Chapter Five

CHAPTER FIVE

"DONNA, YOU KNOW Trynn Gentry, don't you?" asked one of her professors after class one day that spring.

"I was one of her Hot Box Girls," Donna said. "Last year at Majestic."

"I thought I remembered you saying something like that. Are you still in touch?"

"She came to my sister's wedding and forced me to dance with her doctor husband so she could try to get funding from my billionaire brother-in-law for one of her vanity projects," is what she wanted to say.

But instead, she said: "Somewhat."

"Great! We're trying to assemble a panel of local actors for Career Week who have made the transition from stage to screen. Given the success of Drama Club , I think she'd really draw a crowd. Would you be willing to invite her?"

"Mm-hm," Donna almost choked. Trynn's sitcom had really taken off, and Donna was seeing her face everywhere: on billboards, in magazines, on television commercials. The last thing she wanted to do was see her face in her classroom. One small consolation was that Trynn only had a supporting role, and Donna knew it was driving her crazy to be on the edges of the cast photos rather than front and center.

Donna didn't have Trynn's phone number, but she did have her email, from that time Trynn was trying to get featured in Donna's West Coast Wednesdays column. The woman had a bottomless need for attention—of all sorts.

Donna never responded, not out of rudeness or spite, but because the email had arrived the same week Frank Sinatra died, and Donna had fallen into a deep well of grief. Up to this point in her life, Donna had largely been shielded from significant loss. So the constant knot in her stomach, the loss of appetite, the extreme fatigue, and the inability to focus on anything for longer than 3 minutes took her by surprise. Old Blue Eyes was almost 15 and basically blind, so it was beyond his time to go. But he was her first leading man and her biggest fan since she was 6 years old, and she felt his absence acutely.

Donna didn't feel like explaining her lack of response to Trynn, who didn't seem to be the pet-loving type. So she started a new email thread and copied her professor on the request.

Within the hour, Trynn responded in the affirmative.

The professor asked Donna to introduce Trynn at the panel discussion, read her bio, and explain her personal connection to the television actress. Each member of the panel would be introduced similarly, either by a student who knew them or who was a particular fan of their work. But there was an additional catch. The students were all asked to deliver their introductions in character, using a regional accent they'd draw secretly from a bowl the week before. The student who was voted most convincing by the panelists earned an automatic A for the entire unit.

Donna cringed when she drew "Minnesota," but she was in it to win it. She spent the week drawing out her O's and throwing some "you knows" and an occasional "oh boy!" But she had to be careful not to go too over-the-top and turn into a stereotype or caricature. She aimed for just enough of a dialect to make the classmates who knew her well—and weren't in on the scheme—to wonder, "Wait, where is Donna Gable from again?"

Donna really leaned into the assignment, deciding to devise a whole new character for the event. On the day of the panel, Donna wore her hair in two braids, with a beret perched saucily on her head, and put on a pair of prescription-free glasses with bright purple frames. She wore a black t-shirt from the touring company of Xanadu, a pleated plaid skirt that hit above the knee, a slouchy cardigan with the sleeves pushed up, and a pair of platform Mary Janes with white ankle socks. The perfect blend of cute and quirky, with a dash of nerdy thrown in.

Given her propensity to vary her style wildly from day today—thanks to the endless clothing samples she received from her blogging gig—nobody batted an eye at her changed appearance.

As Donna waited for her turn at the podium and listened to the other introductions, she giggled internally at Trynn's ridiculous bio. It had to be more than twice as long as any of the other panel members,' even though she was by far the youngest one there.

At the nod from her professor, Donna walked to the microphone, pushed her glasses up on her nose, and started to read. As she recited Trynn's comprehensive list of roles and acting credits—including a WonderLand commercial when she was a child—the side door to the auditorium opened at stage left. In walked a man in blue hospital scrubs, scowling and glancing frequently at his watch, just as Donna got to the part of the bio that mentioned him. "…she lives in Malibu, California, with her very own Dr. McDreamy. Trynn's husband, Dr. Jack Gentry, is an emergency room physician with the looks of Michael Fassbender and the smarts of Dr. Oz. Oh, doesn't that sound nice? Please, folks, let's welcome Trynn Gentry."

Donna suspected Jack wouldn't be too keen on the second comparison. As the audience applauded, Donna walked to the stairs at the edge of the stage to take her seat. A quick glance over at his furrowed brow confirmed her hunch. He leaned against the wall near the exit, arms folded, his shirt tucked into the drawstring pants resting low on his narrow hips. She was starting to understand what all the fuss was about.

Just as Donna glanced back down at the stairs, her chunky heel slipped off the second-to-last step, she stumbled precariously, and she emitted an accidental "Ope!" that took all eyes off Trynn and trained them on her. She righted herself, successfully avoiding a full-on tumble, and bowed deeply to scattered applause and laughter before scurrying off, trying to conceal a painful limp, to her seat at the end of the front row. She giggled to herself for staying in character with that very Midwestern exclamation.

A new rumble of laughter from the students in the audience indicated that Trynn had made a joke of some sort, possibly at Donna's expense. But she didn't hear it, distracted as she was by the stabbing pain in her right ankle.

She was having trouble breathing normally, but the professor sitting next to her seemed to be blessedly oblivious. She was starting to sweat, so she slipped off her cardigan to cool off, feeling much better in just her T-shirt and skirt. She didn't want to cause a fuss, so she channeled her energy into gripping the armrests—so tightly that she wouldn't be surprised to see indents in the wood.

As covertly as she could, she reached down to unbuckle the strap that was cutting into her rapidly swelling ankle. She was not going to limp out of here in front of everyone. Heck no. She could hang on until the panel was over. As the pain grew less and less tolerable, she quietly scooted her backpack out in front of her and to the right, slipping her foot out of the shoe and resting it on top to elevate it ever so slightly. She looked like she was growing an orange beneath her skin.

"Do you need help?" whispered a deep voice in her ear.

Startled, she whipped her face to the side and cracked her temple against the forehead of the whispering man, who had leaned forward from the seat behind her.

"Oof," she said, rubbing the side of her head, as the man stealthily rounded the row to slip into the empty seat next to her. It was Jack, who must have taken a seat behind her at some point while she was trying to manage her pain. Had he been watching over her shoulder this whole time? The thought made her distinctly self-conscious.

"Oh, hi," she said with gritted teeth.

"How's your pain?" he whispered. "Scale of 1-10."

"Nine," Donna said. "How's yours?"

He chuckled a little and touched his forehead.

"I'm fine. Would you like me to help you walk out?"

"No, I'll stay. Just 15 more minutes." Donna realized she still hadn't dropped the accent.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Don't want you. To miss. Your wife."

Donna tried to focus on taking slow, deep breaths.

Trynn was in the middle of a long-winded answer, basking in the audience attention. But whenever she wasn't answering a question or injecting a comment, her eyes flicked over to them, sitting in the last couple of seats of the front row, nearest the exit at stage left.

There was no way Donna was getting out of this room without causing a huge scene.

"I'm leaning in," Jack whispered, so she wouldn't lurch toward him and bash him in the head again.

Donna nodded. He leaned toward her, his breath tickling her ear in a way that would be utterly delicious if he wasn't married and she wasn't about ready to scream in agony.

"Lift your ankle onto the top of my knee so you can keep it elevated until you can leave."

Donna nodded again.

Jack scooted down in his seat, his knees extending far enough past the armrest that she could angle her foot onto the top of his thigh. It helped a little. She pushed her knee-length skirt between her legs to make sure she wasn't flashing her underwear to the entirety of the panel.

With the stage lights on and the house lights down, she hadn't gotten a great look at her ankle. But now she could see how purple it already was.

"Yikes," she whispered.

He nodded in sympathy.

She hadn't absorbed a word of the panel discussion, but the closing round of applause flooded her with relief. This was almost over.

Trynn and the other panelists were instantly swarmed by eager students hoping to land their own first roles in television and film, asking for autographs, peppering them with questions. Donna was grateful for the lack of attention coming their way. If anyone had noticed her stumble, they'd forgotten about it by now. Luckily, she had a doctor on the case.

"Would you be okay if I feel your ankle?" Jack asked.

"Sure, I shaved today," she tried to joke through gritted teeth.

His cool fingers gently probed her leg above where the swelling started.

"No wedding ring," she didn't mean to say out loud. What was wrong with her? Did the pain in her ankle somehow turn off her internal filter?

"I never wear it on shift," he said as his fingers worked their way down the ankle bone.

"Sorry," he said at her sharp intake of breath, barely manipulating her foot to test range of motion. "I suspect it's not broken. But I'd suggest an x-ray to be sure. I assume there's a student health center?"

"Yeah," Donna said.

"Can I help you get there?"

"Let's see if I can stand up," she said.

She eased her throbbing foot back to the floor, and Jack stood up. He turned to face her and reached out both hands, which she gripped tightly as she rose up on her left leg. She half-smiled, half-grimaced into his eyes and carefully placed her foot on the ground.

"Here goes," she said, putting the tiniest amount of weight on her foot, then pitching toward him. He caught her in his arms.

"Ow, ow, ow," she said, tears springing to her eyes. "Sorry, guess not."

"Is there someone you can call?" he asked.

"I'll have my mom or dad, or maybe my grandpa come get me," she said, feeling like a little girl. Why oh why couldn't she have had a boyfriend to come to her rescue instead?

"Well let's at least get you to the health center, and they can meet you there," he said. "I have an idea."

He helped her hop toward the stage, then turned her around so her back was against the waist-high edge. He put his hands on her hips, about to hoist her up.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Hang on," she said. "Are you sure you can lift me?"

He scoffed.

She wasn't insulting his strength, but her own heft. She probably outweighed petite Trynn by at least—well, she didn't even want to think about how many pounds.

"Don't lift with your back," she warned, half-teasing, and he made an exaggerated show of using his legs. The next thing she knew, she was perched on the edge of the stage, her right foot sticking straight out in front of her. To her relief, it seemed effortless. She adjusted her short skirt once again.

With Trynn still surrounded by adoring fans, he stepped between Donna's legs and turned around. He gestured that she should climb onto his back.

"Oh no no no," Donna said. "You can't carry me to the health center. It's across campus!"

"Let's just get you outside, and we'll figure it out from there," he said. "Come on. I need to get back to work."

Not wanting to inconvenience him any further than she already had, she obeyed, wrapping her arms around his shoulders as he held her legs against his waist—her bare, thankfully shaved legs—and started walking toward the exit, her injured foot sticking straight out in front of her. If her skirt was flapping up behind her, she didn't care. Maybe the yellow happy faces dotting her underwear could spread a little joy to someone else, despite her own indignity.

She was aware she was breathing through her teeth right into Jack's ear but couldn't do much to help it.

"You've got this," he said in a soothing voice. "Just a little bit further."

She felt like she should be encouraging him instead. He was the one carrying the extra burden, after all. Why oh why couldn't she be built more like Audrey or Betty or Cat? Her humiliation was palpable, but it paled in comparison to the pain in her ankle.

A fellow student finally clued in to what was going in and rushed to open the door for them. Jack politely asked him to run and grab Donna's backpack and shoe, which he did without question. Donna blinked at the brightness outside. To her great luck, a landscaper with a golf cart was just across the sidewalk. Jack talked him into giving her a lift to the health center. Donna had no idea doctors could issue commands everywhere they went, not just at the hospital.

"Thank you so much, Jack," she said. "You'll be an amazing doctor."

He stared after her a little quizzically as the golf cart rolled smoothly away, but she wasn't sure why. Was he puzzled that she knew his name? Even if he didn't recognize her from the Guys and Dolls photo op, she thought he'd at least remember dancing with her at Cat's wedding. And if he didn't know who she was, why had he been so helpful and attentive? Was he obligated to because of the Hippocratic Oath or something? Even if he was, the piggy back ride definitely went above and beyond.

Perhaps she had offended him by saying "you'll be an amazing doctor." If residents were already considered real doctors, maybe she'd offended him by calling him "Jack" instead of "Dr. Gentry."

If he was anything like his wife, he must care a lot about status and image and how he was perceived. The thing was, he didn't seem to be very much like Trynn at all. She couldn't exactly say why she thought that, though. She barely knew the man.

The x-ray didn't show a fracture, but the campus doctor assured her she wasn't being a wimp, because sprains are often more painful than breaks. After her ankle was wrapped up, she was given an ice pack and an instruction sheet and told it could be 4-6 weeks before she was back to normal. Her mom and dad arrived at the clinic together so one of them could shuttle her home and the other could retrieve Kermit from the parking lot.

By the time they pulled in to the driveway, Abba and Papa Walt had already set up their guest room for her, since climbing the stairs to her apartment was out of the question. And Elizabeth drove Ginger and Grace over in Bart, the yellow version of Kermit that was even older. They even stopped on the way to grab a pint of Donna's favorite—raspberry sherbet. The girls fetched anything Donna wanted from her bedroom and, at Julie's instruction, begrudgingly cleaned The Launchpad for her while she fielded texts from all of her big sisters. Audrey was especially relieved that Donna's foot was only sprained, since a broken foot had sent her home from Europe early when she was around Donna's age, separating her from the love of her life for 5 long years. Her foot still caused her problems now and then.

Most surprising to Donna was the sympathetic phone call she got from Lavinia, who'd experienced several foot injuries in her ballet days. Her part-time boss urged her not to cut corners on her recovery, as she'd done way too many times. She also offered a few additional blogging tasks to keep Donna busy while she was off her feet, which Donna was extra grateful for since she wouldn't be waitressing for the next few weeks at least.

Cat called from her new apartment in Boston, offering to fly home and baby her as long as she needed. She had carte blanche to fly home twice a month if she wanted to, but Donna convinced her that with Abba on the case, she really didn't need a thing. So when an unexpected business trip popped up for Liam, Cat sent six home-baked lemon-curd cupcakes with him on the plane instead. He dutifully carried them on his lap for the entirety of the flight and presented them to Donna with the pride of a man in love. He was in awe of everything his wife did, and Donna loved him for it. He hadn't quite edged out her other two brothers-in-law, but he was earning his own place in her heart.

Cat would have come with him, but she didn't want to reschedule on her first two violin students. And she'd gotten an interview with Lavinia's favorite caterer, who'd asked her to help with a Quincea?era that same weekend.

Liam still stayed with Abba and Papa Walt when he was in town on business, just as he'd done when they were engaged. But with Donna occupying the guest room, he slept in Cat's old room in the apartment instead. Both nights of his trip, he and Donna stayed up late chatting long after they had worn Abba and Papa Walt out. Donna relished hearing how Cat was adjusting to a new city and a new social class. Donna was not shocked to hear that Cat had just joined a book club that hadn't admitted a new member for 20 years; she was the only one there under the age of 60. She'd always been a grandmother magnet.

Cat noted the joy that filled Liam's eyes every time he mentioned Cat's name. Sigh. When would she find someone who got that look whenever he thought of her? Or was that the kind of devotion that only someone as beautiful as Cat could inspire?

Before heading up to the apartment, Liam helped her to her room, giving her armpits a break from the crutches. As much as she hated being out of commission, gestures like these almost made up for it. The texts, the phone calls, the visits, the cupcakes, the shoulders to lean on. And best of all? Abba's cooking. Her tamales were a medicine of their own.

She counted her lucky stars that she wasn't in the middle of a play—and that she'd only have to hobble to school for a couple more weeks. The end of her junior year was approaching fast.

Danno stepped up to courier homework back and forth for her and help her to the classes she couldn't miss. She lamented, and not for the first time, that her feelings for him remained platonic. He really was a good guy.

A few days after the injury, she opened an email from Trynn with the subject line "Weird Question." It read:

Donna—

It was so fun to see you again! And I have to tell you that your invitation came at the perfect time. My agent wants to start charging appearance fees, since so many people mobbed me after the panel. I was getting hand cramps from all of the autographs! Hazards of the job, right? Haha.

Anyway, can I ask you something super confidential. You remember my husband Jack, right? He came to my appearance. He's always so supportive. Anyway, it was hard to tell for sure with the stage lights and all those people around me, but I think I saw some girl hanging on him after the panel. She was wearing black and she had a bigger frame—not exactly fat, but not thin either. Kind of like Kate Winslet. It seemed like she was hugging him by the stage, and then she jumped on his back, right in front of everyone.

He's usually too nice to hurt anyone's feelings, and he has women throwing themselves at him all the time, especially when he's in his scrubs. But if you happen to know who it was, maybe you could say something to her, or make sure the faculty talks to students about how to behave appropriately around the spouses of honored guests. Otherwise, I'm not sure if I'll be able to come back again in the future.

Trynn

Donna could hardly believe her nerve.

Part of her suspected that Trynn was perfectly aware that Donna was the mystery girl, and she'd sent the email in order to both insult her and warn her off. Another part of her thought Trynn really could be that clueless and narcissistic. After all, Donna had removed her cardigan and beret before the piggyback ride, so it was theoretically possible that Trynn really didn't recognize her. Either way, Trynn was probably hoping the "incident" would be further publicized in the drama department, so everyone would know that the famous Trynn Gentry's husband was both A) irresistible and B) a doctor.

In the end, as much as she wished to defend Kate Winslet—and herself—against such baseless accusations as being being "not exactly fat," she opted not to respond. In Donna's eyes, Ms. Winslet was practically perfect in every way, and she couldn't believe Trynn would disparage her perfectly lovely figure. She decided to take the comparison as a compliment and leave it at that

Donna couldn't care less whether she remained in Trynn's good graces. Now that her star was on the rise, they weren't likely to run in the same circles anymore—a welcome development, as far as Donna was concerned.

Donna found she could accomplish quite a lot while reclining on her grandmother's couch with her foot resting on the arm, as long as she had her laptop and her smartphone handy.

She finished her classwork, having received one automatic A (against stiff competition) for delivering an accent that had the panelists wondering if she really was from Minnesota. She remixed and repurposed old blog content for Lavinia, since she wasn't up for in-person shopping or appearing in any photo shoots. And she planned her next three months of posts and searched her favorite designers' new collections online, requesting samples of everything that caught her eye.

Then she got Betty, Cat, and their mom on the phone to plan a baby shower for Audrey, who had 3 months to go. She spoke with Lavinia's assistant, Andie, to start working on a blog-worthy bridal shower, and she brainstormed with her mom about Elizabeth's upcoming high school graduation party. Elizabeth would be moving into The Launchpad with Donna for the summer, then leaving for Pomona College in the fall, where she'd won a full-ride scholarship.

The summer months passed by in a blur, and Donna's ankle grew stronger every day. By the time Audrey went into labor, during the 4 th of July fireworks they were watching as a family from her beachside rooftop patio, Donna was able to literally jump up and down in excitement.

She slept at her parents' house that night, cuddled in bed with Elizabeth, so they could race to the hospital together the moment they heard from their mom. Julie and Brian planned to stay in the waiting room all night, just in case they were needed. But after an hour or two of contractions, Audrey decided she wanted her mom by her side as well. Brian ducked in and out for updates, depending on the level of exposure in the delivery room. He was conscious of giving Audrey her privacy, but his presence was calming for Ty, since he'd been through this four times before.

Ginger was the first one awake, so she woke up Grace, who woke up Elizabeth and Donna, and they were on their way to the hospital by 6:30 a.m. Betty had already been there for an hour.

Hudson Joseph Westerbrook made his debut at 8:13 a.m. on July 5—a tiny thing with what looked like a black toupee, bearing the name of Audrey's late father as his middle name. Donna knew Abba and Papa Walt would be so pleased. When the sisters were finally admitted to the private suite, Ty was perched next to Audrey in the hospital bed, his hair more disheveled than Audrey's, gazing down at his swaddled son with quiet amazement and pure awe. He was very nearly dumbfounded.

"You've continued with the alphabet!" Elizabeth said. "After G negativity simply wasn't in her nature. And she would never marry someone like that either.

If she couldn't have what Audrey, or Betty, or Cat had—or even her parents, who were still madly in love after 26 years—then she'd rather be on her own.

She'd heard it said that the four tiers of contentment in life are, in order: happily partnered, happily single, unhappily single, unhappily partnered. She was already in the second most desirable quadrant, most of the time at least. And she intended to stay there, until the right person came along to upgrade her to quadrant number one.