17
VIVIEN
“Are your parents flying in for the reading of the will?” Audrey asks, handing me some of Charlotte’s delicious homemade lemonade.
“They can’t take any more time off, so they’re going to join us via video.” My parents only returned to the set last week, and it took massive amounts of persuasion to get them to leave. The studio had run out of patience, and they were threatening to sue for breach of contract. I won’t have my parents bankrupted or their reputations sullied because of me.
Easton threw a hissy fit when they left, and he had nightmares the first few nights. He’s terrified they’re not coming back, and I can relate. I’m clinging to my son, gluing him to my side, because I’m petrified something is going to happen to him.
“Reeve was so organized.” Audrey drops down onto the lounger beside me. “We don’t have a will. I guess it’s something we should get around to.”
“That’s probably the only good bit of advice Simon Lancaster ever gave his son. When we got married and built this place, he told Reeve to ensure his affairs were in order.”
I never imagined it would turn out to be prudent. Pain licks at my insides, and I’m tempted to make some vodka cocktails, but that’s a slippery slope I don’t want to fall down. If it wasn’t for my son, I think I’d be numbing my pain in a vat full of Grey Goose or a box of Valium.
Easton is splashing in the pool with Nash, and I’m glad he’s presently happy. His moods are as fickle as mine lately. One minute, he’s laughing, and the next, he’s lashing out at something or someone. I know he’s struggling to process his feelings, hence why I’ve hired a grief counselor to come to the house. She’s going to do a session with Easton—with me present—and then do a one-on-one with me.
Mom forced me into it. It was the only way she would agree to return to the movie set. If it was up to me, I’d wallow in misery and grief because the thought of talking through everything with a shrink makes me want to puke.
“Did you speak to Easton’s camp instructor today?” she asks, lathering sunscreen on her legs.
Easton has been attending summer camp since he was three years old. It’s the same one Reeve and I attended as kids, and it’s where his love of acting developed into his passion. There is a huge focus on the arts, and Easton loves the singing and drama classes, but they also do sports and outdoor activities too. I really didn’t want to let him go this summer, as I panic any time he is away from me. But he wanted to go, and I know it’s important to keep up his routine.
To help to give him some sense of normalcy, so I’ve been driving him there and back each day. I still can’t get in a car with anyone else driving. I need to be in control. To know if anything happens, I control the outcome.
“Yes. She was sympathetic,” I explain. “She understands he’s grieving, but, at the same time, he can’t go around hitting other kids.” There was a situation yesterday where Easton got into a fight with another boy when they were outside playing football. I was terribly upset last night, because it’s not like E at all. He’s always been sensitive to other kids’ distress, and he’s usually the first kid to reach out a helping hand if anyone is hurt at Little League.
“Did Easton say anything else?”
I tried talking to Easton last night, but he was angry and sulking and he wouldn’t talk about it. I didn’t push, waiting until this morning to ask him again when he had calmed down. “The other boy told him his daddy was a drunk and he deserved to die,” I say, through gritted teeth.
Unfortunately, the toxicology reports from the accident were made public and it’s been reported in the media. I haven’t watched any of the TV reports or read anything online, because I don’t want to know how they are tearing my husband’s reputation to shreds. Of course, Reeve’s fans are defending him to the hilt, according to Edwin Chambers, Reeve’s publicist. I have retained his services for the moment, as we deal with the aftermath of the accident and his death.
Audrey gasps. “What a little shit.”
I nod my agreement. “It’s no wonder Easton got angry and lashed out though I had to explain that he can’t do that again. I told him he can defend his daddy with his words, but he can’t use his fists. I said if anyone says anything nasty or mean it’s best if he tells one of the instructors and lets them handle it.”
It’s hard to tell your kid not to retaliate when someone says something so horrible. I can’t let violent behavior go, but I’m not punishing my child for protecting his daddy’s memory either. I’m hoping by the time Easton returns to school in August things will have settled down and the press will have moved their focus to someone else. “I feel like I’m failing as a parent,” I add. “Maybe I should remove him and just keep him home.”
We haven’t ventured outside our property, except for camp, because the paparazzi follow us every time we leave, hounding me for a quote and shouting shit at my son. I almost punched a photographer in the face last week when he asked Easton if he talks to his daddy’s ghost. Some of these people are scum of the earth and they have no empathy or respect for our privacy.
“I know it’s hard, Viv, but I think routine is important for Easton, and being around other kids is too.”
“I just want to swaddle him in cotton wool and keep him safe here.” I sip my lemonade through the straw while I share the truth with my bestie. “I’ve been having these nightmares.” I swallow painfully. “I’m trapped in the car, but this time, Easton is there too. He’s looking in the window, crying, and I can’t reach him. He runs away, continuing to cry, and I watch as he races out onto the road and—” A sob bursts from my chest, and I set my drink down on the small glass table, turning to the side so Easton can’t see me upset. “I can’t even say it, but I’m scared, Rey. I’m scared of something happening to E too. He’s all I have left.”
A fluttering sensation builds momentum in my chest, spreading across my upper torso, and my heart feels like it’s beating too fast, like it’s trying to find a gap to erupt from my rib cage and escape. My breath oozes out in sputtered starts, and I’m struggling to pull enough oxygen into my lungs.
“Put your head between your legs and draw deep breaths, Viv. In and out, nice and slow. I’ll do it with you.”
I’m so busy concentrating on calming down I don’t hear the little pitter-patter of feet. “Mommy!” Easton cries, and I whip my head up. “What’s wrong?” he shrieks, racing toward me and flinging himself at me. Water droplets cover my skin as he clings to me, sobbing.
“It’s okay, honey. I’m okay.” I hold him close as tears stab my eyes. I meet Audrey’s compassionate gaze over his shoulder. “I was just doing some exercises,” I lie.
“You sure?” he asks, lifting his head to stare at me. His gorgeous blue eyes drill into mine, and I hate to see so much worry there. I need to do better. “I’m sure.” I stand, taking his hand. “Who would like ice cream?” I ask as Nash hangs back nervously at the edge of the pool.
“Me!” they scream, and I take them inside, fixing a bowl with vanilla and chocolate ice cream and strawberry sauce with sprinkles for each of them. The boys take their ice cream back outside, sitting side by side on one of the loungers, whispering and laughing as they devour their treat.
“You’re not failing, Viv,” Audrey says, continuing our previous conversation when I lie back down alongside her. “You are doing the best you can, and it’s not easy. You’re both trying to deal with this enormous loss. It’s okay to admit you need more help.”