Can’t Let You Go

by Jenny B. Jones

  “He’s great.” Her forehead wrinkled in a rare-sighted frown. “But he still hasn’t found a job in Cambridge. He’s pretty worried about it.”

  “And you?”

  “I’m a little concerned too. But it’ll work out, right?”

  “I’m sure it will.” Even I could hear the doubt in my voice.

  “Ladies, welcome back!” Vivi held out her arms like wings. “Your bridesmaid is here for her last fitting, correct?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Excellent. Right this way.” In a cloud of perfume, Vivi led me to the back where she retrieved the dress then guided me to a dressing room.

  “I’m excited to see the gown again,” Frances said.

  Vivi pulled my door shut. “It’s a lovely choice.”

  I shucked off my clothes, wishing I had thought to bring another shirt to change into. My Micky’s Diner tee didn’t seem quite worthy to be in the same store as thousand dollar dresses.

  I had managed to remember to bring my special strapless bra that was a cruel form of torture no female should have to endure. I slipped it on, then zipped myself into the dress as far as I could.

  I stepped out of the dressing room and onto the stage area in front of the three-way mirrors.

  “Gorgeous!” Vivi exclaimed. She had pins stuck in a tomato-like cushion banded to her wrist like a watch. She pulled the zipper the rest of the way up, then walked a full circle around me and back again. “I think the length is just right, don’t you?”

  “It’s perfect,” Frances said, all traces of gloom gone.

  I took a good look at myself in the mirror. The coral provided a nice contrast with my pale skin, but didn’t clash too badly with my red hair. The bra, though about as comfortable as a corset, was padded enough to make my chest look almost impressive. The empire waist accented the hourglass shape I had yet to lose on Loretta’s cooking, and the skirt fell in even, flowing pleats to the floor. I felt like a princess.

  “What do you think, Katie?” Frances asked.

  “I think it’s just right.” Nothing else in my life was—my relationship with Charlie, my career outlook, the fate of my Valiant. But this dress? “It’s exactly how it should be.”

  Minutes later, Frances and I walked toward the register, Frances with her smile back in place, and me with the coral dress in a garment bag over my arm. We passed a wall of wedding dresses, one more beautiful than the other.

  “Oh, look at this one.” Frances stopped at a lace strapless gown. “She must’ve just gotten this one in. Do you like it?”

  “It’s very pretty.” But an ivory A-line next to it caught my eye. My traitorous hands had a mind of their own and reached out to touch. It was total vintage chic. Sleeveless, but not strapless. Lace covering the satin bodice, with a tucked waist and a circular skirt that flared and stopped inches above the ankle. It wasn’t a dress for a long veil; no, this one needed a pert little fascinator with netting that peeked out to cover the face. This dress wouldn’t want to go to a formal church wedding, but rather a rustic setting, like a renovated barn or farm. Or my Valiant.

  “Try it on.” Frances lifted the dress from the rack. “Do it.”

  “No. Don’t be silly.”

  “Come on. It’ll be fun. It’ll give you something to do while I’m trying this one.” She handed me the gown. “You know you want to.”

  I did want to.

  One more costume change later, I again stepped in front of the mirrors, only this time looking like a bride.

  The dress was a size too large, but it was still a show stopper.

  “My gosh, you’re beautiful.”

  I looked up at the sound of the male voice, and the mirror showed Charlie standing behind me.

  I turned around, slightly horrified. Who wore wedding dresses if they weren’t a bride? Crazy people. The type who stalked men from the shrubbery and had a collection of restraining orders in their name. “I’m just killing time waiting for Frances.”

  But Charlie didn’t look frightened. No, he looked. . .enchanted.

  He came my way, his gaze taking in my every lacy part. He lifted my hand, then spun me in a slow turn, causing my heart to thud like a kick drum. “You should get that.”

  Every girl should be looked at like this once in their lives. Adoration. Admiration. Heat. Want. And something so much more.

  “I should get this for my Friday night trips to the library?”

  He kept my hand held lightly in his. “You’re stunning, Katie.”

  My breath caught at the reverence in his voice. The warmth in his eyes. “This old thing?”

  “Go out with me.”

  I blinked at the topic jump.

  “Go out with me tonight. Just you and me. Forget everything that’s going on. Forget how you want my head on a stake.” Charlie drew his hand along the edge of the neckline. “I want to see you.”

  “I’m. . .I’m busy.”

  “Doing what?”

  He had me so rattled, I couldn’t even think of a good excuse.

  “Well, hey, Charlie.” Frances saved me from sputtering and joined us at the mirror. “That dress did not work at all. Way too poufy.” She gave Charlie an enthusiastic hug. “What’s my future brother-in-law doing here?”

  Charlie seemed reluctant to take his focus off me, but he gave Frances an easy smile. “Picking up our ties. Joey got the wrong shade of pink, so Vivi had to order them for us.”

  “It’s very sweet of you to do that for him.” Frances grinned as she looked from me to Charlie, as if she had just happened upon a lovers’ tryst. “All rightie then, I’m going to go up front and settle up. See you outside. Take your time. Talk as long as you want. I’m in no rush.”

  Frances all but frolicked away, leaving me standing before Charlie in a wedding dress that would belong to someone else. Someone who had her life figured out.

  I took a small step back, my lips lifting in an embarrassed smile. “I probably smell like bacon and maple syrup.”

  There was that dimple in his left cheek. “Which makes you a man’s walking fantasy.”

  Well, then.

  He took a step closer, and the air around us seemed to still, like the electric pause before a warm summer storm. “You were saying we should go out tonight.”

  I strangely couldn’t recall anything I’d uttered since waking. “I believe that was your idea.”

  He considered this as he reached for my hand again. “It was a good one.”

  “So wedding dresses do it for Charlie Benson.”

  “Just when Katie Parker’s in them.”

  Reasons for not going anywhere with Charlie slowly began tapping on my conscience, whispering in my ear. “I should probably stay at home tonight. Get my plans finalized for Frances’s bachelorette party.” Work on my Thrifty Co. defense.

  “You gotta eat. And I have it on good authority a number of your provisions got waterlogged.”

  “I can go to the grocery store. Eat the stuff Millie left for me in the freezer.”

  “Spinach casserole?”

  “Don’t forget her famous beet loaf.”

  “You hate that stuff.”

  “True. But—”

  “I’ll pick you up at eight.”

  “I didn’t say I’d go.”

  He dared a quick kiss to my cheek, his lips lingering near my ear. “There will be pie.”

  “Make it seven-thirty.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  You’d have thought it was my first date.

  I spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning Millie’s house until finally retreating upstairs to get away from the roar of the fans. Surely everything was dry now. And anything that wasn’t had been ripped up to be replaced. The kitchen, dining, and living room looked like a battle zone. All because of one little water heater. James and Millie wouldn’t be home for well over a week, and I couldn’t wait. I was tired of our sporadic talks via their iffy internet connection, and if I ever needed their wise counsel, it was now.<
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  The head-banging band of butterflies in my stomach seemed to have forgotten we’d been out with Charlie many times before.

  Charlie.

  The man who made me weak in the knees and inspired unbidden thoughts of my own walk down the aisle, a white picket fence, and children who had his dimples and skin that turned a nice tan in the sun.

  Then there was the rising business executive. Who believed in a slash and burn approach to corporate expansion, with little care or thought to the lives left in the smoking ash. But what if he left the company? Was this thought dancing dangerously close to the but I could change him mentality that had ruined my bio-mom many times? I knew from her experience, the men never did change. You didn’t bring them up; they could only drag you down. If Charlie stayed with Thrifty Co., could I stand that? If we got together, how long before my resentment became a virus, a disease that took over, infecting every part of our lives?

  My doorbell rang at seven-forty-five. I checked my appearance one more time in the mirror and was mildly satisfied. My hair piled on top of my head in a messy bun, with stray tendrils falling near my cheek. I wore dark jeans and flats, with a floral tank top that showed off the bit of muscle I had developed from heaving trays at Micky’s. My lips shimmered with a shell pink gloss.

  The bell rang again.

  “Coming!” I scrambled down the stairs and opened the door. “I hope you brought the—”

  “Hello to you too.” Ian stood on my front porch, leaning one arm against the doorframe. “I love an enthusiastic welcome from a woman.”

  My face fell. “I thought you were Charlie.”

  “Ah, yes, your beloved. Your duplicitous, money-hungry beloved.”

  “I’ve shortened that endearment to sweetheart. Feel free to use it.”

  “Mind if I come in?”

  “Yes.”

  “Invite me inside anyway.”

  “Pretty sure that’s what Dracula said before sticking his fangs into his victims.” I held open the door and gestured inside. “Be quick,” I said as I led him past the first set of fans into James’s office.

  “I love what you’ve done with the place.” Ian sat in James’s overstuffed, comfy leather chair, his lean form not quite filling it the way Charlie had.

  “Was there something you needed?” I made a point of glancing at my watch. “Charlie will be here soon.”

  “I’ve called and texted you a dozen times.”

  “I’m sorry.” I settled into the chair opposite of Ian and ran my fingers over the faint scratches left like old love notes from the faithful dog our family had once loved and lost.

  “If you had bothered to check your messages, you’d know that we have quite the opportunity. Paul Schmidt, a board member of the National Endowment of the Arts, wants us to join him on a podcast called The Great White Way out of New York.”

  “I’ve heard of it.”

  “It reaches over one-hundred thousand people world-wide. It’s simply a matter of both of us calling in. It will air live, then be posted online for free download.”

  “The new attorney said your PR blitz was making an impact. Thrifty Co. offered everyone a new settlement.”

  “Are you taking it? Old theaters are a dying species. They should be used for their original intent, not to house local bands and antique stores. The Valiant is a work of art, and I’ve seen far too many theaters fall to—”

  “We’re not taking the offer. But the lawyer said our chances were not good.”

  “Then we’ll keep fighting. Though I will be continuing the battle from my flat in Manhattan.”

  “You’re leaving?”

  He nodded. “Soon. The producers want me to wait until after your court appointment.”

  “To get the ending to their story.”

  “Yes. But I find myself wanting to see this through as well.”

  “And Felicity? What does she want?”

  “She wants me in New York. Obviously she doesn’t understand what I’m doing here.”

  “Yeah, but none of us do.” Though I was through trying to make sense of it. I stood, and Ian followed suit. “I am grateful for the work you’ve done. Truly, it’s made a difference.”

  He seemed pleased with this and was still smiling when he reached for my hand, halting me just before we left the room. “You’re really over me, aren’t you?”

  “You expected to find me regretting my hasty break-up and miserable without you?”

  “I had hoped.”

  “You were right—we weren’t in a good place even before you cheated.”

  “So this Charlie fellow has really won your heart, has he?”

  Wasn’t that the million-dollar question.

  “I love him.” I hadn’t said it since the horrible flight out of Houston. But there it was, the truth that wouldn’t leave me alone, wouldn’t go away.

  “You love him despite the fact that he works for the enemy? Even though he’s a part of tearing down your Valiant and the businesses owned by your friends? Your town will never be the same when that store moves in. This idyllic community will just be another grave marker on the way to industrial spread.”

  A noise in the hall had us both turning.

  There stood Charlie, flowers in hand, his face wiped of expression. How long had he been standing there?

  “I knocked and nobody answered. So I let myself in.” Like Charlie had done a hundred times before.

  “I was just leaving,” Ian said.

  Charlie studied the two of us, close enough that suspicions could fit through the thin space between Ian and me. “Everything okay here?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Ian was giving me a progress report.”

  “On the Valiant.” I had seen that look on Ian before. It was his director’s face, the withering gaze he gave an actor when he’d committed a stupid, thoughtless mistake. “Your fiancée’s family business. A precious treasure she’s fighting to save. But I guess what she wants isn’t your priority.”

  “Everything about Katie is my priority.” Charlie straightened, drawing himself to his full height.

  “Right.” Ian did not back down, and doubt soured his features. “Because you’re engaged.”

  “Yes.” Charlie’s eyes were fierce on mine, and his next sentence sliced clean through me. “She’s the woman I’m going to marry.”

  The words were for Ian, but Charlie was sending the message straight to me.

  “She may be the woman you’re marrying, but at this time, she’s the woman you’re hurting. And I’m trying to help.”

  “I’m not going to explain my job to you, Attwood. I’m doing everything within my power to help.”

  “By lighting the match that burns her theater?”

  “All right, gentlemen.” There was so much truth to Ian’s accusations. And yet here I was with Charlie. “Back to your corners, please. Ian, send me the details, and I promise to call in for that podcast. Charlie—” The man looked like he was ready to introduce his fists to Ian’s face—“I heard dripping in the pantry. Would you please go check it out?”

  Charlie hesitated, his jaw set, but with one final scorching look at Ian, he walked away.

  “I’m sorry,” Ian said as he made his way back to the front door. “I just see you with him and. . .I go a little nuts I guess. I can accept that you’re done with me, but to see you with someone who hurts you—it’s too much. You deserve better than that. You should be with someone who respects the things you’re passionate about, who truly knows you.”

  Sticky humidity greeted me as I opened the door. “Goodnight, Ian. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

  I watched him get into his rental car, then pull out of my drive. With a tired sigh, I walked back into the kitchen where I found Charlie leaned back against the granite countertop, his arms crossed across his chest, the discarded bouquet lying next to the microwave. “What are these?” He held up the printout of auditions from Mrs. Hall.

  “Exactly what it looks like.” I had come in fro
m the garage this afternoon and thrown my purse and paperwork on the counter. “Why are you prowling through my stuff?”

  “So these are theater jobs? They’re dated. Do these come out every day?”

  I simultaneously wished for this conversation to end and that the water hadn’t ruined my hidden stash of Chips Ahoy. “Yes, there are websites you can check where shows post their jobs. It gives audition information. Mrs. Hall is apparently watching them for me. She thought I might be interested in a few.”

  “Are you?”

  I wanted to. Part of me wanted to throw clothes in a bag and fly to New York right now. I missed the stage. My heart ached to perform, to step into the life of someone else. To be part of an ensemble that worked and surfed the ups and downs of show business together. “No. I’m not going to any of those auditions.”

  “I’ll buy your plane ticket.”

  “I’m not going to New York.”

  “Chicago then.”

  “No.” Anger swelled like a wave ready to crest. “Just drop it.”

  “Is it because you’re afraid to fly? Because I’ll drive you.”

  “Let’s talk about that scene with Ian.”

  “I’d like to wipe the floor with his face. Is that what you’d like to discuss?”

  “He’s been a great source of help.” Surprisingly so.

  Charlie tossed the audition listings down. “Is there something going on between you two?”

  “Of course not.”

  “It looked pretty intense when I walked in.”

  Because we had been talking about how I loved you, you idiot. “He’s worried about me.”

  I expected that to relight his ire, but Charlie grew quiet. “I probably would be too,” he finally said. “But hurting you is the last thing I want. I need you to believe that.”

  “I’m trying. The evidence is kind of stacked against you.”

  He snaked out a hand and pulled me to him. “I know things look bad.”

  “Things are bad.”

  “If you remember, on your second day back in In Between I asked you to trust me. I’m asking again. Thrifty Co. is an enormous company. And there are lots of players in this buyout game.”

  My hands pressed against his chest for balance. “What does that mean?”