Sometimes during the summer, however, Rebecca and Wendy had traveled with August and the production crew, although they saw little of him. For Rebecca, that had only served as a constant reminder of the rigorous demands of the entertainment world. Through osmosis, mostly, she adored the constant buzz of activity, the frenetic pace, the high energy that propelled the crew from one day to the next. Still, she typically felt the outcast, always on the outside, looking in, and preferred to keep a low profile, whether at home in LA or on the road.
As Rebecca sat now in her favorite wing-back chair, reading beneath a pool of lamplight, the sight of August’s written words soothed her, yet they also cut to her very core. His bold, angular handwriting, black ink against the yellow of the steno pad, blurred momentarily through tears, but blinking them away, she read on.
Our filming of In the Heart of the Rainforest here in Maui is going surprisingly well. With any luck, we’ll be finished with the shoot by sometime early next month. At least that’s the hope. The weather has cooperated, too, without so much as even a brief tropical rain shower. And while we’re working nearly sixteen hours a day on the set, I’m feeling energized—with the obvious exception, of course, that you and Wendy are not here, too. I miss you so much! I wish you could be here to share the sight of the splendid Hawaiian sunsets and wade with me through the warm, crystal blue surf. Some time, too, before we’re done, we plan to drive to the top of Molokai at nighttime—hopefully next Friday during the new moon—to visit the planetarium there. I hear the night skies are out of this world!
Well, give Wendy a big hug and a kiss from her papa, and please tell her to study hard and do her best in school. Tell her, too, that I haven’t forgotten our promise to her to get her a puppy. We’ll do that soon next time when I’m home. Meanwhile, never forget how much I love you.
I’ll call again first chance I get tomorrow, and most likely write, too.
With Love forever,
August
P.S. Benny says to say hello. You should have seen him the other day while he was trying to surf! It was hilarious. He could barely even catch a wave let alone ride it. You’d never believe he’s a Californian, born and raised. Good old Benny!
Rebecca smiled faintly as she folded up the letter and slid it back into the envelope. For a brief while, at least, August’s written words had seemed to reach out and touch her, almost as if he were here again sitting right next to her. And they had been good, those few treasured moments, just as it had been good moving back here in the first place.
Yes, maybe now, maybe somehow, she could keep pressing on. There was no choice, of course. She had to for Wendy’s sake. And her own, too. And there was work to do, not only her work for Galaxy Productions, but the work necessary to get her personal life back in order. She had to get settled, set up a schedule for the tours of the Glasgow place, and find a place in town where she could work. She and Wendy couldn’t live forever off the money August had left them, and she’d be a fool to rely on her hoped for, though limited, payment from Galaxy Productions.
Sighing, closing her eyes, Rebecca pressed the envelope to her lips and held it there for an indeterminable length of time.
Somehow, doing so gave her strength.
Chapter Three
“Have you heard anything about Mark Simon’s plans for the old Glasgow place?” Rebecca asked her sister Sunday afternoon. The women were visiting inside the old-fashioned kitchen in the home where they grew up. Sunlight angled through the kitchen’s bay window, illuminating the high ceiling, strawberry patterned border, and built-in corner hutch. Meanwhile, Wendy and Jodie played in Jodie’s upstairs bedroom, and Ross had driven to the bait shop on the waterfront in preparation for his next fishing trip.
“Sorry, but I haven’t heard a word,” Missey answered with a shake of her head. “It’s just much a mystery to me as it is to you.” Setting down her coffee mug, she drew her last stroke of bright purple polish across her index fingernail. Outspoken and zany, she enjoyed dressing in bold colored clothing and bright costume jewelry, a sharp contrast to Rebecca’s preference for simple elegance.
“Big help you are,” Rebecca teased. She paused to listen to their daughters’ giggles drifting down the stairs. The sound put a smile in her heart. Reassured they wouldn’t be eavesdropping any time soon, she continued talking. “Even though Mark’s being tight-lipped about all this, I was hoping some news might have leaked out.”
Missey shrugged. “Well, speaking of the small town grapevine, the worst part is, most of what runs through it is often untrue.”
“Unfortunately you’re right.” Rebecca turned thoughtful. “Still, I’d welcome even a rumor or two—anything that might give me more ammunition to try to make Mark change his mind about the house. That is, if there’s any hope left at all.”
“So you’re really set on buying the place.”
“Absolutely. My part in the movie, small as it was, and my marriage to August were like a dream come true. Why should I throw away the memories that make me the happiest? They’re all I have of my husband anymore—the memories and Wendy, of course.”
Missey leaned forward. “Becca, I love you, and I want more than anything for you to be happy. But I’d like to see you as happy with your hopes for the future as you are right now with your memories.”
Rebecca sighed and rested back against her chair. “I’ve heard that before, sis. My friends back in L.A.—even Benny, who knows me so well—kept telling me, ‘It’s been a full year now. Why do you insist on staying stuck in the past?’” She lowered her gaze and touched her bare ring finger. “That’s the only reason I finally removed my wedding band, to try to convince them I was trying. But my heart wasn’t in it, probably never will be.” After a long silence, she asked, “Are any of our old friends from high school days still around?” She and Missey were two years apart in age, Rebecca being the elder.
Missey shook her head. “Not many. Most all left for greener pastures,” she admitted. “And even the few who have stayed seem almost strangers anymore. I guess we’re all too wrapped up with kids, husbands, jobs, church, and PTA . . . that sort of thing.”
“Sounds wonderful to me.” Rebecca’s heart twisted with longing. “August’s and my friends were a different breed altogether. They lived on the fast track. Hobnobbed with the other big boys. After I lost August, they just didn’t seem to come around so much anymore—all except Benny, that is.”
“Benny?”
“The studio’s location scout. Ben Rardin’s been almost like a big brother to me. He’s worked with Galaxy Productions for a couple of decades now, long before I even knew August. Over the years, the three of us grew really close. But as far as our other friends are concerned, I guess when I didn’t stop playing the grieving widow role as soon as they thought I should, they simply gave up on me.”
“You’re back home now,” Missey urged softly. “And you can start all over again.” She reached across the table and squeezed Rebecca’s hand.
“I know you only want the best for me, sis.” Rebecca took another swallow of coffee in an attempt to clear the growing tightness inside her throat. “But I have to do things my own way. And, well . . . getting back again to Benny, I haven’t told you everything. There’s more . . .”
“Oh? You’ve got a romantic interest in him?”
“Heaven’s no! As I just said, he’s no more than a big brother to me. But most importantly, I consider him a business partner. He and I are working together on this next location shoot.” Rebecca explained about the hundred-thousand-dollar contract Benny had offered her. “Despite what people may think, I’m not a wealthy widow,” she added. “If I can somehow—either through good luck or managing to persuade Mark—secure the property for the sequel, I’ll be able to breathe a little easier. And whether or not I end up buying the house, the money will still be a tremendous help.”
“Your life in L.A. wasn’t as glamorous as the folks here often thought, was it?”
�
�No. My inheritance was only enough to last a short time, not counting what August put in trust for Wendy, of course. As you probably remember, August only landed a few minor roles the past few years before he died.”
“Uh-huh. Show business can certainly be fickle sometimes, can’t it?”
“That’s putting it mildly.” She sighed. “Then, too, much of his estate went to his children from his first marriage, but I’m not blaming him or anyone else for that.” She shrugged. “It’s just the way things turned out.”
“Are you going to try to find a job?”
“Yes. I’ve already checked into going back to work for the Chamber of Commerce. The best they can promise me is limited part-time reception work, but at least that way I can spend extra time with Wendy.”
Missey blew on her nails of her left hand. “So when do you start?”
“Not for another month or so, unfortunately. Even though the woman who is the current receptionist has already given her notice, she won’t be leaving until the middle of July.”
“You always were the patient type—not like me. If I needed to work, I’d probably go bonkers having to wait that long.” Missey’s expression grew thoughtful. “Well, anyway, Becca, you know you can always count on me to help any way I can, especially when it comes to looking after Wendy while you’re at work.”
“Thanks, sis.”
Missey met her gaze. “That’s what family’s for.”
“Thanks again.” Rebecca nodded as she fought against the growing tightness in her throat. “That works both ways, you know. Now that I’m back home, I hope I’ll have the chance to help you and Ross, too. Any way I can.”
“I’m sure you’ll have your chance,” Missey said with a sly smile. She ticked off her plans on each finger. “You know, of course, that we have that big trip to Europe coming up, and then when we get back, we’ll be leaving for Hawaii, and still after that, there’ll be our cruise to Alaska.”
“No! You’re kidding me!”
“Unfortunately, I am.” She spread her hands wide and chuckled. “What? Small-town girl like me actually getting to see the world? Yeah, right. Don’t I wish!”
After they shared a good laugh, Rebecca said, “Tell me what you know about Mark Simons. Have you ever met him?”
“No, but I remember reading about him in a recent newspaper article on the old Glasgow house. I’ve also seen him around town every so often. I know you didn’t ask for my opinion, but frankly, I think he’s gorgeous.” She got to her feet to retrieve the coffee pot from the nearby counter, refilled their mugs, then sat back down.
“Oh, Missey!” Rebecca teased. “Listen to you . . . a happily married woman at that!”
“Well, I can still look, can’t I?”
“Sure, sure!” Rebecca giggled. “But tell me about the article. When did it come out?”
“About a year ago, I think. Shortly after we arrived back home from our last visit with you.” A shadow passed over her face. ”You and Wendy.”
The time you came for August’s funeral. A familiar wave of grief eclipsed Rebecca’s lightheartedness, a grief nearly as raw as it had been back then. She’d been so consumed by it, she remembered very little of the details of her sister’s visit. She swallowed against the lump in her throat.
“The article said the Glasgow place receives around two hundred visitors every month,” Missey continued, “and more, of course, during the summertime. While I certainly noticed the signs—increased traffic, longer lines at the grocery stores, that sort of thing—I have to confess, the numbers surprised me.” She shrugged. “But anyway, getting back to Mark, he’s a psychiatrist.”
“Oh, really!” The news surprised her. Somehow, she’d expected him to be involved in real estate or independently wealthy enough to live off the moneys from his properties. “So where does he practice?” Rebecca asked.
“At Northwestern Psychiatric Hospital in Coves Junction. You may remember it’s a private facility. Unfortunately it’s more crowded than the State hospital in Salem, so I hear. Especially so after the State facility starting cutting back.”
Nodding, Rebecca wrapped her hands around the coffee mug, allowing it to warm them. “The agent at the Freemont Realty made it sound as if Mark Simons was a disagreeable old ogre, at least part of the time. You’d think that anyone who works with people every day on that level would have a more favorable reputation.”
“Was the agent Norm McIntosh, by any chance?”
“Yes! Why’d you ask?”
“It’s no secret your landlord and Norm have been at odds since practically the very first day Mark moved to town. McIntosh is semi-retired, a widower, in his late forties or early fifties, I think. He has means, but he likes to stay busy by working part-time and volunteering at the Chamber in his spare time. That also puts him in contact with Mark a lot.”
“Why don’t they get along?”
“It has something to do with Mark having been engaged to one of his two daughters. McIntosh, you see, lives in Coves Junction, where Mark also lived before he moved here. McIntosh apparently holds a grudge against Mark because he thinks he jilted her big time. Practically at the altar, so the gossip goes.”
“Is that true?”
“No, not exactly. While he did end up breaking their engagement, I understand that happened well before the wedding date.” One corner of Missey’s mouth turned up in a smile. “Anyway, McIntosh has his own issues when it comes to women. He seems to go for the younger ones, I think.”
“Oh. One of those mid-life crisis types, huh?”
“Yeah.” Missey poked at a crumb on the table. “Maybe instead of bad-mouthing Mark, McIntosh should be seeking his professional services,” she said with a chuckle.
“Well, I’m sure not every guy on the planet who prefers younger women is in need of counseling,” Rebecca countered, thinking back to several of her and August’s male friends who had dated women young enough to be their daughters. While that had indeed been the norm in Hollywood, she realized now, she had to remind herself she was no longer living in Hollywood, but rather Small Town, USA.
“You’re right. Bad joke. But Mark, poor man. It must be such a pain, having to sit around all day and listen to people’s problems.”
“I agree. Especially if he’s working with crazies who’re as flaked out as the woman who killed August.”
“Ah, Becca.” Missey only shook her head and smiled wanly. “They’re not all cold-blooded killers, you know.”
Regretting her words, Rebecca bit her lip. “Okay, I take that back. I realize I have a problem when it comes to people with mental illness . . . but I have my reasons.” Her bitter outburst had surprised even her. Even though the woman who had been responsible for August’s death had been committed to a hospital for the mentally ill—surely the lesser of two evils compared to going to prison—Rebecca couldn’t help but believe she’d gotten off too easily. Surely, justice had not been served.
“So what were your impressions of Mark when you met him last night?” Missey asked.
At the thought of their brief encounter, Rebecca’s mood brightened again. “He seemed very friendly. Much better than what I’d expected. At first, I thought he might even be willing to work with us in filming the sequel, but then he backed off. Said our schedules, his and mine, just didn’t jibe.” She was tempted to tell her sister how he’d affected her on a physical level, also, but didn’t. No, that had simply been an overreaction on her part. She’d been exhausted from the long drive. She hadn’t been thinking clearly.
“He must have had a good reason for backing off. Either that or he’s simply headstrong.”
”He said he wasn’t at liberty to discuss the details yet, but I couldn’t help get a sense that whatever the reason, it’s for a good purpose. And oh! He did say it was okay to get the dog Wendy’s been asking for, so that’s a bonus. At least he’s willing to meet me halfway about some things.”
“So maybe there’s hope yet.” Missey paused, tapping he
r forefinger against her chin. “Not to change the subject, but why don’t you come to church with us next Sunday? It might help put you into contact with some old acquaintances again, and there are lots of kids around Wendy’s age, too. I’m sure you’ll remember Francis Bodeman, the organist, and Jason Dodson, the choir director-—”
“Mama! Mama!” The patter of running footsteps and Wendy’s excited shouts sliced through their conversation. Rebecca welcomed the interruption. She didn’t want to visit Grace Community Church again—or any church, for that matter—even though Missey spoke of the small, friendly church where they had attended with their parents for as long as Rebecca could remember.
The girls emerged in the dining room, eyes bright, faces flushed. “Mama, Mama!” Wendy cried again.
“What is it, sweetie?”
“Jodie just said that before we got here this morning, she asked Auntie Missey if I could sleep over tonight, and she said yes, as long as it’s okay with you! Can I, Mama? Please?”
“Yeah, can she?” Jodie echoed. At one full head taller than Wendy, she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, causing her chin-length dark hair to bob. “It’s been a whole year since we drove to California to see you . . . and . . . and Wendy and I’ve got tons to talk about! Besides, school’s out now, so we can sleep in tomorrow!”
Rebecca laughed. “You girls will never run out of things to talk about.” She flicked her eyes to meet Missey’s amused gaze. “As long as you’re sure that’s what your mother said, then it’s fine with me, too.”
“But only on one condition,” Missey put in, her smile growing wider.
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