After the laughter subsided, the four of them walked the red carpet together, and many posed photos were taken, both before the screening and at the after-party, while Jane’s sons futilely attempted to shield their “delicate” mother from Peterson’s avid attentions.

*   *   *

The pouch arrived from the studio while Mick and Sarah were lounging lazily in bed, enjoying breakfast in bed, buttery croissants with raspberry jam, hot coffee, and yogurt with fresh fruit and granola. Lilly was bouncing around the room describing in great detail every millisecond of the plot of Frozen. “Umm . . .” Mick said, only half listening as he slit open the pouch and pulled out the trades, clippings of reviews, and the overnight box office numbers and flipped through them, scanning the contents. Retribution was dominating, was more than double that of the closest competitor. If the momentum carried through the weekend, his movie would break box office opening-weekend records. Not bad, Mick thought, and for the first time ever he discovered he could enjoy the ride without worrying about when the inevitable wall would hit. Why is that? He glanced over at Sarah, who was listening to her daughter’s recital with a contented smile on her face, and suddenly he knew why he had enjoyed last night so much. Because it’s not all you have. Sarah loved him for the man he was, warts and all. Lilly did, too. Neither of them had seen his movies before they had found him worthy of their love. He had a life outside of making films, a steady ballast in the storm, and it made a world of difference. Mick was gathering the clippings. His thoughts had already turned to their plans for the day. Jane’s son Daniel had called, thanked Mick again for inviting them to Retribution, and then asked to speak with Sarah. When Sarah had hung up the phone, he knew she had gotten good news because joy was radiating from every pore of her body. While decluttering their parents’ New York apartment so it could be put on the market, Daniel and Stephan had discovered a floor safe in their father’s office, hidden under a rug beneath the desk. Inside were Sarah’s files, her missing ID, and labeled keys to the Rainsford family properties.

Sarah didn’t even have to ask. She just looked at him with glowing eyes, and he picked up the phone and pushed their return flight to LA. So instead of heading to the airport, they would be tromping around Sarah’s childhood homes. Mick started to slide the clippings back into the pouch when Sarah’s hand alighted on his. “What’s this?” she asked, nestling close, peeking over his shoulder.

“It’s a photo of Auntie Jane,” Lilly piped up as she clambered onto the bed.

“It certainly is,” said Sarah, grinning, as she tucked her daughter into the crook of her arm.