“How did you—”
“Her handwriting,” he said. “It was all over them. He would draft something, and on the sides, or the back—often both—she’d make extensive, lengthy, huge changes. Not just little edits, but entire scenes, story lines, character motivations. And then I’d flip to the next draft, and there it would all be, neatly typed up, with his name on the title page. It was like that for everything. I have no idea why he kept them all, other than he had such a big ego he never thought anyone would know that the handwriting wasn’t his. But I knew. I went through them all, in one long, terrible night, read them all, just to see, to make sure, to confirm that it was all true. That one that won the Oscar, God, that one was basically completely hers. And he didn’t even fucking thank her. And then I said…”
No wonder he felt so terrible.
No wonder this book was so hard for him to write. She thought back to how when she’d first gotten here, she’d demanded he tell her what his struggles had been with the book, and winced. Of course he couldn’t have told her any of this then.
He got up again, opened the tin on the counter, took out two lemon bars, and put them on plates. He came back to the table and pushed one across the table to her.
“Iz—Isabelle, I can’t describe to you how I felt that night. That night, and most days since then. I guess…if I’m really going to write this book, I guess I’m going to have to describe it, at some point, but as you saw, I’ve done my best to avoid doing that.” He laughed, but she didn’t think he really found any of this funny. “I hated myself. So much. I still do, I guess. At first, I thought there was no way I could write a book, knowing what I know now. Knowing who he is, and who I am. The same kind of monster he was.”
“Beau, you’re not—”
He held up a hand to stop her. “And then I decided I did want to write this book. That I wanted to tell the world what kind of person my dad really was. And what kind of person my mom really is. Admit how wrong I was, about everything. I thought I could do it. But it’s really…” He swallowed. “It’s really hard. It’s a lot harder than I thought it would be.”
He stared down at the lemon bar on the table. Izzy didn’t know what to say to him, but she wanted to say something, to do something so he knew she saw what he was going through, that she appreciated him telling her. That she cared.
She slid her hand across the table and put it on top of his. He looked at her and smiled, just a little bit. He turned his hand over and squeezed hers, and then let go.
He got up again, looked at the table, and then sat back down.
“That was the night—or rather, the morning—I left LA and came here. I had to get out of there. I packed a weekend bag, of just whatever I could throw into it, and drove straight here. I meant to just stay for a weekend, and well, that was well over a year ago.”
She had a lot of questions she wanted to ask him, but one main one.
“What did your mom say, when you talked to her?”
He turned away, but then, with clear effort, turned back to her.
“I didn’t…I haven’t talked to her.”
She started to say something, but he shook his head.
“I know. There’s nothing you can say to me that I haven’t already thought, trust me. I was going to call her, right away. I read all that stuff late at night, I drove here at the crack of dawn, I was going to call her later that day, apologize, talk to her about it all. But what was I going to say to her? What could I say to her? ‘Sorry for what I said at the funeral?’ That sounds so…inadequate.” He sighed. “I felt—I feel—so guilty about believing him, abandoning her. About what I said to her. I just wish I could tell him how mad I am at him. For doing this to her, and to me. But I can’t. But I also can’t blame him, forever, for what an asshole I am.”
He looked out the window, and she just waited. Finally, he turned back to her.
“Every day I meant to call her, and every day I told myself I’d do it the next day. Once I hired Michaela, and we started making plans for a foundation, to do some good with the money I inherited from him, I told myself I’d call her when that was done.”
A foundation. That’s what Michaela was doing here. That made sense now.
He went on. “Then, after you got here, I decided I’d call her once I had a draft. Maybe I’m just procrastinating. I mean, I know I am. It’s just…I don’t know how to do this.”
She looked up at him. “Are you, um—I know we’ve talked about this stuff a little, but…have you thought about therapy?”
He looked away from her. “I had someone in LA who I went to, on and off for years. After that car accident, and then the divorce, and stuff. I keep thinking about calling him, but it felt…easier not to.”
She waited until he looked at her.
“I know,” he said. “You’re right. You don’t have to say it.”
He broke off a piece of lemon bar but didn’t pick it up.
“Anyway. That’s what I left out. Most of it, anyway. I haven’t really told this to anyone. I can’t believe I thought I could write about this. It was so hard just to tell you, and I like you! How did I ever think I could tell the whole world?”
The notebook was still in the middle of the table. She pushed it toward him.
“You can. You will.” He shook his head, but she kept talking. “Write down everything you just told me. It’s going to be rough, but you can do this. We can work on it together, after you’ve gotten it all down.”
He put his hand on top of the notebook and looked at her. “We? Does this mean you’re staying?”
“Yeah,” she said. “I guess it does.”
She hadn’t known she’d made the decision to stay until this moment.
“Isabelle, you don’t—”
She cut him off. “I know I don’t have to.”
He let out a breath. “Thank you. I…I’m really glad.” He picked up the notebook and tucked it under his arm. “And—I know I’ve already said this, but—I’m sorry, again, about what I said earlier about you. That’s not how I really feel, at all. I’m so sorry I hurt you.”
Despite everything, she believed him.
“Okay,” she said. “I accept your apology. You don’t have to say it again.” She stood up and looked him in the eye. “But, Beau: Don’t ever do that to me again.”
He looked back at her. “I won’t,” he said. “I promise.”
When Izzy came downstairs the next morning to get coffee, Beau was in the kitchen.
“Oh, hi,” she said. She felt awkward with him again, like she had at first. Was he going to regret all those revelations of the night before?
“Good morning.” He smiled at her, a little tentatively. He held up her key ring, with the keys to the house and car on it. “These are still yours. If you want them.”
She held out a hand, and he walked over and dropped the keys in it.
“Also.” He took the milk out of the fridge and handed it to her. “You didn’t tell me when that homework assignment you gave me was due. But I couldn’t sleep last night, so I wrote it all up. And then I typed it up this morning. You don’t have to look at it now. I just wanted you to know.”
“No time like the present,” she said. “Where’s your laptop?”
“Oh.” He looked terrified. “I didn’t expect—You don’t have to do it now. I just wanted you to know I was taking it seriously. What you said.”
She took a gulp of coffee. “You keep telling me I don’t have to do things—Beau, do you think I don’t know that? You’ve lived with me for almost a month now. Is there a lot that I’ve done here that it seemed like I didn’t want to do?”
She hadn’t been like that before she’d gotten here. She’d done so much that she didn’t want to do for Marta, at work in general, even with guys she’d dated. She’d thought she had to—to advance in her job, for them to like her, keep dating her. All the terrible movies she’d seen, boring lectures she’d sat through, gross beers she’d sipped. She’d smiled the whole time, but now she realized how unhappy she’d been.
“Now that you mention it, I can’t think of a single thing that you’ve done here that it seemed like you didn’t want to do,” he said. “Well, other than those pep talks that first week.”
She laughed. “You’ve got me there.”
They smiled at each other, for real this time.
“I think I keep saying that,” he said, “because I don’t want to be like my dad. And sometimes I am like him. I was, in the library yesterday. So I want to make sure that…you’re sure.”