the bucket list,” I said sardonically.

“It’s all going to work out,” Marianne promised.

I was sure it would. It always did, but not every story had a satisfying ending. Not even Erica’s. What hope did my CW drama have?

LOGAN FINALLY RETURNED ALMOST TWO hours after he’d left. He appeared harried—his posture tense as his eyes darted around the room, not focusing on anyone or anything. At first, I thought it might be because his mom and Eden were still on the bed with me and it was weird for him, but upon further inspection, I didn’t think that was the case.

---