Free A Week at the Lake by Wendy Wax Page A

much of the previous night, but at least that tossing had taken place on a queen-sized bed rather than a molded plastic chair. Breakfast had been the Thai food none of them had been able to face the night before. They’d eaten it cold, out of the cardboard containers, their eyes glued to the small flat-screen on the kitchen wall as the morning news programs ran their versions of the Emma Michaels “tragedy,” buttressed by old shots of Emma as a child star, which dissolved into shots of her entering the offices of a Los Angeles district judge as a teen, her grandmother at her side.Stories about her legal emancipation from her famous parents had pulled in a hefty audience in its day.
    Serena clicked the set off in the middle of a tight two shot of Rex and Eve Michaels professing to not understand why their daughter would do such a thing. “Thank God Emma’s emancipation happened before reality television,” Serena said drily. “Or there might have been a show called
Making Up with the Michaelses
.”
    Dr. Brennan had already been in to see Emma and left word that the night had been uneventful and there was nothing new to report. He’d stop by again in the afternoon.
    They took turns sitting with Emma. Waiting at times with held breath for something, anything, to happen. Mackenzie’s mind wandered as she watched Emma’s chest rise rhythmically up and down. Her eyes remained closed. Her jaw slack. Her arms and hands limp at her sides.
    She thought of how turbulent Emma’s life had been, how much of it had played out in public and in the tabloids. Only those years when she’d lived with them and auditioned as someone else—a significant acting job in its own right—had been remotely private. When they’d discovered that Amelia Maclaine was actually Emma Michaels, Emma had been frightened that their friendship might change. But by then they’d seen the best and worst of each other. Held each other’s hair out of the way while they bowed before the porcelain throne after too much partying, eaten tons of ice cream and chocolate together when men had proved disappointing, and learned when saying nothing was the best choice of all. Though some of them were better at remaining silent than others. By the time they knew that Amelia Maclaine was Emma Michaels, they were too close for an accident of birth to come between them. Or so they’d always thought.
    Around one o’clock, she, Serena, and Zoe took the elevator down to the hospital cafeteria. At a quiet table in a dark corner, they picked at their food without enthusiasm.
    â€œI had a call from Calvin,” Zoe said as she picked up a French fry then put it back on her plate.
    â€œWhat did your dad say?” Mackenzie asked.
    â€œHe just called to ask if I needed anything. He said he’d come if it seemed like that would be helpful. But I wasn’t sure if he meant for me or for my mother.”
    â€œWould you like him to come, Zoe?” Mackenzie asked. “I know you said no the other day, but if it would make you feel better . . .”
    â€œNo.” She looked up from her plate, her chin jutting outward.
    â€œAre you sure?” Serena asked. “Because . . .”
    â€œNo. He asked me to give my mother a hug.” Zoe’s voice broke. “I don’t think he understands what condition she’s really in. I told him not to worry about it.” She picked up the same French fry and motioned with it. “Then he asked me if I’d like to come be with him on location.”
    Mackenzie was careful not to comment.
    Serena had no such hesitation. “He thought you’d rather be on location in New Zealand than here?”
    Zoe nodded dully then looked down at her plate.
    â€œTo be fair to your father, I think it’s hard to understand what’s . . . going on . . . without being here,” Mackenzie said, thinking