by Grea Warner
“Thanks,” he said plainly, and when he got nothing else from me, he moved on to the kids. “Sals, I’ll be there. Joel, save me a seat, okay?”
“I will!” the youngest Thompson gleefully yelled out.
“All right. I’ve gotta go. I love you guys.”
The kids repeated the sentiment back to their father. I did not. Instead, I smashed the patties down extra hard onto the hot skillet and hit the end call button.
***
Ryan slid into the empty seat next to mine just as I had done the third—or thirtieth—glance at my phone to see if he had texted and what time it was, since he was cutting it much too close to the opening curtain. He had promised he would be there, and I had always trusted his word. But, admittedly, I had started to doubt.
“Hey,” he breathed out a little heavily as I put my phone on silent and placed it back in my purse. “Did I miss anything?”
Immediate sass harpooned my thoughts. My feelings. You missed my feelings. That was what I wanted to say. But I let it go because a) it was a public place, b) his face seemed to match his shirt’s wrinkled arms as if they had been tugged back and forth all day, and c) I knew I was guilty of the missed-feelings sentiment, too. My morning in the empty coffee shop had helped me not only sort out sugar packets but also my thoughts.
“No,” I said. “But it’s ready to start.”
I handed Ryan his program after he placed the bouquet he had been carrying on the empty seat on the other side of him. Sure, I wished they were for me. But I knew better. It wasn’t necessarily because I didn’t think he would do something like that as an apology, but because we had talked about him getting something for Sallie’s performance.
“She’ll be tickled by those.” I nodded at the flower arrangement and couldn’t help but get at least one jab in. “I’m glad you could squeeze that into your schedule.”
He either didn’t detect my sarcasm or chose to ignore it. Knowing Ryan and his incredible understanding of how I ticked, he most likely knew the truth. “And Ella didn’t help send them.”
I squinted at him, having wondered for the month-plus. “My magnolias?”
“It was my idea,” he quickly confirmed, as if I was going to be mad about it. “She just was the one who coordinated with a florist in Carolina.”
I wasn’t sure what to say. It was a fleeting, soft moment between us—one we truly hadn’t had in over twenty-four hours, and I didn’t want to ruin or jinx it. But my hesitation to reply caused him to move on to more practical issues.
“Where’s Joel?”
I pointed in the direction of young master Thompson, who was making his way to our seats along with his camp buddy, Isaac, and his mom. “Felicia thought it was a good idea for the boys to do a bathroom run first.”
Ryan smiled, but it was in Joel’s direction. “Yeah, no doubt.”
“You still don’t know what Sallie’s story is about?” I was keeping up our pleasantries, although I was truly curious.
“Nope. Only, of course, that it is part of the unicorn series.” He cited the many books the young author-to-be had written about unicorn’s adventures in school, on the farm, on her birthday, and many more. “She’s kept it tight-lipped like all the rest until release day.” He put his fingers up in mock quotation marks.
“Daddy!”
Joel bounced in front of the two of us, and, once again, I couldn’t help but think how excited he was just seeing his father. I saw it with Sallie, too. Sitting a few rows in front of us in the roped-off section for the performers, she had continuously turned around to look at Joel and me while we had been waiting for Ryan to arrive. Her teeth-clenching, eyebrow-squeezing glances at the empty seat for her dad had said it all.
“Hey, Joe.” As he greeted his son, Ryan gave a distance thumbs-up to a relieved Sallie.
“You’re in my seat,” Joel informed his father as the lights flickered, telling everyone to be quiet and take their seats.
“Sorry. You can sit on the other side of me. Here, I’ll move the flowers, and you can sit there.”
“But I was sitting next to Bethany.”
“Oh, buddy, maybe I can sit here now,” Ryan tried.
“Hi, Ryan.” Felicia, once again behind us with Isaac, tapped on Ryan’s shoulder.
“Hi, Felicia,” he returned the greeting.
“Hey, you should know there was someone talking to Joel when we were—” Isaac’s mother’s words got cut off as the lights went completely dark, and Ryan gave in to his son, scooching over to allow the five-year-old to sit between us.
It wasn’t much after the show started when I saw Ryan pull out his phone. Pressing only a few buttons, he then looked at the screen for an extended period of time. His eyes, brows, and mouth made a series of tiny, quick movements before the smallest of exhales—none of which I could interpret. And because his seat was two away from me, I could not see the phone’s screen. He looked at it a little longer and then over at me. If his previous facial expressions were hard to read, the one at me was impossible. It was almost as if he was looking right through me ... or, no, into me. Just as I furrowed my eyebrows in question, the crowd erupted in applause for the end of the two sisters magic act. And when I glanced back at Ryan, he had put his phone away.
We sat through a karate demonstration and some loose tumbling before a couple of singing performances. Had we been in a better place emotionally, I would have definitely made some wise crack to Ryan about how even elementary-aged kids were far ahead of my singing skills. I’m sure he would have laughed. He may have even given his judge Ryan score. But we certainly weren’t in our carefree, joking place.
As a young pianist took the stage, Sallie got out of her seat and Ryan nudged Joel. “Your sister is next.” He pointed to Sallie’s name in the program, and the proud sibling, who had managed to sit relatively still throughout the show, sat up a little straighter.
After another round of applause, the voice from beyond the screen—who I internally called The Great and Powerful Oz—announced, “Next up is author and illustrator Sallie Thompson, reading her own original story.”
And then Sallie was up on the older, wooden stage and in front of the microphone. As she waited for her homemade book cover to appear on the screen behind her, she looked to the three of us. Ryan gave her a beaming smile, and I wondered why he couldn’t have been as supportive of me over my latest prospect. I couldn’t give my selfish thought any more cred, though, because Sallie had begun reading.
“Unicorn’s Rainbow Adventure by Me.” Before continuing, she looked at the screen to make sure “Oz” had flipped to the next picture. “Unicorn had a happy life. She loved the color pink.” On her own cue, Sallie did a little curtsey in her pink and white polka dot dress. She seemed to be a natural performer, which shouldn’t have surprised me, considering her genes. “Unicorn had lots of hay and oats for breakfast. They were healthy and safe for her to eat.”
Healthy and safe food? Hmmm, was that in reference to me? Did living with someone with a severe nut allergy affect her enough to put it into her story?
“She got to travel all around the world.” Sallie’s image of the unicorn with hay changed to one of the Earth with a heart, and I thought of Kari on her world tours. “Her favorite thing to do was walking on the rainbow and eating candy corn because it was the same shape as her swirly horn.” That line got a light trickling of laughter from the crowd ... so much for healthy food. “One day a hunter captured her.”
I swung my head quickly to where Ryan was sitting. Sallie’s stories were never scary. They were actually always much more reality-based—besides, obviously, the main character being a unicorn. Ryan didn’t meet my look, but it was because I knew he was watching and listening with the same intensity I was.
“He took her to a dark place and told her it was the end of the rainbow.” As she continued, I couldn’t help but wonder why we hadn’t insisted on reading it first. “Unicorn didn’t know there was an end. She was scared and all a
lone.” Gone was the bright full rainbow and equally so unicorn, and in its place was a dark picture with a dripping—as if it was crying—rainbow.
Ryan’s shoulders sagged but his eyelids opened even more. I am sure any early childhood expert would have little red flag emojis popping up all over their brains. Even with my limited knowledge of child pedagogy, I thought her words sounded as if she had been abducted or was a victim of some type of abuse. But we knew better. And, really, anyone knowing of Kari’s passing should have been able to figure it out. Kari was gone. Sallie felt scared and alone. It was understandable, yet so sad.
She was still reading alongside a picture of a unicorn with a red X covering it. “He told her unicorns are not real.”
Oh, gosh, really? Was she still thinking about princesses not being real? I thought we had proven that truth. But, unicorns? I’m not sure how to justify that one. All I knew was, I wanted to hold her. I couldn’t even imagine what Ryan was thinking. On top of it, Joel was starting to ask if, indeed, unicorns weren’t real. But Ryan shushed the inquisitive young man, and we listened to Sallie some more.
“But she was brave. She told the hunter that once upon a time they were real but now live in our hearts.” And a huge red heart appeared on the screen behind Sallie.
Ryan did turn to me that time. He shook his head ever so slightly, and I brought my lips together. We both recognized that “living in hearts” was what he had told Sallie about her mother.
“She picked a red flower, and it started to sparkle magic everywhere. The hunter let her go, and they became friends. They lived happily ever after. The End.”
On the obvious end of Sallie’s tale, Joel started doing a literal round of applause and Ryan got out of his seat to give her a standing ovation. I did, too. Although, it took me a second or two longer to react. I was still processing. As a songwriter, I put meaning in every single lyric I wrote. Word choice was so important to me, even if the artist or listener never got all of the intended symbolism. Maybe I was reading too much into a seven-year-old’s prose, but I didn’t think so. I thought it was brilliantly done even, and maybe especially, the ending. The red flower? She often admired the single, thornless red rose I had preserved after Ryan’s romantic proposal. And she knew my sparkling ring had originally set on it. Sallie had thought it was like a princess fairytale. Oh, if only we could get that happily ever after.
Not much long after Sallie’s revealing portrait of words, was the break. Only the matter of a few minutes, it wasn’t even worthy of a legitimate stretch. It was just a chance to get all of the performers set for the ensemble finale.
Joel, however, took advantage right away. “Can I get a brownie?”
“Did you have any yet?” Ryan actually looked at me and Joel did, too, both knowing I would tell the truth on the matter.
But Joel fessed up first. “Yeah.”
“Dude, I’m starving,” Mr. Skip Dinner admitted. “Get a big one, and we can split it. Unless Bethany wants one, too.”
I shook my head. I had to be careful with homemade desserts, and ever since landing in the ER because of a brownie, I was particularly cautious with those. Besides, I wasn’t hungry at all. Being at a stalemate—or whatever we wanted to call it—with Ryan was like putting a lap band around my tummy.
“Quick,” he shuttled his son off in the direction of the dessert table, which was only a few feet or so away. He then turned to me. “Well, that was quite a turn in the Unicorn Chronicles.”
“Hmmm. Fact or fiction?”
“Yeah. Yeah.” I’m pretty sure he purposefully answered it twice.
“I’m glad it had a happy ending,” I offered.
“I think she feels that, too,” he seemed to say in a more relaxed, peaceful manner.
“We all need—"
“I got two.” Fast-feet junior Thompson was back. “They were small.” Joel once again bounded onto the seat between us with the anything-but-small brownies.
“Joel,” Ryan’s daddy voice was edged with warning. “If you are on a sugar rush tonight—”
“I’ll think of my happy things.” He did an exaggerated, long, kid wink at me.
The microphone started thumping for the beginning of the finale. And I reached over and gave Joel a little hug. Yes, I needed to trust and count on my happy things, too.
***
I remained one step back so I could get the photo op. Ryan had let Joel give Sallie the flowers, and I am not sure which sibling was honored more. Their beaming smiles right next to each other as they looked in the direction of my camera phone made everything magical for just a moment.
“Sallie, let me get one of you holding your book, too.”
Since there had been a no-filming-or-photos rule during the actual performance, afterward was our only chance to preserve a memory. And, I can honestly say, I appreciated that the camp made the stipulation. Not only do amateur photogs get in the way with their kneeling in the aisles and raised phones blocking views, we, as an audience, were more genuinely in the moment by not looking through a screen. Plus, the owners would sell the entire performance at a later date to benefit the camp.
“Daddy, why are there only three cookies in the flowers?” Joel was rummaging through Sallie’s beautiful arrangement of pastel carnations.
“They each are for something special—a book for the writer, a palate for the artist, and a star for the performer.”
“That’s so cool, Daddy!” She claimed her flowers back from her investigative brother.
I had to give Ryan a mental thumbs-up for his thoughtfulness. And while a lot of guys would have had their secretary arrange it, I was pretty confident it had been all sensitive Ryan Thompson. He had shown that to me nearly every day we were together. It wasn’t just with magnolias and keepsake charms but in simple things like foot rubs and pangs.
“But there’s only three,” Joel pointed out again. “Who doesn’t get one?” His eyes peered at Ryan as his face inched a little closer.
I loved that it wasn’t even a question in the young boy’s mind that I was in the four people versus three cookies mathematical equation. I had felt like a member of their family even before things got formal with moving in or a ring. But it was super sweet to hear it, especially when our life seemed so unbalanced. And I was pretty sure Ryan hadn’t been counting actual cookies but the images they represented when buying the gift.
“That’s enough. You shouldn’t be taking photos of my family.”
My heart felt like it skipped a beat. My breath definitely hitched. Why would Ryan say that?
I slipped my phone in my purse as he spoke again. “I don’t know who you are.”
As he took a step toward me, I had no idea what to expect. When he stopped right past me, though, I quickly put the pieces together. I hadn’t seen the gentleman holding the professional camera. But Ryan had.
I turned to get a better view of the intrusive individual. Average height and build, his dirty blond hair matched the scruff on his face. He wore black-framed glasses and was dressed extremely casually in nondescript cargo shorts and a faded T. He definitely did not seem like he belonged in the pricy summer camp crowd.
“Miss Thompson? Uh, Sallie?” he spoke, ignoring Ryan’s implied question and presence. “That was a great ... act.” And to confirm my thoughts, it was quite apparent he was not comfortable speaking with children.
Having been parented properly, Sallie dutifully replied, “Thank you.”
“So ... not anything with music?” he continued. “Dancing? Or a singer like your mom? Her voice was out of this world. I bet yours could be, too.”
“And you are?” Ryan asked more directly.
“He’s the guy who was talking to me before the show,” Joel answered before the actual subject in question did.
“Wells.” The man finally switched his camera to his other hand and stuck his right one out for Ryan to shake. “Wells Easton. I’m with Rock On Digest. Perhaps you’ve heard of us, Mr. Thompson. It’s a newer
division of—”
“What?” Ryan’s hand, which had only loosely accepted Mr. Easton’s, dropped. “Why are you—”
“We’re doing a full feature on the kids of music royalty ... the impact of growing up with a famous singing icon.”
“What? Oh, no. No, you’re not.” Ryan stood a little in front of Sallie as if to block her view, and I took it upon myself to grab Joel’s hand.
“It’s legit. And, it’s—" the magazine rep started.
“Absolutely not interested. No comment. You know, you need to ask permission for kids." Ryan’s tone remained even but firm.
He was used to dealing with those situations in the business he was in and also having been with Kari. But involve his kids? Oh, I was hoping Mr. Easton would take no comment as the final answer.
Not only did he not, but, by no fault of his own, he stirred the pot ... the witch’s brew. “Your mother-in-law suggested I find you here. She said it was all right. Mrs. Hynes already told us some things—” On his words, I inched closer to Sallie, too, so both kids were near me.
“First of all,” Ryan interrupted, “she’s not my mother-in-law. And, second, it’s not all right. Didn’t I just say that?” His even tone wasn’t so even anymore, but he did manage to keep his voice low. “And she has no right or permission to grant you access to my kids. The only person who does is me ... and Bethany.” He tagged on and nodded, if not looked, in my direction.
Although I didn’t react outwardly, his comment did take me a little aback. Besides the emergency cards at the camp, that issue had never been brought up between the two of us. But even if it was only a powerplay for the press, it didn’t matter. Getting the point across that the Thompson children were not to be questioned, photographed, interviewed, or bothered at all was what was important.
“I think you need to leave.” Ryan pointed his finger, giving the cameraman a physical direction to the auditorium doors.
“Ryan,” he tried a more friendly approach. “I simply want to ask the kids or you—how about you?—some questions. Like I said, it’s a piece about—"