Second Time Around

by Nancy Moser

  She shut her textbook with a slap, causing Bruce to look back at her. Money and guilt. It always came down to those two factors with Daddy. He held her captive with her need for money and his need for her. What was that line from a song in Cabaret? “Money makes the world go around…”

  She found herself doodling. The word Mother curved around a heart. A heart? Symbolizing love? And her mother? She scratched out the picture. Yes, her mother had suddenly reappeared in her life. Yes, she seemed to genuinely care for her. But love?

  What was love? Did her father love her?

  She looked at Bruce. He winked at her and she looked away. Bruce certainly didn’t love her.

  No one did.

  The teacher came in. Time to think about facts and figures. That was fine with her. Those things were tangible. Measurable. They offered a right or wrong answer.

  Unlike love.

  Vanessa heard the phone ringing from the hall. She ran into her dorm room and caught it. “Hello?”

  “You’re out of breath. Are you all right?” It was her mother.

  She sat on the bed. “I was fine until I sprinted for the phone.”

  “Sorry. Next time I’ll wait until you’re home.”

  If nothing else, her mother could make her smile.

  “Actually, you wouldn’t want to miss this call because I’m issuing an invitation. To my house. Tonight.”

  But it’s Friday. I have to go home. Daddy’s expecting me.

  “Don’t answer until I give you the whole scoop. I have good reasons that could trail up a chalkboard and down a wall. Just listen. Promise?”

  Vanessa fell back onto her pillow. “I’m listening.”

  “Number one, you and I have five years of bonding to make up for. Number two, I would like you to see my pad.”

  “Your pad?”

  “Hey, if The Dating Game can talk about bachelor and bachelorette pads, so can I. I’m single, you know.”

  I know.

  “On to reason number three. I make great fondue. Just got a new pot with all those little forkie-dealies.”

  “Forkie-dealies?” Her mother’s vocabulary was making her a parrot.

  “Reason number four is that I’m also inviting two lovely friends. I’d really like you to meet some of the people who populate my life.”

  Whoopee. Gangs of fun. “Anything else?”

  “Actually, yes. We need a fourth for Pitch.”

  “Aha. The real reason comes out.”

  “I left it for last.”

  Vanessa laughed. It was a foreign experience. That fact made her say, “Yes. I’ll be there.”

  She’d go see Daddy tomorrow.

  Dawson—1987

  Lane didn’t want to go home for dinner. She didn’t want to face her parents, and especially not Grandma Nellie’s disappointment. She’d snuck out of the house before. If only she could sneak in.

  Toby pulled up front. “You want me to go in with you?”

  “Instead of me would be good,” she said.

  “You shouldn’t be afraid of your grandma. She’s just a bitty thing.”

  Lane snickered. “Bitty with a bark. You’ve heard her.”

  He nodded. Anyone who spent much time at the Holloway house had heard Grandma go off on one thing or another. Not that she wasn’t usually right, but she did have a way of stopping the world and making it listen.

  The front door opened and Grandma came outside. She stood on the stoop, her arms crossed.

  “Uh-oh,” Toby said.

  Lane took a deep breath and got out.

  “I’ll wait.”

  “You’d better not.” She shut the door and headed up the walk. Toby drove away.

  “He’d better drive away,” Grandma said. “How dare he talk you out of fulfilling your God-given destiny.”

  Lane tried to brush past her, but Grandma barred the door—all four-foot-ten of her. “I made the decision, Grandma. Not Toby.”

  She pointed in the direction Toby had driven. “When are you going to see he’s not the man—and I use the term loosely— for you?”

  Lane scuffed her toe on the stoop. “I love him. My future’s here. With him. This is my home.”

  Grandma stepped aside. “Then go on in, Miss Dawson, USA. Go eat your lefse, lutefisk, and spritz cookies; marry your childhood sweetheart; and play the lead in the high-school plays with their cardboard sets and hand-me-down costumes. But don’t come crying to me when that dream of yours takes over your gut and makes you ache with maybes. You make many decisions like you did today and you’ll wind up without any maybes. Just could-a-beens.”

  Grandma went in first, leaving Lane on the edge of the threshold. On this side sat the world, weaving its cords around her, teasing her, ready to pull her away into the unknown. The exciting unknown? On the other side was home and everything she knew. Inviting. Welcoming. Sure. Constant.

  Her mother appeared. “There you are. Come in. Dinner’s ready.”

  Lane stepped inside.

  “Mother Nellie, if you bang your glass any harder on the table, it’s going to break into a hundred pieces.”

  Grandma Nellie glared at her daughter-in-law. “Then we’ll just have to buy another jar of jelly, won’t we?”

  Lane’s dad slapped a hand on the tablecloth. “Mother, that’s enough. We know you’re mad at Lane, but that’s no reason to insult Joyce.”

  Grandma pointed her fork at him. “It’s partly your fault she didn’t go to the audition.”

  “My fault?”

  “Grandma, don’t…” Lane hated when they fought.

  As usual, Grandma ignored her. “You and Joyce are so intent on sticking around Dawson—no matter what—that you can’t see that others need to get out. Escape.”

  Lane’s mom laughed nervously. “You make Dawson sound like a prison.”

  “A prison of dreams. That’s what it is.”

  “You’re exaggerating, Mother. Dawson is a wonderful place to live. Sure, it’s going through tough times now because of farm prices, but we’ll get through this depression like we got through the last one. And you should talk. You’ve lived here your entire life.”

  Grandma sat back in her chair. “The prison bars are high.”

  Lane’s dad threw his napkin down. The corner of it dipped into his gravy. “Are you saying you have regrets about living here?”

  Grandma looked across the table at Lane. “Plenty.”

  Lane was shocked. She’d always thought Grandma was so hip on her “No regrets” line because she had none. To find out the opposite…

  Her mother pointed at the soiled napkin. “John, your napkin.”

  He picked it up and wadded the soiled spot to the inside. “Life has enough hurts without searching them out. Talent or no talent, I”—he looked at his wife—“we think Lane made a good decision by not going to the audition. It was a huge gamble. One she couldn’t win.”

  Couldn’t? Lane’s heart dropped. Wouldn’t maybe, but couldn’t?

  Grandma came to her defense. “Don’t you dare tell this darlin’ child ‘couldn’t.’ I will not have you stifling Lane’s prospects like you’ve done your own.”

  He pushed his chair back. “You don’t approve of what I’ve done with our life here?”

  Grandma crossed her arms and huffed.

  Lane’s father’s face reddened. “You think I wanted to sell the family farm? You think I wanted to move to town? I had no choice…”

  When the shouting continued, Lane ran from the table and up the stairs, slamming her bedroom door behind her.

  At the tap on the door, Lane pulled her face out of her pillow. “Go away.”

  “It’s me. Brandy.”

  Lane let her best friend in, then lo
cked the door behind her and sat on the bed, pulling a teddy bear into her lap. Brandy took up residence at the foot. “Toby told me you didn’t go to the audition.”

  “Did he call you?”

  She shook her head. “He came to Burgers-to-Go.”

  “Great. Then I suppose everybody knows.”

  “Pretty much. But why didn’t you tell me you’d changed your mind?”

  “I didn’t plan on not going, it just happened. Grandma was there waiting to drive me, but then Toby was there and… I chose Toby.”

  She shook her head. “You’re crazy. You shouldn’t give up your dream for anyone, especially a guy.”

  “But… you wouldn’t understand.”

  “Thanks a lot.”

  Oops. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

  “No, you’re right. I’ve never had a boyfriend, so how could I possibly understand sacrificing my entire life for one? Wasting my talent to make some boy happy?”

  “We love each other.”

  “Hmm.”

  “We do.”

  “As you said, I wouldn’t understand.”

  “Brandy, don’t.”

  Her friend grabbed a Seventeen magazine and flipped through it. “What you don’t seem to get is that no one wants you to be a movie star, much less believes you can do it. No one except me and your grandma.”

  She suddenly felt sick to her stomach. “I should have gone.”

  “If it makes you feel better, you could zero in on the fact that it was a huge long shot.”

  “Double huge.” Lane tossed the bear aside and went to the window. Some kids were riding their Big Wheels on the sidewalk.

  “You have been schitzo about it, wanting to go one minute, being scared the next. Maybe that proves you’re not ready to make it in Hollywood.”

  “Stars get nervous, too.”

  Brandy wrapped a strand of black hair around a finger. “I can’t imagine Sigourney Weaver or Sissy Spacek being nervous. Ever.” She grinned. “If Sigourney was scared, she wouldn’t be able to blast all the aliens.”

  Lane’s drama teacher had told her nerves were a part of acting. No one became someone else without being nervous. And if you learned how to use it right, it could actually help a performance.

  Brandy came to the window and put her hand on Lane’s shoulder. “Don’t sweat it. That audition’s over. Move on. Meanwhile, want to go to a movie in Canby? I hear they’re showing The Living Daylights. Timothy Dalton is the new Bond.”

  Sure. What else did she have to do?

  Later that night, after watching James Bond save the world from the KGB, Lane finished her algebra homework. Or tried to finish it. Her mind was busy with what-ifs, and the audition flyer kept making its way to the top of her papers.

  This would have been the night after her audition. Would she have been home, giddy because she’d done well, or curled in a ball in bed because she’d blown it? Either way, she wouldn’t be doing algebra.

  She shoved her binder off her desk. Who needed algebra anyway?

  You might. If you don’t become an actress.

  She laughed. If she didn’t become an actress, if she stuck around Dawson, there was still a chance she’d never need algebra. Especially if she kept her job at the dime store.

  The thought of being forty and cutting fabric swatches for old ladies wanting to match some ancient sweater to a piece of gabardine, or stocking shelves with fuchsia silk flowers and Cover Girl lipstick made her cringe.

  I want a family. I’ll be a mom. My parents expect it. Everyone expects it.

  She flipped off the reading light and gathered the papers that had come out of her fallen notebook. A green piece caught her eye, and before she even turned it over she remembered what it was. Romeo and Juliet auditions. Wednesday, March fourth.

  Her heart flipped. March fourth was tomorrow. Up until a week ago she’d planned to try out, but when Grandma had convinced her to go to the Hollywood audition she’d set the notion aside.

  She smoothed the paper on her desk. If she couldn’t be a little fish in a big pond, she’d be a big fish in Dawson.

  Bar Harbor—1958

  David dabbed his mouth with a napkin. “You’re a lucky man, Mr. Stephens.”

  The elderly gentleman sipped his coffee. “And why do you say that, Mr. Stancowsky?”

  “Your wife has outdone herself.” He turned to Mrs. Stephens. “I believe this was the best breakfast casserole I’ve ever had. You’ll have to give Millie the recipe.” He nodded at Millie, who’d been rudely quiet. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Millie?”

  She nodded.

  She still wasn’t acting normal. She’d tossed and turned all night—not that he’d slept well in the chair. And she’d barely said three words during breakfast.

  Oh well, once they were on the road heading home, she’d snap out of it. And he had a wonderful surprise planned for the afternoon. The seamstress David had hired was expecting them to come to her home to see the designs and fabric selection for the wedding dress. David had spent a lot of time coordinating with the woman, making sure the dress would be perfect. Millie would be so surprised.

  Mrs. Stephens stood to clear. “You let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you before you check out,” she said.

  “Thank you. We will.”

  David rose and pulled out Millie’s chair. “Let’s get our things together and we’ll be on our way.”

  Mrs. Stephens paused at the door to the kitchen. “Oh. I nearly forgot. There was a message left for Miss Reynolds last night. You were already in… indisposed, so I didn’t want to disturb you.”

  Millie’s eyes lit up. “Where is it?”

  Mrs. Stephens set the dirty dishes back on the table. “I’ll get it for you.”

  “I’ll come with you.”

  David started to follow the women when Mr. Stephens said, “I sure have enjoyed talking with you, Mr. Stancowsky. To think that we both fought for our country. Me in Germany and you in Korea.”

  Yes, yes, they’d been through this. “I really need to go with Millie—”

  The old man patted the table near David’s chair. “My wife will take care of her. My, my, you are an attentive one, aren’t you? I promise she’ll be all right out of your sight for five minutes. Now sit.”

  Though David didn’t like the man’s insinuating tone, he had no choice but to comply. If only Mr. Stephens’s voice weren’t so horribly loud, he might be able to hear what the women were saying in the check-in area. As it was, he could see only a smidgen of Millie’s back as she stood at the counter.

  “What was your unit again?”

  In the silence of the pause, David heard Mrs. Stephens say, “A handsome man with curly red hair. Mid-twenties.”

  “Oh,” Millie said. “Thank—”

  “Your unit, Mr. Stancowsky?”

  David heard the sound of paper being torn. He popped up from his chair, nearly toppling it. “We really have to be going.” He hurried to the entry in time to see Millie press some torn paper into Mrs. Stephens’s palm.

  “Millie!”

  She swung around, then headed up the stairs. “Let’s get our things together, David.”

  David watched as Mrs. Stephens retreated to the kitchen. He wanted to run after her, grab the note, and read it. But Millie backtracked down the stairs and slipped her arm through his. She gave him her first smile of the morning. “David darling? Come on. Don’t we need to go? You said you had a surprise for me.”

  They headed upstairs. “What was the note?”

  “Oh, nothing,” she said. “I lost an earring at that cute gift shop yesterday and the proprietor dropped it by with a note. See?” She opened the palm of her hand, revealing a gold earring. The other one was on her ear. He h
adn’t noticed she was wearing only one earring at breakfast. And why would she wear only one earring to breakfast?

  “You asked Mrs. Stephens what he looked like.”

  They reached the hallway upstairs. “I hadn’t paid any attention to the names of the stores. I wanted to know—”

  “Handsome with red curly hair, mid-twenties. I don’t remember any clerk looking like that.”

  He felt the slightest hesitation in her walk. They’d reached her room. “Neither do I. Maybe it was the owner’s son.” She kissed his cheek. “Let’s get going.”

  Something wasn’t right.

  Seamstress and wedding-dress designer Lydia Peters had asked to meet with David and Millie at her lake house on Lake Wassookeag, forty minutes west of Bangor. The fall leaves were past their prime and the rain had forced many of them off their branches. The cabin was painted gray, and window boxes accented the exterior. The lake sparkled thirty feet out the back.

  “This is charming, David,” Millie said. “But why are we here?”

  “My surprise, dear one.” He opened her car door and took her hand, helping her out.

  Mrs. Peters met them at the door. “Come in, come in. Thank you for coming out here. We’re just closing things up for the winter.”

  Inside, the house was paneled in wood. A fire in a potbelly stove created the much-needed heat. “Oh, this is lovely,” Millie said, as Lydia moved them into the main room. “If this were my place I doubt I would ever leave.”

  “We have no choice,” Lydia said. “It was only built as a summer camp. The pipes will freeze.”

  Millie smiled and did a three-sixty, stopping with her eyes on David. “So…?”

  David nodded to Lydia. “Go get it.” To Millie he said, “Sit. Sit here.”

  Lydia went into a bedroom and returned with a big artist’s sketch pad and fabric draped over her arm. She stood before Millie and flipped the cover of the pad, revealing a rendering of the dress. “It’s a replica of Jackie Kennedy’s dress. You know the dress she wore when she and Senator Kennedy married five years ago? Notice the portrait neckline and the bouffant skirt that’s decorated with the interwoven bands of tucking. We could do wax flowers like she did, but that would add considerably to the cost.” She looked at David.