by March, Mia
She’d left Wiscasset with a lightened heart and drove back to Boothbay Harbor, but once again, Maddy was late for their tutoring session. Bea was right on time at five o’clock, but the crew trailer, where they’d arranged to meet this time instead of the library, was empty. The plan had been to meet up there and then go find a quiet spot a good distance away, under a shady tree, and talk more about the essay question for To Kill a Mockingbird. Bea had reread the first half of the novel since last week and found so many beautiful lines and passages that reminded her of the quote Maddy had chosen to write about. The reading, the tutoring—all of it made Bea surer than ever that she was meant to be a teacher.
There weren’t too many people hanging out by the crew trailers; a crowd was lined up by the craft services tent. Maddy, though, was nowhere to be found. After their terrific session the other day, she was sure Maddy wouldn’t try to ditch her tutoring session.
Bea went outside and glanced around. No sign of Maddy.
Ah, wait. A flash of her long, dark hair and unmistakable laughter came from in front of a trailer that was parked by a fence. What was she doing squished over there? Bea headed over and heard giggling. Maddy was with a boy, clearly. And her make-out session was about to be broken up for her tutoring session.
“Maddy, you’re—”
She wasn’t with a boy. She was with a man.
Patrick Ool.
“What the—” Bea began, almost unable to believe what she was seeing.
Patrick’s face turned red. He jumped away from Maddy, and his expression changed, as though he’d already formed the lie he was about to spew.
“She’s sixteen!” Bea screamed at him.
He looked faux shocked. “What? She told me she was nineteen.”
“It’s true, I did,” Maddy said.
Bea felt sick to her stomach. She shot him a look of disgust, then turned to Maddy. “Maddy, it’s time for our session. Let’s go. Now. And you,” she said to Patrick, “you can go to hell.”
“I thought she was nineteen!” he said. “And sorry, Bea, but maybe if you weren’t such a prude. I mean, how many times have we gone out now?”
Bea stopped, turned around, and punched Patrick Ool in the stomach as hard as she could.
She heard Maddy gasp and Patrick mutter “crazy bitch” before she grabbed Maddy’s hand and marched her away.
“So by that ‘prude’ comment, does that mean you guys were seeing each other?” Maddy asked, glancing sheepishly at Bea as they headed past the barricades to a quiet area that Bea had picked out.
“Were, yeah.”
“Sorry. I didn’t know. He was flirting with me and told me he had to kiss me or he’d die. He’s so cute, so I went for it.”
Bea shook her head in disgust. “You told him you’re nineteen?”
“He asked how old I was, so I lied. He said, ‘Yeah right,’ though. I’m really sorry, Bea.”
Bea could feel steam coming out of her ears. She stopped and turned away from Maddy, giving herself a minute to calm down. Even if Patrick the prick had believed she was nineteen, he knew she was Tyler’s sister. And he obviously had it out for the guy. She kicked at a rock, then resumed walking. “And he started making out with you anyway. Scum. Maddy, you have to be careful of men like that. Especially on film sets. Stick to boys your own age, okay? Please?”
“Okay, my brother lectures me enough. Can you save it for tutoring?”
She gently yanked Maddy’s hair. “Your brother seems to care about you a lot, Maddy. Appreciate it. I have no one.”
“Why not?”
“Because sometimes I’m an idiot about who I choose to spend my time with. Your brother told me Patrick was a womanizing jerk, and I didn’t believe him.”
“Tyler never lies. It’s pathological. I could have told you that.”
Bea had a feeling that Tyler Echols hadn’t hit up Maddy’s birth mother for money, that Patrick had lied about that to make sure Bea didn’t listen to Tyler’s assessment of him. Patrick had gone out of his way to undermine Tyler—probably because Tyler wasn’t a jerk.
Bea stopped under a shady tree and spread out the blanket she’d brought in her tote bag. “Sit,” she said to Maddy. “Let’s get cracking. We’ll forget about bad men and focus on good men. Like Atticus Finch.”
While Maddy took forever to get out her book and notebook, all Bea could think about was how blind she’d been. And she owed Tyler an apology.
The second tutoring session had gone as well as the first. Maddy had read the chapters, was able to discuss the text and relate two passages back to the essay quote on her own. With Bea’s nudging, Maddy had found three more in the first six chapters alone. Bea loved this—guiding Maddy through careful questions that would lead her to make connections, watching her face light up. Maddy had progressed from calling the book “To Kill a Boring Bird” to proudly explaining what she thought the real title meant.
“Hey,” came Tyler’s voice.
Maddy couldn’t close her book fast enough at the sight of her brother. Bea was hoping by their next session, Maddy would be so into the book she’d want to keep talking about it.
“Can we talk privately for a minute?” Bea asked him.
“Don’t tell me you’re quitting,” Tyler said. “She yammered in my ear on the way over earlier about people named Scout and Jem and Atticus and Boo.”
Bea smiled. “Nope, not quitting.” As Maddy’s earbuds went in, Bea led Tyler away several feet and relayed the sorry story about coming upon Patrick kissing Maddy, that he’d sworn up and down that Maddy had told him she was nineteen.
Tyler was steaming mad and let out a string of muttered curses.
“I owe you an apology, Tyler. He’s pure scum and I didn’t see it. How are people such effortless liars?”
“Years of being around certain kinds of actors have rubbed off on the jerk. I was an idiot for bringing Maddy here. But it’s not often we’re filming in her backyard, so I wanted to do something for her to cheer her up.”
“Because of how upset she’s been over what happened with her birth mother?”
He nodded.
“I owe you another apology. Patrick told me I should be wary of you and make sure you paid me for tutoring Maddy because you’d hit up your sister’s birth mother for money. He said he overheard you talking to another PA.”
“What an ass,” he said, shaking his head. “It was the other way around. Her birth mother hit me up for money. I said I didn’t have any to give, which was true. Maddy wrote to her again six months ago, but the letter came back return to sender. Maybe that’s for the best, for Maddy.”
“Yeah, it probably is. I’m glad she has you. I wish I had an older brother looking out for me.”
“I’ve been looking out for you,” Tyler said. “You just didn’t know it.”
She smiled. “Guess so.”
“Can you keep an eye on Maddy for a few minutes? I’m going to go have a talk with Patrick. And by talk, I mean I’m going to punch his lights out.”
“Before you get yourself fired, rest assured, I already punched him in the stomach.”
“I’ll make sure to aim higher, then. His nose maybe. Or much lower, perhaps, with a solid kick.”
Bea laughed, and for a second they were both silent.
“So maybe you’ll have dinner with us tonight?” he asked.
“I thought you didn’t like me.”
“Well, you thought wrong, again.” He smiled at her, maybe for the first time since she’d known him.
For a minute there, over sesame chicken and fried dumplings, Bea thought Maddy might bolt out of the restaurant.
“You know what happens when you mess with men like Patrick Tool?” Tyler had said, pointing a chopstick at his sister. “When you go too far with any guy? You can end up pregnant, Maddy. And then you’ll have some very unfun choices to make.”
“Not listening,” Maddy said, covering her ears.
He pulled her hands away. “I’m
dead serious,” he said. “Denise was fifteen when you were born.”
“Okay,” she snapped. “I get it. It was just kissing. Kissing.”
“And you were surrounded by trailers and inns. Very easy access to closed doors.”
“Can I eat my dumplings before they get cold?” Maddy shouted.
“When I know you’re listening,” he said. “Really listening.”
“God, I am. I hear you.”
Bea sent Tyler a smile across the booth. She didn’t know Maddy very well, but Bea would put money on the odds that she was listening.
They tried to split the last dumpling in three, which sent it flying off the table and made Maddy laugh. By the time they were cracking open their fortune cookies, Bea wished they’d just sat down so she could spend another hour with these two. Tyler was smart and funny and serious and kind, and Maddy was on the immature side but had a lovable center.
Bea read her fortune: “You can never be certain of success, but you can be certain of failure if you never try.”
Wasn’t that the truth. Bea slipped it in her pocket.
“What did you get?” she asked Maddy.
“A smile is your personal welcome mat.” Maddy rolled her eyes and grinned like a maniac. “How’s that?” She took a nibble of her cookie. “What’s yours say, Tyler?”
Tyler cracked his open and pulled out the fortune. “An inch of time is an inch of gold.” He raised an eyebrow, then popped half the cookie in his mouth.
“Let’s ask for new fortunes,” Maddy said. “Only Bea got a good one.”
“You get what you get and you don’t get upset,” Tyler singsonged, tapping Maddy’s hand with her unused chopstick. “Remember how Dad always used to say that?”
The famous eye roll was back. “He still does. And anyway, doesn’t that totally contradict Bea’s good fortune? If what you get sucks, you should get upset.”
Bea laughed. Maddy would be just fine with age and wisdom.
When they walked back to Main Street, where Tyler’s car was parked, Maddy got in and put in her earbuds.
“Can I drop you home?” he asked.
“Nah, the inn’s just right up the hill.”
He glanced up the twisty road, then back at Bea. “So maybe we could do something sometime?”
“Definitely.”
He smiled. “I’ll call you tomorrow then.”
He squeezed her hand and looked at her, then got in the car. As Bea headed up Harbor Hill Road, she glanced back, watching until the taillights were out of view. She had no idea where she’d be living in a couple of weeks. And Tyler would be traveling the world, working on films. But that didn’t mean they couldn’t be friends. Maybe even more.
On her way to the inn, Bea pulled out her phone and called Veronica.
“Would you like to get together soon? This past week, I was thinking that I wasn’t sure I had anything left to ask you, anything more to tell you, but I was . . . running a bit scared, I think. Overwhelmed. And it turns out I have a lot to tell you.”
“Oh, I know all about that,” Veronica said. “And I have a lot to tell you too. How about tomorrow night at seven at my house? I’ll make you lasagna and you can help me bake a pie.”
“I’ll be there,” Bea said, thinking that Cora Crane would like Veronica Russo a lot.
Chapter 23
VERONICA
It was so strange to be holding her order pad, wearing her typical uniform of jeans, white button-down shirt, and Best Little Diner in Boothbay apron, when there were three large cameras, microphones, and huge lights in every direction inside the diner. So many people stood on the sidelines. Veronica glanced out the window at the crowd of people behind a barricade across the street and was startled to see that nudge, Hugh Fledge, waving his arms at her over his head like a lunatic and blowing a kiss at her with a huge goofy smile. She hoped he was as harmless as he seemed—a pest who wouldn’t give up but wasn’t . . . unhinged. She’d talk to Nick about what she could do to get Fledge off her back.
For this scene, Veronica was the counter waitress. The new second assistant director, Joe Something (apparently Patrick Ool had been reassigned to equipment and wouldn’t be working with extras; rumor had it he’d been caught canoodling with a minor), told her she had wisdom, kindness, and Maine in her face, and he wanted her front and center.
Veronica wondered about the rumors about Patrick and worried for Bea, but perhaps it was part of all that Bea wanted to tell her. That and how her meeting had gone with Timothy.
I really do care about her, Veronica realized as Joe Something went over the blocking—where actors stood for the scene—with one of the actors. I tried so damned hard not to let her in, but she bulldozed her way. Veronica smiled at the thought of petite, young Bea steamrolling her, Ms. Supposedly Tough.
The assistant director blew a whistle that he wore around his neck, which was his annoying way of getting everyone’s attention. Good, time to shoot—not that Colin Firth was filming today. Rumor had it that he was coming to town tomorrow, but if Veronica had a penny for every time . . . And besides, the fact that she wanted to get this scene over with so she could go to Gray’s Grocery and buy the ingredients for lasagna told her that her heart wasn’t so much in being an extra anymore. Bea was coming to dinner tonight; her heart was in that.
Each table in the diner was full of extras, and the counter was half full; Veronica got a good chuckle at the “typical Maine diner customer”: there was the crusty old man reading a newspaper and having the fried haddock and fries. Three teenage girls who looked like they stepped out of an L.L.Bean catalog. The reserved middle-aged woman in twin set and pearls, whose instructions were to dab her lips twice while eating her apple pie—one of Veronica’s. A dad and his young son, with an adult and child-size fishing pole leaning against the wall next to them. Two twentysomething hipster types with a map of Maine spread out in front of them. And Veronica behind the counter with her coffeepot.
All her counter needed was Colin Firth. She got her fix of seeing his handsome face by watching his films; over the past two weeks, she’d seen ten more of his movies—and had watched Love Actually twice more, since it made her so damned happy.
And so damned sappy. Veronica Russo, sappy. That was a wonder.
But she’d let go of the fantasy of Mr. Darcy. He was a character, an idea. A very good idea, but an idea. And Colin Firth, despite how much Veronica loved him, was an actor on screen. Nick DeMarco, on the other hand, was six foot two inches of reality, and she was ready for him. When she’d made her Colin Firth Pie the other night, it wasn’t Mr. Darcy she’d been thinking about as she stirred her cherries and sugar and vanilla. And it wasn’t Colin Firth she’d imagined as she’d eaten every last bite of a slice. She’d only thought of Nick.
The actors got into place, and Veronica gave the set her full attention. In this scene, the female lead and her fiancé were having an argument that involved her dumping a lobster roll on his head and storming out. They’d rehearsed the scene with an empty plate four times and had shot it twice today with the real thing, which meant hour-long breaks to wash the lobster bits out of Christopher Cade’s hair and change his shirt. Apparently, wardrobe had thirty of the same blue dress shirts at the ready.
As they waited for the sound guy to attend to whatever was the problem, Veronica relaxed behind the counter and decided that after dinner tonight, she’d teach Bea how to make one of her Happiness Pies. One of her own favorites: fudge.
Veronica had the lasagna in the oven and was mincing garlic for the Italian bread when her phone rang. Please don’t be Bea canceling, she’d prayed.
But it was Beth Macintosh.
“I wanted to apologize to you for how I acted,” Beth said. “Timothy had always been torn up about whether or not he’d fathered your child, but ever since he saw you through the diner window several months ago, it’s all he’d talk about. Did I? Was I? What if? It got to the point where our marriage was strained. Then one day, friends o
f mine in town mentioned your name—not even knowing your connection to Tim—and your elixir pies, and I thought I’d kill two birds with one stone, as they say.”
“So maybe the pie worked in a roundabout way, after all,” Veronica said.
Beth was quiet for a second, but then laughed. “I guess I owe you fifteen bucks.”
“That one’s on me.”
“Thank you,” Beth said. And then she hung up—once and for all, Veronica knew.
Over Veronica’s delicious—if she did say so herself—lasagna, garlic bread, and a crisp green salad, Bea told Veronica about meeting Timothy and Beth.
“It was a bit awkward,” Bea said, lifting up a gooey forkful of lasagna. “I think he’s still uncomfortable with the whole thing, but Beth said they’d tell their daughter about me and would like to get together again.”
“I’m glad you found him. You’ve settled something, and gave him an answer to a question he couldn’t let go of.”
Bea lifted her glass of iced tea and clinked Veronica’s.
As they ate, Veronica told Bea that she’d sat down to an interview with Gemma Hendricks and poured out her life story, and Bea told Veronica all about Patrick Ool and why he’d gotten reassigned to equipment.
“Good Lord,” Veronica said, shocked to hear the news. “You just can’t tell with some people. I never would have pegged him for a creep.”
Bea smiled and reached for a piece of garlic bread. “That makes me feel better because neither did I.”