I try to focus on the question, but all I can think is He’s holding my hands! In his inner battle between Chelsea and me, did he just pick me? “Um . . . that’s why my mom was here. She’s been . . . uh . . . free for some time now, so she decided she would stop by for a visit and take me with her for the weekend. The Scotts wouldn’t let her, but pretty soon they won’t have a choice.”
“She can’t just take you like that, though, can she?” Charlie’s frown is fierce. “You want to stay with the Scotts, right?”
My chest tightens. Yes, I want to stay with the Scotts. And yes, I want to be with my mom. At least I’m pretty sure I do.
“I’ll finish up the school year here. Millie says my mom is in the process of being evaluated by the state to see if she’s fit to regain custody, and apparently things are moving quickly.” Too quickly. By the time summer break starts, I could be on my way back to my mom.
“What can I do?” Charlie asks.
How about never let my hands go. Tell me there is no other girl you’d rather gaze at than me. Never look at Chelsea again. And offer me half your fries.
“Nothing.” I force a smile. “There’s nothing any of us can do.”
“How do you feel about all of this?”
I lift my shoulder in a shrug. “It doesn’t matter, I guess. If the state says I go, I go.”
He leans in. “Katie, I want you to know no matter what — ”
“Hey, Charlie.” Chelsea sashays our way, stopping next to Charlie. Her eyes narrow. “Hi, Katie.”
Charlie drops my hands, and I rest them in my lap. “Hey.” Perfect timing. It’s like she has some homing device that goes off every time Charlie takes a step in my direction.
“I was wondering if I could talk to you.” Chelsea strikes a tragic pose, clutching her Aquafina and her Coach bag. “Please?”
They hold a quiet conversation, as if I’m not even there. Hey, Chels, I’m sorry you broke your nail and all, but I was just telling Charlie how I have real problems.
She straightens. “I’ll call you later, okay?”
She walks away before Charlie can answer. He faces me, a light blush on his cheeks.
I hold up my hand. “I don’t even want to hear it.”
“No, it’s not what you — ”
“Forget it. I don’t want to know.”
“Come on, don’t be like that.”
My mouth drops. “She is so manipulating you. Are you blind?”
“She’s not manipulating me. She really does have some major stuff going on.”
I snort. “Then tell me about it.”
He pauses, as if he’s considering it. “I promised her I wouldn’t.”
I stand up and throw my food back into my bag. “Well, I’m glad she has such an honorable friend.” I walk off, with one last glare over my shoulder. “See you later.”
I WAVE AT FRANCES AS SHE drives away, leaving me in the parking lot of the Valiant. I work here some days after school. I used to work here for punishment. Now I hang out at the theatre because I love it. It’s like my home away from home. Er, away from home.
I open the door and step into the Art Deco lobby. I can’t imagine not being able to see the Valiant as often as I want to. Can’t imagine life without any more chances to perform on the stage beyond those double doors. Sometimes I feel like I was raised in the wrong family. Like the Scotts’ kooky daughter should’ve belonged to my mom and I should’ve been raised a Scott. Life here just seems to be such a good fit. So right.
God, why do I have to leave? Why did you even bring me here, just to jerk me back out again? It’s going to be so painful leaving James and Millie, Maxine, Sam, my friends. Why are you doing this to me?
I fling open the doors and step into the theatre. I inhale the scent that is the Valiant — a mixture of wood polish, set paint, and a distinct smell that comes from something only as old and historical as this building. A cool old, you know? Not Great-grandma’s mothball collection old.
Walking down the center aisle, I notice Sam Dayberry sitting in the first row. He’s talking on the phone. His voice gets louder. Angrier.
“I’ve called you all day long. Where have you been?”
I stop in my tracks. Should I stay? Should I go? I don’t want to eavesdrop.
Oh, who am I kidding? Of course I do.
“Now, Maxine, you hold on just a minute, there . . . Now, see here . . . Forcing you into marriage? Where did you get that blasted idea?”
I hold my breath, frozen in my spot. I strain to hear every word, even the ones bursting through the phone from my foster grandmother.
“What? Well, I never said I expected you to cook and clean for me. Where is this coming from? Now, just a minute . . . I’ve had about enough of your dramatics. Yes, I said dramatics! You’ve been hinting for months you wanted an engagement ring. I buy you one and propose, and you go stone cold loco. Yes, I said crazy!”
More shouting erupts from the phone. Sam holds it away from his ear.
“What do you mean you didn’t get a proper proposal? We’re in our seventies, what do you want me to do, skydive? I’d break a hip!”
Sam’s neck is red and splotchy. I hope he doesn’t get so worked up he has a stroke or something. I had CPR in health class, but I totally don’t remember it.
“If you think I’m no longer good enough, then go find someone else. Nobody else will put up with your craziness like I do.”
Oh, no. No, Sam. Do not issue Maxine a challenge. You do not want to do that.
“What do you mean you were doing me a favor by agreeing to marry me? I happen to be the catch of our geriatric community. What?” Sam pauses and listens. “Now that’s just insane. You don’t mean that.”
I step closer.
“See other people?”
What? No, Maxine! What are you doing?
“Fine. We’ll see other people if that’s the way you want it. Good luck finding someone to date you. You and all your personalities.”
And he snaps his phone shut, the sound echoing through the theatre with a heavy finality.
Sam stands up, grabs his handkerchief from his pocket, and swabs his forehead. He rips his cap off his head and swivels around.
And sees me.
Standing there like a total idiot.
“Uh . . .” I search for the right thing to say. Something intelligent. Something comforting. “What’s new?” So not it.
He shuffles out of the row and stomps his way to me. “What’s new? I’ll tell you what’s new. The world Maxine wakes up in every day is new. I don’t know what I’m gonna get from her from one day to the next. I’ve had it.”
“Now, Sam — ”
“I mean it, Katie. I’m too old for her soap opera tactics. I can’t take it.”
“But you love her.”
His mouth stretches into a grim line. “She doesn’t care. She’s got some bee in her bonnet, and until she realizes I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to her, it’s hopeless.”
“No, it’s not hopeless. You guys are such a cute couple. You’ve been chasing her for years. Don’t give up now. You know she’s just having one of her fits. She wants you to pull out the big guns, romance her, woo her back, make a big fuss over her.” I hear the panic in my voice. Everything is falling apart — even Maxine and Sam.
“My fussing days are over, kid.” Sam tries to step around me, but I throw out my hands and halt him.
“She’s just scared. You gotta talk to her.”
“Scared? What’s she afraid of? I’m the one marrying Mad Maxine. If anybody has the right to be running scared it’s me.”
He’s got a point there. Maxine is infamous in this town for her antics.
“Sam, please, call her back. Say something sweet to her. Take her out to dinner. Buy her some chocolate.”
“It’s too late.”
“No, it’s not, it’s — ”
“She brought me this today.” Sam digs into the pocket of his worn khakis. His ro
ugh hands pull out a diamond ring. “Maxine broke off the engagement.” He hangs his head. “It’s over.”
I close my eyes and seethe.
Katie and Maxine — two losers in love.
Chapter seven
TUESDAY AFTERNOON, TWO HOURS BEFORE Charlie is supposed to pick me up for our evening out (I hesitate to call it a date, much like I once hesitated to call him my boyfriend), Brian Diamatti, aka Joey Farmer, my mystery man, pops up on IM.
“Hey, Katie. My grandpa gave me your e-mail addy. Wanted to introduce myself and say I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to cancel for Thursday night.”
I feel a mix of relief and alarm.
“OK,” I type. “Nice to sorta meet you. Are we still on for Friday night?”
His reply is instant. “I can’t wait.”
Funny, I can’t say the same. “How will I know you?”
“Sending you a pic right now. Don’t judge me too harshly. ”
As I wait for his picture to show up in my in-box, we make some final plans to meet at my house instead of the party so we can do our first meeting in private, and not under the scrutiny of Charlie and Chelsea. Plus, I’ll have Frances and Nash meet us, so we can all ride together — in case he is an ax-murderer, I want to be in good company. Or as Frances warned, in case he’s a total dork.
I click open his e-mail attachment. Ohhh, very nice. No dork here. In fact, my Italian stallion looks a lot like Orlando Bloom. Score! Eat that, Charlie Benson. Maybe Frances’s ploy wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
“See you Friday night.” I know any other girl on the line with Orlando’s stunt double would keep him talking, but I just don’t feel like it. Maybe when I meet him there will be some spark, some flare of attraction that will capture my attention and erase all thoughts of Charlie from my mind.
Not that today wasn’t nice. Charlie sat with me at lunch again. Chelsea had some appointment and checked out (probably had to get her brows waxed), so she wasn’t around. It was just Charlie and me, laughing, talking about school and people at church. No weird tension, no bubbling anger over his secrecy and Chelsea-allegiance. Who knows, maybe it’s the start of a new era for us. Maybe there is a shot at a relationship. I have to admit, I’m still totally head over Pumas for him.
Guilt tugs on my conscience.
I should e-mail Brian Diamatti and cancel for Friday night. I can’t bring another guy to Charlie’s party. Especially someone posing as a date.
I open up a blank e-mail and type in Brian’s address.
“Hey, Brian, I’ve had a change of heart. While I appreciate — ”
My bedroom door opens and bangs into the wall, rattling on its hinges.
Maxine enters the room, grabs the doorknob on the rebound, and with a slam, closes us in.
She speeds to her bed in her red high heels and slides across the comforter like it’s home plate. Maxine flops over with a dramatic sigh, scoots around till her legs are propped up on the wall and her head hangs over the edge.
I study her upside-down face. “So how was your day?”
She lifts her ruby lip in a snarl. “As if you don’t already know. Sam told me you were standing right there in the theatre, listening in on our conversation.”
I close out my e-mail. “Maxine, you were yelling so loud, I could’ve had my iPod cranked up full blast and stood next to an army of roaring B-52s, and I still couldn’t have avoided hearing you.”
“Well, no matter. Sam and I are done. Finished. Kaput.” With her yellow bob grazing the floor, she stares at the ceiling. “You’ve got cobwebs you need to sweep down.”
“You’ve got cobwebs in your — ”
“I just don’t understand what’s wrong with that man.”
Um, he has a psycho girlfriend?
“Engaged a matter of days, and the romance is already dead and gone.”
I push away from my desk in my rollie-chair. “Is that what this is about? You just want him to send you flowers more often? Write you love sonnets? Because that sounds like a stupid reason to kick someone like Sam Dayberry to the curb.”
Maxine’s heels do a little tap dance on my wall. “Katie, you don’t understand. I’ve waited a long time for Mr. Right Again. Mr. Simmons has been gone for fifteen years. He would want me to be with someone who cherishes me and adores me.”
“And Sam doesn’t?”
I watch Maxine study her French manicure; her face pinkens as the blood rushes to her head. Maybe it will reengage some brain cells and she’ll come to her senses. I love Maxine. I love Sam. And I love them together.
“I just don’t think he truly appreciates me. Anymore I feel like I’m just somebody he watches TV with. I’m someone to cut his chicken-fried steak. I don’t want that! I want to be the hot mamma who blows in his ear and — ”
“Okay!” I throw my hands over my ears. “Too much information here. Children present.” I mentally shove the image out of my head. “Sam is a good man. And he’s crazy about you. He worships you. Some people will go a lifetime and not have that. You’ve had that opportunity twice — with Millie’s dad and now with Sam.”
Maxine shrugs. “It’s probably just too soon since Mr. Simmons to get married again.”
“Fifteen years?”
With a grunt, she hoists herself upright and sits Indian-style on her bed. “Fifteen short years. It seems like only yesterday . . .” Her voice trails off as her mind wanders to some bittersweet place. “I don’t know, Katie.” She rights the out-of-place strands of hair. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
I smile. “Just give it some time. Pray about it.” Whoa, that sounded weird coming from my lips. Pray about it? I sound like a real Christian. “At least Sam isn’t hanging out with old girlfriends or anything.”
Maxine lounges back against the wall. “Like Charlie, huh? That rascal. Well, you show him what he’s missing tonight, sweet pea. You get all dolled up and smokin’ hot, and he’ll forget about Chancey . . . Shirley . . . Cheesy . . .”
“Chelsea. Her name is Chelsea. I don’t know that he’s capable of forgetting her. And I suspect he doesn’t want to.”
Maxine stands up and rubs her hands. “I guess you’ll have to convince him otherwise.” She winks. “Come on. Let’s do hair.”
And like a willing — yet desperate — victim, I follow my foster grandmother into the bathroom.
“HAVE I MENTIONED YOU LOOK great tonight?” Charlie opens the door to the Valiant, and I walk through, unable to contain my triumphant smile. His eyes again sweep my red and white retro sundress. And even though he’s probably oblivious to the finer details like my cool fifties-style headband and my red ballet flats, I know he appreciates the total package.
“Thanks.” He holds out his arm, and I loop mine through it, always excited to be amongst the buzz of the theatre crowd, but especially pumped to be spending alone time with this boy-wonder. “You’re looking quite fetching yourself.” Tonight he wears a crisp pair of khakis, just lightly faded, and a blue long-sleeve button-down, his cuffs rolled up to reveal his muscular forearms.
I bask in my happiness, blocking out all thoughts of my mom. Of leaving. Of Millie’s cancer. Of Sam and Maxine. And of She Whose Name I Will Not Utter Tonight. I wave and toss out hellos to towns-people I know and to fellow Valiant regulars like me. I pretend all is perfect in the world, and imagine behind everyone’s smile they think to themselves, What a lovely couple. How lucky they are. Oh, to be that girl.
Across the lobby I spot James and Millie and throw up my hand in greeting. They are in their Sunday finest for the opening night of the musical. The theatre is like their baby, and I’ve grown to love it as much as they do. It’s so much a part of us. Of me. I can’t imagine leaving it.
No, not gonna to think like that. Not this evening.
I lean into Charlie and breathe. Because tonight I’m this pretty boy’s girl, and I’m going to sweet-talk him into some popcorn.
Fifteen minutes later the lights flicker, signaling
it’s time to make our way in.
“I hope you got us good seats.” I grin up at my date and make a grab for the tickets. “Wow, box seats. My favorite.” But pricey. The seats that hang out over the sides in their own suspended box are reportedly where the In Between elite would sit. The dignitaries and old money of the town. And it’s rumored Charlie Chaplin himself once sat in one of the boxes.
“Love to make you smile,” Charlie says. And for a moment our eyes lock and everything stills. He moves in like he’s going to kiss me.
“Oh, excuse me.” A rotund man in a three-piece suit invades our space and our seconds of possibilities. The spell is broken.
Charlie takes a step back. “After you.” His hand at my back guides me up the stairs and to our seats, where we have a bird’s-eye view of the stage and all the theatre.
We sit down, smiling at those around us. His arm nestles next to mine on the armrest as the lights go down, and the opening chords of “The Hills Are Alive” trill from the orchestra pit. Chills race up and down my spine, and I sit up straighter, not wanting to miss a single thing when the curtains rise. There is no greater time in a play than the moment the curtains lift, revealing the first scene. There’s no feeling like it. It’s when everything comes together, and this whole world opens up right before your eyes.
“This’d better be good.” Charlie’s voice teases my ear, bringing me back to reality, where I realize his hand has slipped over mine. He gives it a squeeze.
I sit back, relaxing into my seat as Maria sings to her hills. I scan the faces of the audience in the glow of the stage lights. Looking back, I see the four seats behind us are empty. “That’s odd,” I say, my voice low. “Millie said the show was a sell out. I wonder why our box is half full?”
Maybe it’s a trick of the light, but I think I see something flash in Charlie’s eyes. He moves toward my ear as the singer’s volume rises.
I shake my head, unable to hear him. He opens his mouth again, but my hand on his shoulder stops his words. “Thank you.” I beam, and my eyes travel to the stage and back to him. “Thank you for tonight.”
His teeth look even whiter in the darkness of the theatre as his mouth spreads into a warm smile. Charlie rubs his thumb over my hand, then lifts his arm. I lean in so he can wrap —
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