There You'll Find Me

by Thomas Nelson

  “Of course.”

  “That didn’t sound the least bit believable. What’s wrong?”

  Everything. “I’m fine.”

  “Talk to me, Finley.”

  The way he was looking at me now? I could stare at that face forever. “Mrs. Sweeney had a rough day.”

  “And so you did as well?”

  “She’s gotten much worse in the last few days. Belinda said bone cancer can do that, move fast. I just . . . feel like I need to do something.”

  “Such as?”

  I could hardly concentrate for his fingers playing with the ends of my hair. “I . . .” What had we been talking about? “Um, I don’t know.”

  “Would it make you feel better to visit with her sister again?”

  “I wish she’d just see Mrs. Sweeney. All the woman wants is for her sister to say ‘I forgive you.’ I keep thinking, what if my brother and I had ended things on bad terms before he left for Afghanistan? But we didn’t. A few days before he left, he took me out to eat, we went to a movie.” I could see it so clearly in my head. I’d worn a white sweater, some new jeans, and shiny red flats. He told me to stop growing up. And then he died.

  And I’d grown up overnight.

  “What movie did you see?” Beckett asked, as if it mattered.

  “One with Brad Pitt.”

  “I’ve heard of the guy.”

  “It’s one of my favorite memories. The best night. But what if Will had been angry? Or had believed something awful about me? It would kill me that he died thinking those things.”

  “Like Mrs. Sweeney and her sister.” Beckett slowly pulled me to him and rested his chin on my head. “Tomorrow we’ll go see Fiona Doyle.”

  I wondered at this new closeness of ours. What were we? “On the off chance she speaks to us, you know she won’t speak to Mrs. Sweeney.”

  “I once sat by a feisty girl on a plane who refused to have her picture taken with me or get my autograph. She would have the courage to try again.”

  “This girl didn’t fall in sobs at your feet? She sounds really smart.”

  He smiled. “So’s the guy she’s dating.”

  I took a step back as his words crashed into me like a meteorite.

  “Is that what you are?”

  “I could be.”

  Me. And Beckett Rush. My brain could hardly process it. “But you’re . . .”

  “Interested in you as more than a friend.” He stared down into my confused face. “You make me want to—”

  “Wear normal button-downs?”

  “—be myself. To tell me da’ I’ve enrolled in college. To tell People I’m not dating Taylor.”

  “Then do it.”

  A shadow fell across his face. “I have a lot of people counting on these movies. It’s not that easy.” He reached for me as I moved out of his hold. “But being with you is.”

  “I can’t be with someone in secret, like we’re sneaking around.” To date him meant to live his double life, and I couldn’t do that.

  “Do you really want to be with me—in public? To have your name dragged through the mud? I don’t want your reputation trashed.”

  “It already is. A little more won’t hurt.”

  “You say that now. But just wait until you see your name on OK! magazine with some trumped-up headline of how I’m cheating on you with three other girls or we’re both on drugs and our families want us to go for treatment.”

  Treatment. I guess that was one thing I had on this movie star.

  “Finley, trust me. It’s better if we keep this to ourselves for a while.”

  The door to the trailer flung open behind me, and as I watched Beckett tense, I didn’t even have to turn around to know who was there.

  “Hey, Da’.”

  “You and me.” Mr. Rush jerked his thumb outside. “We need to talk. Now.”

  “I’m busy.”

  His dad held up the dreaded contracts. “You didn’t sign these.”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  Beckett shrugged. “We’ll talk about this later.”

  “You’ll do these movies, son.”

  “Going to forge my signature?” Beckett asked. “Like you did the last one?”

  “It wasn’t illegal. You were underage.”

  “Well, now I’m nineteen.” Beckett glared at his father. “And I’m calling my own shots.”

  “There’s a line of young men just waiting to take your place.”

  “My roles as an actor?” Beckett asked quietly. “Or my role as Montgomery Rush’s talent?”

  Mr. Rush regarded his son through narrowed eyes. “If you don’t do this next vampire movie, someone else will take your place. Is that what you want?”

  “I don’t know.” Beckett shook his blond head and walked away.

  “I just don’t know.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Whose mother just booked the best hotel

  we have in Manhattan? Yours! Not much

  longer now, sweetie!

  Sent to my BlackBerry

  On Saturday, I walked into the dressing room next to Erin’s at Hargood’s House of Formal Wear, changed out of my jeans, and pulled up Beckett’s last text one more time.

  You. Me. Date. 4 p.m.

  “Let me see the dresses when you get them on,” Nora called from outside. “This is your last chance to have them altered before next Saturday.”

  Sliding up my white dress, I reached around for the zipper and gave it a pull. Staring in the mirror, I looked at the empire waist, how it gathered in an hourglass shape, and I didn’t like what I saw.

  In all these things, I am more than victorious . . .

  I told myself to focus on the positive. My counselor used to always say negative thoughts were just lies from the devil. Right now it was like he had a bullhorn to my ear. He was also telling me my South Carolina tan was long gone.

  I dragged my eyes to the rest of the dress, admiring the way the calf-length skirt billowed when I turned, making me feel like a princess. Maybe one who’d danced in grand balls in the castle that used to sit on the O’Callaghans’ land.

  Or one who dated a boy named Beckett Rush.

  “Time to model!” Nora had a group of quilters due to check in at the inn today, and I knew she was anxious to get back home.

  Erin and I both peeled open our doors at the same time. She hesitantly stepped out and went before the full-length mirror as her mother snapped a picture with her phone.

  “Mam!”

  “Your father will want to see.” Her eyes crinkled at the corners.

  “You look gorgeous, Erin. Just beautiful.” Then Nora turned to me.

  As I stood to the side.

  Clutching the top of my sagging dress.

  “Doesn’t it fit?” Nora asked.

  “It’s fine.” I tugged on it and watched the cap sleeves drop at my shoulders.

  “Well then, I’ll go and get the seamstress. We can’t have it falling off of you for the dance.”

  “Wait—”

  But Nora was already gone, running out into the store to get some help.

  “You’ve lost weight.” Erin studied me in the mirror. “I thought maybe you had, but now I can really see it.”

  Part of me was thrilled with her declaration.

  Part of me wondered at the look on Erin’s face.

  “It’s just a few pounds. That’s what I wanted.”

  That was all I wanted.

  “. . . and we think the measurements must’ve been wrong. Or there has been an error in the alterations.” Nora bustled back to the dressing room with a harried-looking employee who wore a tape measure around her neck.

  “Step up here, please.” The woman waved me to the mirror.

  “It’s fine. I can fix it back home. Wear a shawl.” It sounded dumb even to me, and when the woman and Nora both shook their heads, I knew it was useless to resist. I took to the small platform and let the woman put her tape measure all over me, my c
heeks flushing in the mirror.

  The woman took one last measurement at my waist, then consulted her job ticket. “It is the exact size I have written down. We did not make a mistake.”

  “You’ve lost more than a pound or two,” Nora said. “And you’ve been working much too hard.”

  “I don’t feel like I have. I . . . I guess . . . I’ve been running a lot. And I usually put on some weight in the summer, then it falls off when I get back into school. It happens every year. Usually it comes off with cheerleading, but now that I’m here and not doing that, I’m riding my bicycle everywhere and running in the mornings. It’s only natural some weight would fall off.” The words flowed out, one after another.

  Nora hesitated, processing my meandering explanation before finally giving a curt nod. “You have been getting a lot of exercise. But you’ve also not been eating properly, so. Do you eat the lunches I pack?”

  “Yes. Of course.”

  “I’ve been under a lot of pressure lately. I’m sure my appetite will return.” As soon as I aced the audition, walked every step of my brother’s, got Beatrice off my back, reunited Mrs. Sweeney and her sister, and figured out what Beckett really wanted from me. They didn’t understand. My parents, Nora, Erin—they should try spending five minutes in my shoes.

  “It’s quite a bit to take in, but we can fix it,” the seamstress said. “We can have it back to you by next week. It will cost extra.”

  “That’s fine,” I said. “I’ll pay it.”

  “I’m going to check on your shoes,” Nora said. “I’ll be out front.”

  “You never eat lunch with us anymore.” Erin looked at me as if I’d somehow disappointed her, as if I were suddenly not quite who she believed me to be.

  “I have to see Mrs. Sweeney during lunch so I can get to the set after school. You know that.”

  I expected her to agree with me. But she didn’t.

  “Is there something you want to tell me?” she asked instead.

  My life started spiraling out of control the day my brother died, and I keep trying to stuff everything back in its place, but nothing is staying put. “No. Can’t think of anything.”

  “I’d be glad to pray for you. Or just listen if you need someone to talk to.”

  “I’m fine. Truly.” My laugh came out a little too loud. “We Americans aren’t used to walking anywhere. Or riding a bicycle. I’ve never been healthier.”

  “It’s just . . . at dinner. I see you pushing things around on your plate. Giving Liam your chicken or passing him your dessert.”

  “I’m stressed, that’s all. But it will soon be over. The movie’s going to wrap up in a few weeks.” Oh my gosh. Shooting would be done in no time. Then what would become of Beckett and me? Would he just forget me? Never contact me again? What if I really was just his summer fling? An autumn distraction? “So . . . I’ll be fine. Right now I have a lot on my mind.”

  “Okay.” Erin didn’t sound quite so convinced. “But if you want to—” She stopped midsentence and craned past me toward the store front. “There’s Patrick Sullivan. He’s here. Getting his tie.” Her cheeks broke out in scarlet splotches. “I can’t go out there.”

  “The guy in the green T-shirt?”

  She nodded mutely.

  “With the ripped jeans?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  “Wait! No!”

  Clutching my gaping top, I stormed toward Patrick and his friend, following them as they made their way to the men’s section.

  “Excuse me, Patrick, is it?”

  He turned around. “Yeah?”

  “I’m a friend of Erin O’Callaghan’s.” I saw him pale. “You remember her, right? The girl you agreed to go to the dance with, then suddenly cancelled when Beatrice Plummer got ahold of you?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just . . . couldn’t take Erin.”

  “Yeah, because you’re a weak-kneed jerk who hurt my friend.”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed, but he didn’t protest. “I want to know what Beatrice said to you to get you to bail on Erin.”

  He looked at his friend, then back to me. “Nothing.”

  I took a step forward. “I’m not afraid to make a scene here.”

  “Okay, fine!” His cheeks flushed pink. “She told me she could get me a date with Taylor Risdale if I didn’t go to the dance.”

  “And did she?”

  He suddenly found his shoes very interesting. “Sort of. I got to sit at Taylor’s table one night at the pub. With Bea, her friends, and about ten other guys.”

  I cast furious eyes at his friend. “Were you one of them?”

  “Yes. But it was worth it. I mean, have you seen Taylor Risdale?”

  “Worth it? Patrick, you broke Erin’s heart and ruined your friendship for half an hour and some beef stew with an actress who wouldn’t even remember your name if an Academy Award depended on it.”

  Patrick raised his head and looked at me with hound dog eyes. “Basically. But I did get her autograph.”

  “Not really the date you thought it would be though, was it?”

  “No.”

  “You’re being used.”

  “I’m okay with that.”

  “You could still go with Erin anyway. Two can play at that game, right?” But before I even got my whole sentence out, Patrick and his friend both shook their heads.

  “I’m staying out of this,” Patrick said. “I’m done. I’m a happy man.”

  “Me too,” said his friend. “Worth every second. I had Taylor sign me chest. I’m gonna get it tattooed.”

  “Attractive.” I was so done with this conversation. “Is there any guy at your school Beatrice hasn’t talked to?”

  “Maybe Joshua Smith,” Patrick said. “He just transferred here three days ago. Other than that, all fifth and sixth years were promised dates with Taylor.”

  “To stay away from Erin. Your friend.” My voice dripped with disgust.

  “This movie’s the biggest thing to ever hit Abbeyglen,” Patrick said. “It’s not anything personal against Erin. We just had to take advantage of the opportunity.”

  They were numbskulls. All of them.

  Except for maybe this Joshua Smith.

  Someone I had to talk to.

  Before Beatrice got there first.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  • Breakfast: Diet Coke

  • Lunch: tuna, rice cakes

  • Time spent running: 30 minutes

  • Time spent practicing: 1 hour

  So where is it you’re taking me?” I asked later that evening as Beckett drove the truck down the highway. Bob sat between us, and from his thumping tail and dreamy eyes trained on me, I could tell he liked the arrangement.

  “Going to Galway. To see Mrs. Sweeney’s sister.”

  “This is our date?”

  “No, the dinner afterward is.” He glanced my way and grinned. “I knew you wouldn’t be much of a date until we got this settled.”

  “So this is all about you?”

  He reached across Bob and held my hand. “Totally selfish motives.”

  But it wasn’t. Beckett had proven to be quite the opposite of what the world painted him. Or what his father made them believe he was.

  “Have you spoken to your dad?” I asked.

  “No, he’ll stay in L.A. until he thinks I’ve calmed down and can be reasoned with again. I’m not taking his calls at the moment.”

  “You know you have to talk to him sometime.”

  “But not now.” He turned on the windshield wipers, and they squeaked in a synchronized rhythm against the rain. “I have a lot to figure out.”

  “Wanna tell me about it?”

  His hand found mine again, and he held on like he was searching for strength, grounding himself with the comfort of whatever we had. Tonight he wasn’t wearing any disguise. It was just Beckett— his own blond hair, wavy and a little long, no hat. A gray cable-knit
sweater, like one I’d seen in a downtown store. Jeans that said he was a no-frills kind of guy. No fancy pockets for him. No sunglasses. Just his piercing gray eyes looking at mine.

  “I might want to take a break from acting.” The words came out slowly, as if he were testing them, trying to decide how it sounded.

  “And do what?”

  “Go to school perhaps.”

  “Any college campus that accepts you will have to go on lock-down for all the screaming girls.”

  He shrugged it off. “Those are details to figure out later. I just want to be normal for a while.”

  “And leave the false teeth at home?”

  “Exactly. I missed out on a childhood. All I’ve known is work.”

  “I don’t know that your life will ever be normal.”

  “Maybe not, but it doesn’t have to be so orchestrated that I don’t even recognize myself. I’m tired of being lied to. Of not knowing the person I’m talking to. Never knowing if people are telling me what I want to hear or if they have some hidden agenda. All I want is to be with people who are real. Who have it together. Who don’t get caught up in all this Hollywood phony crap.” He lifted my fingers over Bob’s sleeping head and kissed the back of my hand. “Like you. I love how you have everything figured out. You know what you want to be, where you’re going, who you are. You see something, you go after it and make it happen. Being around you makes me want to let go of all the lies and just be myself.”

  This called for a topic change.

  “Are you going to leave with the crew when the movie wraps up soon?”

  “I thought I’d stay on a few more weeks.”

  “And then?”

  He gave me a smile meant to reassure. “Then maybe a few more.” The truck splashed into a puddle as he made a left turn. “I deserve a vacation. I’ve been thinking of taking six months off. Get back to my roots. Hang out with you. The O’Callaghans. People who know me for me. People I trust.”

  I should’ve been happy about this. Six months would have had him staying until the spring, when I left. But something about it snipped at my unraveling nerves.

  Six months would also give him time to figure out that I was just a plain nobody. Time to fall out of love with the real world.

  And time to realize I was not who I pretended to be either.