Move the Stars_Something in the Way

by Jessica Hawkins

  The morning sun shone through the buildings, creating hard lines of shade and light, a relatively cool day for mid-August. Frozen to the spot, I was unsure of what to do. Did he want to see me? Did I want to see him? My reflex was to answer yes, but the question was wrong. I needed to be asking if I should see him.

  Five years after New York, eleven since I’d met him on an entirely different lot, and here we were all over again. After my conversation with Corbin on Val’s patio almost a year earlier, I’d been forced to accept that Manning and I wouldn’t happen. Since then, it’d become clear that having hope all these years had hurt rather than helped me. I’d considered him in decisions I should’ve made only for myself. He’d been on my mind as I’d boarded an airplane out of New York for good, when I’d debuted on TV, and even when I’d turned down my contract just now. He’d sat in on all my first dates, and the last ones, too, and I was exhausted. Manning was always in the way, no matter where I was or what I was doing.

  I’d finally given up on destiny, on the stubborn stars, and on the idea of us, but by the way my heart raced, it was clear I still hadn’t been able to let go of Manning—not completely. Back then, I would’ve seen this random meeting as fate bringing us together. Now, all I could wonder was …

  Did I walk toward him or away?

  Manning took a bandana from his back pocket. As he wiped his temples, he paused, turned, and looked right at me. Of course he’d felt me staring, and he stared right back. June continued to try and get my attention, the men moved dining chairs around Manning, and an American flag flapped overhead, but we just stood there, neither of us making a move. Was this it, what it’d all come down to? Passing each other by, keeping a safe distance, so nobody would get hurt again?

  Apparently, Manning had the same hesitation about me that I had about him. Maybe he was also trying to get his life back on track. Or had he moved on long ago? Maybe those were selfish questions considering he’d been through a miscarriage and a divorce since I’d last seen him. They were the reasons I’d never reached out, but why hadn’t he? It was possible I was nothing more to him now than a painful reminder of the past.

  But then he shoved the bandana in his back pocket and without another moment of hesitation, he started in my direction. I was sixteen, eighteen, twenty-two again, unable to move or think or do anything but watch him come toward me.

  My palms sweat. He commanded eyes as he crossed the lot, but his stayed trained on me and mine on him. He was older, darker, and determined. I was different. I’d lived on another planet the past year and a half, where people expected great things from me that I hadn’t been sure I could deliver. I wasn’t his immaculate, bright-eyed girl anymore. And to me, he was no longer my Manning, just the man I’d loved and lost.

  By the time he reached me, I still hadn’t thought of a coherent thing to say. “Lake,” he said.

  My name from his mouth calmed me. This was my Manning—in some ways, he always would be. With him, I didn’t have to be anyone other than myself. “What are you doing?” I asked. Unable to imagine any scenario in which Manning would be at a Hollywood studio, I dumbly added, “Are you here for me?”

  He laughed. “No. Well, not yet. I didn’t plan on seeing you, I mean.”

  My agent shoved her way between us. “June McPherson.”

  He wiped his palm on his jeans and took her outstretched hand. “Manning … Sutter.”

  “I’m not familiar,” she said. “Who are you with?”

  “With?” he asked.

  “He’s not an actor,” I said, smiling at Manning’s obvious discomfort. “Can you give us a minute, June?”

  “Sure, but just one. We’ve got a photo shoot across town at noon.” She took out a business card and forced it into Manning’s palm. “You have something. A special quality. Call me if you’re looking for representation.”

  I frowned at her. Of course, I thought Manning had a special something, but she’d told me the same thing not ten minutes ago. How many people had that supposedly elusive quality?

  As Manning watched June walk away, I had a moment to take him in. He hadn’t shaven recently, and his hair was a tad longer than he normally wore it—at least, when I’d known him. Conversely, my hair was a little shorter. The producers wouldn’t let me wear it any other way than long and blonde, but I’d chopped a couple inches and added a few rebellious lowlights.

  With a light breeze, his hair rustled, and a few of my strands blew into my face. He looked back at me as I pulled them from my lip gloss. “I’m delivering furniture,” he said to my mouth. He reached in his shirt pocket, but rubbed his chest instead, returning his eyes to mine. “What about you?”

  “I’m on a TV show,” I said.

  A smile spread over his face. “I know that, Lake. I meant why are you here, at the studio? This isn’t reality TV.”

  “Oh.” My face heated. I wasn’t sure if I was glad or embarrassed that he’d been following my career. This wasn’t the life I’d described to Manning way back when. To everyone else, the center of a Hollywood tornado was a coveted spot, but he’d probably already figured out the truth—the attention stifled me. “I had a meeting with the producers about my contract.”

  “Yeah?” He leaned in. “What about it?”

  I didn’t want to talk about it. My life had been splashed across the small screen the last year, and it made me uncomfortable that Manning might’ve been watching. He’d have seen all the fabricated drama between Corbin, Sean, and me. My audition for a commercial for which I’d been passed over. My genuine tears one night when I’d hugged Birdy, missing Manning more than usual, lying to Bree that I was upset over Sean’s latest antics. “It’s nothing. Did you build the furniture you’re delivering?” I asked hopefully.

  “Yeah. A midcentury dining set for some show that takes place in the fifties.” He scratched the back of his neck. “It’s what I do now. For a living.”

  My heart squeezed with pride. It felt like a personal victory, hearing he was pursuing what he loved, and I hoped I’d had something to do with it. “No more suits?” I asked.

  “No more suits.”

  “Is it just movie sets?” I wanted to know everything. “Do you have a store?”

  “Nah. Usually just custom furniture for people’s homes. I have a workshop and deliver the pieces myself, but this was a special project. Henry helped some …” He cracked his knuckles. “It’s funny to see you, actually. Weird. Because we were talking about you just last night.”

  “You and Henry?”

  “And Gary and Lydia—”

  “Oh, yeah, cool.” Trying to cover up my shock at hearing another woman’s name, words caught in my throat, and I coughed. Why should I be surprised? Four years was a long time to be single. For a man like Manning, who surely had women fawning over him, it was an eternity. What if he’d found someone he loved more than me? Someone more compatible, less complicated? Did I want that for him if it was what I needed to finally find a way forward without him?

  With a heavy heart, I asked, “Is Lydia your …”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Gary’s wife. You’ve met Lydia.”

  “Oh.” I should’ve been relieved, but the thought of him with someone else had already lodged itself in my brain. In my heart. Another reminder of just how large Manning still stood on my horizon, blocking everything else out. I just nodded. “Right.”

  “They were all at the house last night.”

  “The house?” I asked.

  He inhaled through his nose, squinting over my head. I got the feeling he was going to say he had somewhere to be … as if this, us, was no longer important to him. Maybe it wasn’t. Corbin had moved on. Why wouldn’t Manning, too? That’s what I’d been trying to do.

  “I built a house,” he said finally.

  Perfect. That was how it felt to hear him say that, as if it’d been his destiny all along. For Manning, no regular house would do. He needed to be the one to create it. As happy as it made me to hear that,
a small part of me couldn’t help the regret seeping in—for all the things I’d missed, for the home I didn’t have, and the one I’d once wanted with him. “I’d like to see that one day,” I said.

  “Yeah,” he said, nodding, and then he shook his head, as if he’d changed his mind. “Today. Come see it today.”

  My answering laugh was nervous, and I worried he could read the tension in my body. I hated feeling stiff around him, one of the few people who expected nothing of me but for me to be myself. “Sure,” I said.

  “Lake?” he said, rubbing his scruffy jaw. “I’m serious. Come by the house tonight.”

  I should’ve known he wasn’t kidding. Manning was nothing if not serious. He was a man of few words, and he didn’t say what he didn’t mean. I was definitely curious about the house, but if anything, that was a reason not to see it. Even now, my wounds were still a little too open. “I don’t know if I can,” I said.

  “Why not?”

  Did I have to say the reason out loud? I couldn’t go see Manning’s house because it would kill me a little inside. Because he’d broken my heart. Because we had a past we couldn’t ignore. Now that I was moving myself on, fate chose to intervene by bringing us together on a replica of a New York street in the middle of Los Angeles. Well, wasn’t that just like fate to be too late? “Because I have somewhere to be,” I said.

  “So go be there, and then come over for dinner. For all the times you fed me, let me return the favor.”

  My breath hitched. We’d been hungry together, and we’d fed each other—at what point would we have our fill? When did I get to be whole again? “I really shouldn’t.”

  “Why not? I need a real reason, Lake. We can eat late if—”

  “I’m over you.”

  Oh, God. I couldn’t believe I’d said that, to him of all people. And my voice hadn’t even wavered, although I realized I was fidgeting with my purse strap.

  Slowly, he raised his eyebrows. “You are?”

  “Yes.” That time, my voice did falter a little, so I cleared my throat.

  He cocked his head, looking almost … amused? Maybe I shouldn’t have assumed there was anything to this but dinner. “How do you know if you haven’t seen me in years?” he asked.

  “Because I had no choice.” I glanced at the ground, but forced myself to look him in the eye. “I’ve worked really hard to move on, Manning.”

  “How?” Again, he sounded more interested than upset.

  “I got rid of the box you gave me, and Birdy, too,” I said. It was only partially true—they were packed away in storage, but that was a definite step forward.

  “Those are things,” he said.

  “All right.” Since he asked, I told him. There was no point in pretending everything was fine, not with him. I released my purse strap, crossing my arms into myself. “I don’t look for Summer Triangle anymore, and if you want the truth, I could never really find it.”

  “They’re just three regular stars, Lake, nothing much to see.” He patted the back of his shoulder. “If you need them, you can always find them here.”

  “Always?” The hair on the back of my neck prickled. Instead of dwelling, I’d forced Manning out of my mind frequently the past year. Ironically, I hadn’t opened my eyes this morning as I had many times before and thought—maybe today Manning will come for me. “Because I did need them,” I said, “and they weren’t there.”

  “No you didn’t,” he said. “You did just fine on your own. Look at you. You even moved on.” I bit my bottom lip just as he added, “But I didn’t. And I think I know why. You and I never got any closure.”

  I let my mouth part. I’d thought the exact same thing. Though Manning and I had said goodbye in a hotel room almost five years earlier, I hadn’t ever been able to shake the feeling that he was mine. And part of me had still hoped after the divorce, he’d come back for me. “I agree.”

  “So let’s have it,” he said. “Dinner, drinks, and closure.”

  Closure. The end. The idea of it seared through me. It brought to the surface all the pain and heartache and love I associated with Manning. Suffering that I wanted to stop—for good. I needed to snip that last thread of hope, the invisible tether between us, and maybe Manning had the scissors at his house.

  “You got a pen?” he asked.

  I looked over my shoulder. June was getting restless, tapping her foot and then her watch when she saw me looking. I rummaged through my purse, hardly able to believe Manning and I were just going to sit and have a civilized meal, no buffer, no obstacles between us. I gave him a pen I’d taken from the producers’ office. He glanced over the network’s logo before scribbling directions and an address on the back of June’s card.

  “That contract thing,” he said, “did you already sign it?”

  “No.”

  “Ah.” He handed me the card. “Can you read that?”

  “I think so. Take the two-ten freeway about an hour and a—wait.” I drew back, squinting at his handwriting. “Where do you live?”

  “Big Bear.”

  I looked up at the uncharacteristic cheerfulness in his voice. “Big Bear?” I asked. The same place we’d both been hurt? Where he’d been taken away by the cops while I’d stood by, helpless? Where I’d watched my sister leave for a special dinner with him? He’d made me fall in love with him in Big Bear, and he’d broken me over and over since then. “Why would you buy a house there?”

  “Not buy. Build.” He glanced behind me. “I’ll tell you all about it over dinner. So just follow those directions until you see my mailbox. It’s white. Well, so is everyone else’s, but I don’t have a neighbor for a quarter mile, but come to think of it, my address isn’t posted anywhere, so I’ll paint a red stripe on it. Just in case. That’s how you’ll know.”

  I didn’t know what to say. I hadn’t realized I was agreeing to an entire evening in the equally terrifying and peaceful mountains, away from everyone else, just us. “You don’t need to paint your mailbox for me.”

  He paused and then laughed. Actually laughed, as if I’d made some kind of joke. Shaking his head, he backed away. “You have no idea what you’re in for, Birdy. See you tonight.”

  My stomach fluttered. Maybe that’s where my wings had been hiding all these years? “Wait. Manning?”

  “Don’t try to get out of it, Lake.” He arched an eyebrow. “If you don’t show, there’ll be no closure, and then I’ll have no choice but to come looking for you.”

  As much as I wanted to believe that, I didn’t anymore. I just sighed. “I was going to ask what time.”

  “Whenever,” he said. “As soon as you’re ready, come to me.”

  7

  Lake

  Manning had gone and painted his mailbox for me—just so I wouldn’t get lost. Only it wasn’t a stripe like he’d said, but a wobbly red triangle. In the middle of August, the Summer Triangle had found me instead of the other way around. All during the drive, I’d wondered what kind of home he’d built for himself here. If I knew Manning, it’d be a sturdy, no-frills house. Remembering the few pieces of furniture of his I’d seen, and my cherished jewelry box, I hoped there was a lot of wood involved. Manning’s hands could turn raw wood to perfection—and me to mush.

  Manning had found his calling, while I had just found—what? Was a sense of acceptance the best I could hope for? I wanted for myself the same peace he’d seemed to have this morning, but I’d gotten lost along the way. Up until I’d made the decision to turn down the contract, I couldn’t help feeling I’d been biding time, waiting for Manning until I could start my life. I’d fallen for him, run to and from him, longed and mourned for him, and where had I been during all that?

  Leaving the show was the first difficult step I’d made toward happiness in a while. Tonight would be the second. It would hurt, but I’d finally let go of Manning to allow for a life that’d always centered around him. Maybe that had always been Manning’s purpose, and the sum of our experiences over the years�
��he’d helped shape me into my own woman instead of someone else’s.

  I slowed the car and turned when I reached the mailbox. Manning was right that he had lots of space and no immediate neighbors. A thicket of trees lined the driveway. I’d rolled down the window once I’d entered the mountains, and the air smelled of pine and dirt and 1993.

  When the house came into view, I held in a gasp. It was just how I’d imagined except bigger, a kind of rustic yet modern resort glowing with amber light. The honey-colored cabin had a sprawling wraparound porch, large glass windows, and a stone chimney. Big, dark, and comforting, it pulled me in, both exhilarating and calming me. It was impossible to look away from, raw and rough on the outside while exuding warmth. This home was all Manning in every way.

  I parked along a patch of grass and turned off the engine. There were stacks of wood off to one side by what looked like an unfinished picnic table. Camping chairs surrounded a fire pit out front. He’d parked his truck in front of the garage and beyond that was a warehouse-looking space that appeared to be closed up for the night.

  I got the acute sense that this should’ve been my life. And wasn’t that why I’d come, to stop this persistent feeling of incompleteness? A half-finished love sat heavy in my chest. I hadn’t even seen Manning yet, and already, I ached. How could I spend an evening here and leave it all at the end? That question might’ve been enough to get me to turn the car around, except that I’d already walked away twice before, and I still hadn’t been able to reclaim my life. I needed to tell him we were done. I needed to see with my own eyes that whatever we’d once had was gone so I could walk forward on the path he’d been blocking for over a decade.

  Manning came through the screen door, walked over to the car, and leaned his hands on the hood to look through the open window. “Well, here’s a sight I never thought I’d see. Finally got your license.”

  I laughed. There wasn’t anything funny about it, but I was nervous. “You have to have one in L.A.”

  He glanced around. “Too bad it’s an automatic. You know how to drive a stick?”