Her Protector

by R. S. Lively

  Try as I might, I just can’t figure out a way to save both Wonderland and my relationship with Alice.

  “What do we do now?” Luella asks.

  “You still have a play to put on,” I nod. “My commitment to that hasn't changed. And if you are willing to change venues, I may know how to salvage this.”

  Luella nods her consent and I pull my phone out to call Emma.

  Chapter Thirty

  Alice

  Two weeks later…

  "What are you doing in here?" Lee asks.

  I look back over my shoulder to watch him walk down the theater aisle. He sits down behind me and reaches around to snag a slice of cucumber out of the plastic container in front of me.

  "I'm having lunch with the theater."

  "Not a very talkative date."

  "More talkative than you'd think."

  I wish I was making some sort of dramatic statement about hearing the whispers of the actors who had been here before. There's a crash in the distance, and I point at it.

  "What was that?" he asks.

  "The crew downstairs trying to fix the damage. I think they're actually causing more than they’re fixing right now."

  "It'll get better."

  I nod sadly, staring down at my food, but not wanting to eat anything.

  "Have you been here all day?" Lee asks.

  "Yeah. The crew started really early, so I got here right before sunrise."

  "Why would you do that?"

  "I just want to spend some time with Wonderland while I can. I've been so busy with all the repairs and renovations, I haven't just enjoyed being here."

  "It doesn't make you sad to see it like this?"

  "I know there's a lot of damage and it's kind of a mess, but I don't want to think of it that way. I'm looking at it as a rebirth for Wonderland. Even if it is moving on to its new life without me, it's a good thing for the theater. I want to make as many memories as possible while there's still the chance."

  "You don't have to give up, Alice."

  "I've run out of ideas, Lee. A few ghost hunts and bridal portraits aren't going to do it. We can't afford any more high-profile screenings right now, and even if we could, the theater isn't in any condition to have any events for a good while. I'm not going to be able to save it. Rather than trying to scramble until the last minute and have to deal with the devastation when it comes, it's better to embrace that there's a new chapter of my life coming and be ready for whatever it has to offer me."

  "Do you really feel that way?"

  My breath shudders in my throat and tears sting the corners of my eyes.

  "Trying to. What I'm really feeling is defeated."

  "Have you talked to Dean about it?"

  I shake my head forcefully.

  "I'm not going to. I'd much rather him just see anger than sadness and think I'm weak."

  "Being sad doesn't make you weak."

  "Still wanting him does."

  "Then why did you send him away?"

  "Looking at him is too painful. He broke my heart and he's taking my theater. I just needed him to leave me alone so I can enjoy the last brief amount of time before the deadline on my own terms."

  "You should still talk to him. Give him a chance."

  "I don't understand you, Lee. First you push me to be with him, then you're mad at me when I am, then you warn me to be careful, and now that I am, you're back to being totally Team Dean. You're giving me whiplash."

  "It kills me that he hurt you. I didn't want to be right. But I also don't think you're seeing this clearly. It's more than just some emails."

  "Exactly. It is. He lied to me. Not just once. Every day. Every time he saw me, every time we spent time together, and especially every time we talked about the theater, he lied to me. Never once did he just step up and explain what was going on."

  "And if he did?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "If the second he realized you were on the other end of that contract he came to you and explained it, what would you have done?"

  "I don't know, but I would have liked to have been given a chance to choose for myself rather than having him just decide for me. Either way, my views haven't changed. I still don't want to be latched to anyone else when it comes to Wonderland. It was the wrong choice when I first made it, and now is the time to fix that mistake."

  "I don't understand that, Alice. Why does it have to be one or the other? Either you do it absolutely by yourself or not at all? You can't accept that things like this require help?"

  "No. I never wanted any help. My father taught me to be strong and courageous and do what needs to be done, even when it's hard. Buying this place was about reconnecting with him and making him proud. He always used to say when you really care about something, when you really want it, you don't rely on someone else to make it happen for you."

  "Says the woman who accidentally got married because somebody walked up and literally tied her to a man."

  "That's a really low blow, Lee."

  "I love you, Alice, you know that. But what this sounds like is you are afraid that even if you put everything into this and try as hard as you possibly can, you might still fail, and you would rather be able to say you walked away because someone else interfered."

  There's nothing for me to say. Lee's words cut through me, tossing salt into my already raw heart. I stand up and walk out of the theater, leaving Lee in the aisle with my abandoned lunch.

  The next three hours are a blur, and when I find myself sitting at my mother's kitchen table, I barely remember getting there. A mug of tea warms my palms even as the smell of peppermint rising up from it makes my heart ache.

  "Everything is going wrong, Mom. It might be funny if this was a chick flick and we were doing a montage that involved slinging paint at each other, but it stopped even being ironically funny a long time ago."

  "I don't understand why you never told me you were in trouble."

  Flecks of leaves float in the murky tea as I stare at it, looking for some sort of wisdom at the bottom of the cup.

  "You've been going through enough with your health and everything. I didn't want to worry you."

  "I'm your mother, Alice. You are," she swallows hard, "the only child I have with me. It's my job to worry about you and try to help you if you are having a hard time."

  "That only applies when something is happening to me, not when I've managed to make everything go astonishingly wrong because I'm stupid."

  "You're not stupid. Hard headed and stubborn, but not stupid. Just like your Daddy."

  I let out a sigh.

  "I want him to be proud of me. That's why I did this. That theater meant everything to us."

  "He is proud of you. He always was. But he wouldn't want to see you this way."

  "What do you mean?"

  "When you first started talking about the possibility of buying the theater, you were so happy. I hadn't seen that much excitement in you since before your father died. But then it started to fade. Something happened that dampened it, and I haven't seen it at the same level since. I'm guessing it's the contract with this silent partner."

  I nod.

  "Daddy wouldn't have wanted me to have someone help me buy it."

  "Why do you say that?"

  "He was so proud of everything he was able to accomplish on his own. He fought to give our family the best life possible and reach all his goals. Both of you did. He wouldn't want me to be in debt to someone else because of it."

  "I don't think that's true. A lot of people helped your father and I when we needed it. But that's not what I think would hurt him. That theater was so precious to both of you, but you're not going to bring him back by trying to hang on to the theater or clinging to the past. You should always be moving forward. Progress. Always progress, Alice. Honor your past, but not to the sacrifice of your future. Your father would never want you to do anything that causes you stress or pain, especially in his name. If you think it's time for you t
o move on with your life, then that's what you need to do. Remember what we used to say to you in the hard times when you were a little girl. Even during the darkest moments, we would tell you to listen to your heart and do what it tells you to do. It may not be the most original or compelling of guidance, but it's true. Your heart knows what's right. Always. Even if you try to convince it of something else, it will keep trying to guide you. If you listen, it will let you know what you need to do, even if it doesn't make sense or is painful at the time."

  A tear drips down and splashes onto the pink formica surface of the kitchen table. The table was my mother's pride and joy when my father brought it home from a yard sale a few months after we moved. My hand runs across it.

  "I think it's time to let go."

  "You never changed anything."

  Lee and I stand at the doorway to one of the dressing rooms, the beam of flashlight sweeping over the dusty surfaces. It's a strange duality of peacefully beautiful and eerie.

  "I know. It never felt right. This room has been left just this way since the actress left. It's like a museum."

  "I wonder what will happen to it."

  "They'll change it. They'll come in and empty it out and either turn it into a contemporary dressing room or a storage closet."

  "Are you okay with that?"

  "It doesn't matter. It's not my decision anymore. But... yeah. I am. This space has served its time. Now it can move on."

  Lee closes the door and we walk slowly toward the prop room. It's one of the last stops on our final tour of Wonderland. I can't help but wonder how many of the things filling the room will stay, and how many will be tossed aside. The only comfort in knowing it will be Dean who takes over is his respect for the history of the theater. I know he'll preserve as much of it as is practical. A bead of sweat dampens my forehead, despite the cool temperature in the room, and I groan slightly as I wipe it away.

  "What's wrong?" Lee asks.

  I shake my head.

  "I'm just not feeling good. The stress has gotten to me."

  We move further into the room.

  "Where's the couch?" Lee asks.

  I laugh, an unexpected sound bursting from between my lips past the salty film of dried tears.

  "Shannon brought it to my apartment. It's sitting in the middle of the living room."

  "I think a slumber party is in order, then." He loops his arm through mine and we head back down the hallway. We haven't talked about the blow up a few days ago. We don't need to. "Do you want to go up on the catwalk?"

  A shock of pain goes through my heart.

  "No. I'm good."

  "Then, are you ready?"

  "Yeah." I try to manage a smile. "I'm ready."

  We walk through the dark house of the theater one more time. I head for the row I’ve sat in a thousand times before and lean down to kiss my father's chair. I look out over the quiet rows and empty, sagging stage, then walk through the door and into the lobby. The smell of popcorn is still there. Lee and I popped one last batch and ate as much as we could during a private screening of our favorite movie projected through my laptop last night. I pause to run my fingertips over the plaque on the column before walking to the front door for what I know will be the last time. Lee squeezes my hand as we turn around to take one more look.

  "Goodbye, Wonderland," I say softly.

  It's surreal to walk out onto the sidewalk with the theater at my back and look ahead of me to the rest of the city, and the rest of my life.

  "We're going on vacation," Lee says without introduction, like I'm coming into the middle of a conversation.

  "We're what?"

  "Going on vacation." We start walking, and I focus on his words rather than the steps. "I'm taking you away from the city so we're not here on the deadline. You deserve some fun in your life and I'm not letting you get sicker because of this."

  I don't hug him. If I do, I'll cry. At this point, even a few more tears might shrivel me like a raisin.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Alice

  "It's not too late, you know," Lee says the next day. "I have Charlie's credit card."

  We're draped in hammocks strung between palm trees, our heads close to each other as we glide back and forth to the pace of the warm, lazy breeze.

  "We're already here," I say.

  "I know, but Charlie's got money. Not like... Laurence money... but he's no slouch. I could just make one little phone call."

  "No, Lee. Thank you. I appreciate it, really, I do, but your lover already paid for this vacation for us. I can't let him cover the overdue payment for the theater, too. That's a charge I'm pretty sure he would notice on his credit card bill."

  "My boyfriend."

  "You get a boyfriend, but I don't?"

  "I'm younger than you."

  "Three weeks, Lee. Besides, doing that would only put me in someone else's debt again, and I don't want that. I made my choice. It was the hardest one I've ever made. It's time to put it behind me and just keep moving forward."

  Lee reaches back over his shoulder and takes my hand, kissing it comfortingly. A waiter walks up and hands each of us a fantastically predictable coconut dotted with pink and blue umbrellas. Bless the beach resort gods. Lee slips the waiter a tip, but I notice there's no lascivious wink, and the tip is just folded cash and not also his room key. Charlie must be special. Lifting my head, I take a long sip from the straw in my coconut. Swallowing, I give Lee a strange look.

  "It's pineapple juice," I say.

  "On this vacation, it's five o'clock absolutely nowhere."

  "Why?"

  "Not that I don't trust you... but I don't trust you. Devastating life changes and fancy tropical drinks aren't a good combination."

  I shrug as I take another sip of my pineapple juice.

  "Probably a good call." Staring out over the ocean glowing pink in the sunset doesn't feel completely real. "I'm surprised at you, by the way," I say after a long pause.

  "People usually are, but why in this particular situation?"

  "When you said you were going to bring us on vacation, so we weren't in the city on the deadline for the theater, I figured it was a distraction thing. I expected something rowdy and potentially nudity-based, not a secluded beach resort with pineapple juice."

  "I've matured, Alice. And gotten boring, like people do when they fall in love." As soon as the words are out of his mouth, he realizes what he said. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…"

  "No," I insist, shaking my head. "It's fine. Really. I like hearing you talk like that. It makes me happy you finally found someone you feel that way about and can see a future with. I just can't ever imagine getting boring with Dean."

  "You're still thinking about him, aren't you?"

  "Of course, I am. I've never stopped. Everything was so perfect. That should have told me something was wrong. Nothing is ever that good."

  "It can be."

  "Not for me, apparently."

  Lee drops it, but I know he has more to say. He's just biding his time.

  That hammock becomes my world for the next few days. When I'm not sleeping in my hotel room, I'm out here, letting the breeze swing me back and forth and staring out at the different colors of the ocean. I don't dare add to the swinging. My stomach still has a constant level of queasiness that isn't helped by movements of the hammock any more intense than the gentle sway. Lee has tried to lure me into some of the activities of the resort, but after every conga line and limbo contest, I find my way back here. Not wanting his trip to be dragged down by me, I told him to go enjoy himself, but the fact that I can see him walking toward me down the beach in giant sunglasses and a floppy hat as he stares at his phone tells me he probably didn't attend the kayaking excursion this morning.

  "Decided against hitting the water?" I ask.

  "Too aggressive. You up for a merengue class later?"

  "I don't think so. I'm exhausted."

  "All this relaxation and doing absolutely nothing will d
o that to you."

  He sits on the edge of my hammock, and I wriggle to give him enough room to prevent him from toppling backward.

  "What are you looking at?"

  "Who is this person?" he asks, showing me the screen and the image of a mundane-looking man in a suit.

  "I don't know."

  He pulls the phone back and does something on the screen then shows it to me again.

  "How about now?"

  The man is now holding a drink and smiling a little too wide. There are a few decorations behind him, and I'm assuming he's at a party, likely something for work.

  "Still don't know."

  A second later, Lee shoves a third picture in front of my face. Now the man has his arm around a woman in a slinky fuchsia dress that looks to be little more than a length of thin fabric secured at her hip with a bejeweled brooch. She makes something spark in the back of my mind, but I don't know why.

  "Now?"

  "Nothing. Do you know who it is?"

  "Micah Johnson, head of acquisitions."

  "For Dean's company," I answer.

  Lee nods.

  "This is our Q."

  "No. Dean dug into everything. He's not the one who sent the messages." I turn the phone toward me again. "Who is that woman? She looks really familiar."

  Lee shrugs.

  "I'm guessing his date. These are pictures from an office party a few months back. Speaking of which, did you know that the main headquarters of DreamMakers, Inc. isn't too far from here?"

  I sigh.

  "Lee, what are you trying to do?"

  "I'm not doing anything."

  "You're scheming. For reasons I can't possibly figure out."

  "I'm not scheming. It just seems like an interesting coincidence."