Can’t Let You Go

by Jenny B. Jones

  “You’re not ready for the big time yet. Come back with me. Work with me. We’ll get you there.” His hand rested on top of mine. “Together.”

  “You really did a number on my head, Ian.” And he was still working it.

  He pulled the car into Maxine’s driveway. “You did a number on my heart.”

  “Seriously, where do you get this stuff?” My grip on lucidity was slipping by the second, and I couldn’t hold back the laughter. “Do you expect me to buy this crap now? I bought it for a year, and you know what? I’m not that girl anymore.” Indignation swelled within my chest. I was grateful for all the work Ian had done, but that didn’t erase the fact that he’d cheated on me. Made a mockery of me. And was waiting for me to fail. “I was that puppy Felicity is, following you around wherever you went, reacting to your every command. You know what? I don’t need you to make my career.”

  “Is that a fact?”

  “Yes. It is. There are hundreds of parts available on Broadway, and one of them could have my name on it.”

  “You’ll never make it without me.”

  “Maybe dating you did get me those roles, but I was good, Ian.”

  “Good doesn’t cut it in professional theater. Because for every audition you go on in which you’re good, a hundred girls will be there who are amazing.” Gone was the husky, come-away-with-me voice. “You want to go to Broadway? You’ll be starting at the bottom. As some walk on part with no lines, just like you began in London.”

  “But I did get to London.”

  “It’s a rough life. You’ve seen that. It will chew you up and spit you out, and only the strong can endure.” Ian propped his hand on my headrest. “And I don’t think that’s you.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Want to hear some truth? When I replaced you with Tiffany Meltzer, the London Times gave us a starred review. Our ticket sales went up twenty percent in five days. My other lead actors shined like never before. That’s what a real actress can do. She makes the show a hit. She makes those around her better. She romances her audience. What did you do? You ran across the stage shrieking at your ex-boyfriend. With a sold-out crowd.”

  I wanted to hurt him back, to deflate some of that egotistical air. But any sarcastic retort I might’ve had sputtered and failed at liftoff. His words were a guided missile, zeroing in on my every insecurity, following my confidence until it achieved total destruction.

  “Why did you really come to In Between?”

  “Because if I didn’t do some PR and humanitarian deed, I was fired. As in never working in the theater again.” His smile was a little crooked, a little sad. “And because I wanted to see you again. Might as well see you and get a tax write off in the same trip.”

  “Do catch me if I swoon.”

  “And because no matter how heartless you think I am, I felt badly for hurting you. Cheating on you with Felicity was a horrible thing to do. When I found out I was New York bound, I wanted to see you. I wanted to help, even if in some small way. It was my apology.”

  I’d had worse.

  “I didn’t expect to fall for your town. Your theater. Even your crazy grandmother.”

  “She infects everyone.” Much like influenza.

  Ian inclined his body toward mine. “I did see something in you, Katie. I saw a diamond in the rough, and I thought with the right opportunity, you could have star quality. Perhaps with the right tutelage and with time, you could still get to the top. Come to New York. I’ll work with you. We’ll get you a great coach, enroll you in acting lessons, and I can put in a good word for you with directors.”

  “Your faith in me is so bolstering.”

  “You’re a state university drama major. Your resume includes six months as an understudy and a few in a lead. If I had to guess, I’m betting you won’t even list your last few London roles. No, I don’t think you’ll make it without some connections. We all know how the theater works. It can be just as much about who you know as it is talent. Your talent might not be Broadway quality, but you’ve got me. I know people. Let me be the one who helps you.”

  I opened the car door, the dome light a glaring mimic of a spotlight. “Goodbye, Ian.”

  “Katie, wait—”

  “Maybe you’re right.” I set my feet on the pavement, wondering that I had the strength to stand. “Maybe I’m a made-for-cable movie actress in a sea of Oscars. But I don’t need you. If I can’t earn a role on my talent, then I don’t want it. I don’t want to be an actress so badly that I let someone use me—again. I won’t be your protégé, and I won’t have people whispering about me when I walk by.”

  “You’re making a mistake. My offer won’t last forever.”

  “Give it to some other poor, desperate girl. I was stupid to ever listen to you. Go home, Ian.”

  “You’ll never make it without me.”

  “Then I’m all the better for it.” I slammed the door, my heels hitting the driveway with an angry staccato. His headlights arced across the front porch as I heard his car back up, then finally drive away.

  I stopped at the front door and kicked off my shoes, then bent to scoop them into my hands.

  And that’s when I saw a scrap of yellow in the shrubs.

  “Maxine?”

  Nothing. Just the chirps and croaks of night and the distant hum of cars.

  I sighed loud enough to raise my bangs and tried again. “I have ice cream and hot fudge inside.”

  The bushes rattled, leaves shifted. And my grandmother stepped out like a Chanel-wearing Chupacabra.

  She dusted off her black slacks and picked a spiny piece of flora from her shoulder. “Just out on my neighborhood watch.” She spit out a bit of mulch. “Don’t worry. The place looks secure.”

  “I assume you heard all that.”

  “Just the parts where you were yelling.”

  I stared up at the moon with watery eyes. “Ian said I was a mediocre actress.”

  “Frank Sinatra once said I’d never master the high kick, but who’s laughing now.” She proceeded to demonstrate just how wrong Blue Eyes had been. “Yep, still got it.”

  Standing on my grandmother’s front porch, I laughed for the first time in days.

  “Hon, you just gotta decide.”

  “On?”

  Maxine slipped her arm around me and hugged. “If your fear’s gonna be bigger than your faith. You can either dream it. . .or fear it. But either way, Sweet Pea—it’s never going to let you go.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “You look beautiful.”

  Frances took her ivory wedding bouquet from my hands, her smile wobbly.

  We had dressed in a side room down the hall from the sanctuary at the In Between Community Church. I wished James could’ve have been there to marry Frances and Joey. I wished James could’ve been there just to talk to. I had spoken to him via the computer days ago, updating him on the Thrifty Co. buyout, but he’d had little to say other than, “I’m sorry.” When I’d pushed about an appeal, he’d gone silent, the answer in his apologetic face. “We’ll talk about it when I get home,” he’d said. But I knew there was no hope in our family taking on the company by ourselves. I had to push that out of my mind. Because today one of my best friends was getting married.

  “The dress is perfect,” I said, earning a beaming smile from Frances’s mother.

  Frances turned to a large mirror we’d brought in and looked at the bride staring back at her. “My parents pushed their cultures on me so hard all my life, and I wanted to be like the other kids in In Between—all American. But I’m not. I’m a blend of two amazing families and histories. It feels right to wear my mother’s dress.” The fitted red dress showed off Frances’s willowy curves, and the bold colored threadwork complemented the regal peacock pattern.

  “I’m proud of where we come from,” Frances said.

  I had no idea why, but tears sprang to my eyes. I had been a weepy mess in the last few days, and today was only going to offer
more tearful opportunities.

  “I’m my Chinese mother’s daughter.” Looking like a member of royalty, Frances held her chin high. “My Mexican father’s first born.” She gave a watery grin. “And Katie Parker’s best friend.” Not caring about wrinkles, Frances hugged me fiercely. “Thank you. Thank you for always loving me for me.”

  I choked back a sob. “Oh, Frances. You were my first friend here. The one who didn’t care that I dressed like the bride of Dracula and spewed venom on anyone who tried to be nice to me. You changed my life.”

  Frances clasped my hands in hers. “The Valiant might be destroyed, but they’ll never steal your memories. Thrifty Co. can’t take away how that theater healed you or what it meant to your parents—to all of us. The Valiant will always live in you. It’s not about the building. You’re the Valiant, Katie.” She squeezed our hands, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Be valiant. Live its legacy.”

  I shook my head, pressing my lips together to hold back the flood. “I don’t think I can.”

  “You’ve got this. God brought you to us, to the Valiant all those years ago, knowing it would lead to this time in your life. The building might be destroyed, but what you put into it, what you gave to it never will be. I think the Valiant was just a starting point. Not just for you to turn your life around as a kid. But even now. You have the chance to turn it around again.” She hugged me again. “I believe in you. I believe in you, Katie Parker.”

  The makeup would have to be reapplied. I was wrecked. It was all just too much. Frances’s words, Charlie, my beloved theater being taken away forever, my best friend moving on in her life with a husband. All of it. God, I can’t do this. It’s too hard.

  “Promise me you won’t be one of those girls who gets married and leaves her old friends behind,” I said. “I need you in my life.”

  She nodded and swiped the dampness from her cheeks with white tipped nails. “Nothing can separate us.”

  A knock sounded at the door, and Frances’s dad peeked his dark head inside. Wonder filled his face at the sight of his beautiful daughter. Gone were the braids and pencils stuck in her hair. Gone were the Disney princess t-shirts and funny patterned socks.

  She was ready to walk down the aisle to the rest of her life. Leaving behind the last remains of childhood.

  I envied Frances for knowing what she wanted and who she wanted to experience it with.

  “Mi vida.” Mr. Vega tenderly held his daughter’s face in his hands and kissed both cheeks. “You look so beautiful. I’m so proud of you.”

  “Thank you.” She sniffed.

  “It’s time to go, mija,” he said. “Your moment is here.”

  “Okay, Daddy.”

  He then spoke soft words to his daughter in Spanish, bringing more tears from both Frances and her mother. Frances nodded and grabbed a nearby tissue, blowing indelicately. I didn’t know what he said, but just the way he said it had me nearly undone.

  “Let’s have a family prayer for Frances,” Mr. Vega said.

  I turned around, wanting to give them their time and busying myself with touching up my makeup.

  “Katie.” Mr. Vega held out his open hand. “We’re waiting for you.”

  Oh, my word. How I loved these people.

  “You are family.” Mrs. Vega grabbed my hand and placed it over Frances’s. “My sweet girls.”

  We bowed our heads, and Mr. Vega prayed for Frances and Joey, for God to bless them with many years and happy days. For health and wisdom and love.

  “Amen.” Mr. Vega gave his daughter her last kiss as a single woman. “Let’s get this show on the road!”

  The parents filed out, and I could hear the strains of an acoustic guitar. I slipped my feet into my high heels, and Frances and I exited the room and walked across the lobby to stand just outside the doors of the sanctuary. Charlie stood there, regal in his light gray three-piece suit and pink tie, like something out of a magazine. His parents stood beside him, and his little sister held a basket of rose petals, wearing a pink lacy dress.

  “You look amazing,” Charlie said to me.

  A wintery frost settled into my voice. “Thank you.”

  The guitarist began the first notes of Frances’s favorite love song, and Mr. Vega offered her his arm.

  “Are you ready?” he asked.

  Frances looked straight ahead. Nodded.

  Mrs. Benson took the arm of the first usher, a high school friend of Joey’s, as her husband followed them down the aisle. Another usher soon came for a beaming Mrs. Vega.

  Sadie Benson went next, throwing petals and grinning like a future beauty queen.

  Charlie gently took my hand and draped it over his forearm. Even through the layers of his suit, I could feel the warmth, the energy that only belonged to him.

  The ushers opened the double doors again.

  “This is us,” Charlie said.

  This is us.

  Charlie and I slowly walked, following the path of coral petals. I tried to imagine myself taking this long walk as a bride. Ian had offered me the opportunity. But when I thought about who might be waiting for me at the front of the church, there was only one face I saw.

  Charlie Benson’s.

  I smiled at some old high school friends and fellow church members. Sam and Maxine occupied the tenth row, and when we passed, my grandma looked Charlie up and down then gave me a discreet thumbs-up. Finally, we reached the altar, and Charlie’s fingers slid over mine as he lifted my hand from his, and we took our places on opposite sides of the associate pastor. Joey and his brother hugged, bringing an unbidden smile to my lips.

  The guitarist broke into the wedding march, and dresses swooshed as everyone stood to their feet for the bride.

  Frances glided down the aisle, her father smiling, but losing his battle against tears.

  I stole a glance at Joey, and my heart expanded in my chest.

  His face said it all.

  He loved her.

  This man of few words loved her. Not a fawning, game-playing adoration that I’d witnessed in Ian, but an awe-struck, I’m-drunk-at-how-much-I-adore-you love. Joey’s expression held joy and rapture, like he was seeing her for the first time. The same expression he would wear sixty years from now.

  “Wait.”

  The room froze at that one word from the bride.

  Oh, no.

  Frances stood mid-aisle, her feet immobile, as if captured in cement. Her father spoke feverishly in her ear, but Frances just shook her head, her updo bobbing.

  No.

  Oh, no, no, no.

  “I’m sorry,” she cried. “I. . .I don’t think I can do this.”

  A collective gasp nearly lifted the rafters.

  “Frances?” Joey took a step toward his bride.

  “No, please.” She held up her hands to hold him off. “We rushed this. It’s not right.” And then the most horrid of horribles happened.

  Because Frances Vega trained those dark brown eyes on her maid of honor.

  “Joey and I have made a colossal mistake.” She picked up the hem of her dress, a woman ready to run. “And Katie was right all along.”

  With that, Frances broke from her father’s arms and sprinted as hard has her heels would allow, right out of the sanctuary.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Like cinematic slow-motion, two hundred heads swiveled toward me.

  “What have you done?” Charlie’s words rang like buckshot in my ears.

  “I . . . I . . .” The gears in my brain stuttered and stopped. “I don’t know. I can fix this. I’ll talk to her.”

  “No—”

  But it was too late. I took off down the aisle, only tripping once on the hem of my dress. Chatter swelled all around me. People pointed. Dirty looks were thrown. Frances’s grandma flipped me double birds.

  But I kept running.

  As did Joey. He was right at my heels, and I feared he’d tackle me to the ground on his way to his bride.

  The blur that wa
s my best friend ran into the room we’d been in earlier and slammed the door.

  “Frances, let me in.” I pounded with the flat of my hand. “I mean it. I’ll break this door down.”

  “You have the arms of a ten year old boy,” she called. “Go away!”

  “Open this door, or I’m telling that whole congregation about the time you skinny-dipped at science camp!”

  The door flew open and Frances jerked me inside.

  She looked like a fury.

  “You need to take some deep breaths.” I used the voice one employed to talk a jumper away from the ledge.

  She tugged on the tight collar at her neck. “My gosh, I’m about to roast alive in this thing.” Like a hamster, she walked in fast circles, her heels grinding into the carpet. “I’m hot, I’m sweaty, and I need to get out of here.”

  “You need to sit down.”

  “I don’t want to sit.”

  “You need to get back out there.”

  “I don’t want to get back out there!”

  “You need some hard liquor and street drugs.”

  Frances stopped pacing.

  And laughed.

  My nerves had me giggling as well. “What in the world is going on?”

  Frances sank into a Sunday school chair and let her head rest on the back, staring at the veined ceiling. “You were right. I don’t know him. And Joey doesn’t know me.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “I can’t even take my cat. I love Mango. We’ve been together through so much. My first heartbreak. His mange phase. And now I can’t even eat a bowl of cereal in front of my soon-to-be husband. You know how I love my Toastie Oaties.”

  “I think you’re taking the intolerant part of lactose intolerant a little too far. I’m sure Joey won’t mind if you have some dairy.”

  “But what kind of wife would I be if I ate that in front of him?”

  “One who’s whole-grain satisfied?”

  “I’m being serious. We can’t even afford to be on our own. I’m terrified I’m going to be working so much, I’ll flunk out of the PhD program.”