My Once and Future Love

by Carla Krae

  “Aren’t you supposed to take it easy on that arm?”

  Rolling my eyes, I motioned for him to move out of the way. Six weeks post-accident my left arm was cast free. “It’s healed. The best thing I can do is work the muscles. Just get the door for me.”

  I knew someone would clean the place in my absence, but it was still a surprise to see the house so tidy when I stepped inside. All of my usual work clutter was either gone or piled neatly on the desk.

  There weren’t many personal items in the living room, just some pictures, and the bedroom was plain. It wouldn’t take long to pack everything.

  “Well, look at you, all upright.”

  Jumping at the sound of Jacob’s voice, I nearly lost my balance. He steadied me, his hands on my waist. I tensed, feeling like they were burning through my skin, and he let go.

  “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.”

  I looked up into his eyes, then glanced away. I didn’t deserve his concern. “I’m alright. I saw the ‘for sale’ sign.”

  “Oh, that. It felt time for a change. I’m tired of being on the celebrity bus tour. It’s really too big, anyway, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, it’s not like you have a big family or anything,” I joked. It didn’t feel very funny. In another life, we might have filled the house. “Any offers yet?”

  He shrugged. “A couple nibbles. People are mostly curious to see inside. I suppose you came to pack for vacation?”

  “Something like that.” More like moving out. “The new guy still handling the job?” I started emptying a drawer of shirts so I wouldn’t have to look at him.

  “More or less. He can’t get my coffee right, but I haven’t been double booked. I think he’s afraid of my publicist.”

  I laughed. “Lynn’s alright. You just have to be firm with her and remind her we’re human. It’s your manager that’s the asshole. Sorry.”

  He shook his head. “No, you’re right. It’s why I fired him.”

  The shirt I was folding slipped out of my fingers. “You what?”

  “Fired him. He was rude, insulting, and bitched that I took a week off when you were hurt. A manager is supposed to work for my best interests and he was only concerned with how much money I made him. So I walked.”

  “Wow… So, new management, new look?”

  “No, that was me. It was time to act my age.”

  ****

  He sat on the bed and picked a frame up off the nightstand. It was a photo his mother took one summer when he and Beth were having an ice cream fight. Their teen selves were laughing. Things were so different, then, and happier.

  “I’ve missed you, Beth.”

  It’d been so hard to stay away, but after what she said...

  His therapist thought he needed to learn to be content alone for a while, so he was trying.

  She paused, her back to him where she stood at the dresser. “Um, I was going to type a formal letter, but since you’re here…I don’t think it’s appropriate I work for you anymore, so I’m resigning.”

  “Oh?” The news wasn’t surprising, all considered.

  “I can still monitor the fan club site if you want, but I’ve had a lot of time to think--a lot of time--and there are things I should’ve been doing. I put everything on hold for Mom and when she died… I need to find out who I can be. I hope you understand.” She held her breath, chewing her lip and just barely peeking at him through her lashes.

  It saddened him she feared his reaction. He set the frame down and stood, stepping nearer, and tapped the underside of her chin so she’d look at him. “I’m sure whatever you have in mind; you’ll be great at it. Keep in touch, hmm?”

  Her eyes were wide, meeting his. “I will.”

  He kissed the pink scar on her forehead. “I’ll let you get back to packing.”

  ****

  He walked out, leaving me stunned. My skin tingled where his lips touched me. I’d never expected him to touch me again.

  I turned in a formal letter and met with my replacement in person before taking my leave. Walking away from that life was scary and hard and possibly a big mistake. I had savings from hardly spending much once my loans were paid off, but the money wouldn’t last forever. Going off on my own without a safety net was, frankly, terrifying.

  Nine weeks after the accident, physical therapy started. The first week of using my leg again was painful and frustrating. My muscles complained about supporting my weight, making me lean on my right leg and making it sore. Using a walker was more embarrassing than the crutches, but I needed that support until my leg caught up.

  I used ointment on the scar, hoping I might be able to wear shorts again one day.

  Dad was happy to have me living at home. Graduating to a cane at my side, I spent the day developing photographs, then made dinner for us. Yeah, I’d set up the darkroom again. One piece of me that had been missing fell into place.

  When summer came, we flew out to Virginia to see Andrew and Darcy and meet my new niece, Sarah. His jaw dropped when he saw me.

  “Who are you and what did you do with my nerdy kid sis?” he teased.

  I whacked his shin with my cane. “Watch it, Andrew.”

  “Oh, come ‘ere, you.” He enveloped me in a bear hug. “You look gorgeous.”

  I blushed against his chest. “I do not…”

  “Give it up, son. She’s been denying it for two weeks since coming back from the beauty parlor.”

  “Dad…” I took a hint from my dream-self and got my hair done and a pair of contacts. The thought of eye surgery still squicked me out.

  “Well, Darcy’s going to be jealous. I think she looks beautiful, but she’s still complaining about ‘the baby weight’.”

  This was so good. We were a family walking through a sunny airport and talking about a new baby. Pain and awkwardness finally in the past.

  I saw my brother’s face light up when the two of us walked arm-in-arm toward Baggage Claim. For years, he made subtle nudges that Dad and I should make up, so I knew it meant a lot we were here together to see his little girl. It meant a lot to me, too. I brought my new Canon to document it.

  I’d been relearning the print process and the next step was going digital. The world had leapt on technology since I was a freshman in college and I was determined to catch up.

  Jacob’s second album was a smash hit and rumor had it he was writing another. Critics buzzed about what could be inspiring him so quickly. He was everywhere to promote the album, but every time they asked him about the rumor he was back in the studio, he dodged the question with some enigmatic answer.

  I was curious, too. It wasn’t like him to keep secrets. He’d always been so out there in public. Maybe he found a new muse, the girl Marty mentioned. After everything, I could finally wish him happiness.

  ****

  They were on tour again for the second album. This time, Jacob was being a good boy, only leaving the hotel if he wanted to eat out, and that was usually with the lads. Between buying a new house in a quieter neighborhood and being a recluse for months, the paparazzi had backed off and he was more likely to be photographed on the street by a fan. He was still A-list, so they didn’t ignore him, but he could finally breathe.

  Up in those various suites he lived in, he wrote lyrics and letters—postcards for Beth and longer missives to his mother, who he was calling more often, too. His therapist thought he’d be more accountable to himself if he was in more frequent contact with his mother, and the logic held…it was easier to screw up in the past when she wouldn’t know about it for weeks, if ever. The relief in her voice added to his guilt and regret.

  “Miss you, too, Mum. I promise if I don’t see you sooner that we’ll be in London again next European tour.”

  “Thank you, dear. I appreciate that. Will you try to take holiday this Christmas?”

  “Yes, Mum, if I can.”

  “Fair enough. If you speak to Elizabeth before I do, please give her my love?”

&nbs
p; “Mother…”

  “Have a good set, darling. Goodbye.” She hung up.

  He put his cell in his pocket and prepared to go to the venue. Mothers…she was biased toward Beth, of course, but he didn’t want to get his hopes up. It was enough Beth was writing notes back to him, a beginning to renewing their friendship, and long-distance they didn’t fight. He finally had a chance to get her to like him again, to clear away that look of disappointment in her eyes.

  Yes, he was very careful with his words now.

  Personal Attention was a commercial album; the corresponding tour was the same. The set was designed for maximum fun and audience participation. The opening act was a promising bar band Bob found and made the deal for. No more over-ambitious starlets looking to ride their coattails. Jacob remembered that feeling of being so grateful for his first big shot and this group of guys had been the right choice, a bunch of hard-workers with little ego.

  His phone buzzed with a text:

  Bookworm01: Break a leg tonight.

  Beth. Smiling, he typed “thank you” and pressed Send. She must be moderating the fan club forum tonight.

  “Uh-oh, he’s got that look again.”

  “Shut up, Bob.”

  “Ohh, the Beth look,” Mikey said.

  “Jake’s in looooooove,” Aaron crooned. Jacob swung, pretending to hit Aaron in the head.

  “Shut your gobs, wankers. She’s my friend. Next time she can text you good luck,” he said, pointing at Bob.

  “She didn’t really say ‘good luck’, did she?” Dylan asked.

  They rolled her eyes. For being so level-headed, the man was crazy superstitious. “No, she wrote ‘break a leg’. You’re such a wimp.”

  “Places!” the stage manager called.

  Now the attention was on Dylan, the boys were giving him shit. They passed Jacob onto the dark stage to take up their instruments.

  Here we go…

  ****

  Three months into picking up a camera again, I finally felt ready to have my portfolio critiqued by someone in-the-know. Mom had several showings at a small gallery in L.A. once upon a time, so I hoped the owner would remember the name and let me make a presentation. Fingers shaking, I dialed the number, and waited.

  Fast-forward two days, and my appointment was in an hour.

  I chose a nice blouse and conservative skirt, clipping the sides of my newly-chocolate-brown hair off my face.

  “Sweetheart, you look fine. Stop fussing,” Dad said, standing in the bathroom doorway.

  I glared at him in the mirror. “I’m not fussing. I just want to look professional.”

  He placed his hands on my shoulders and kissed my temple. “Your pictures are beautiful and they’re going to love you. You’ve grown up just as pretty and talented as your mother.”

  “Daddy…” I blinked rapidly, willing the tears away before they messed up my mascara.

  “I know. I shouldn’t get sentimental before your big meeting. Want me to leave?”

  “Yes, please! Go play golf or something.”

  He gave my shoulders another squeeze, laughing, and left the room. I faced my reflection, drew my shoulders back, and took in a deep breath.

  “I can do this.”

  My timing was perfect. The gallery was having a slow season, so the owner picked some of my prints for the next open house. “I want five of your best in these sizes in a week,” Mr. Ballard said, scribbling on a pad. He tore the sheet off and handed it to me. “Be here two hours prior to the event to set up, Miss Lawson.”

  I clapped my jaw shut and hurried out before he changed his mind. I couldn’t believe it went so easily.

  My luck shone again when I discovered I had the front wall, right where anyone could see my photos through the window. The open house had a modest turnout, but my prints sold—all of them.

  “Mr. Ballard, who was the buyer?”

  “I can’t disclose that, dear. The buyer wishes to remain anonymous. Just be glad we moved them. Can you have more for me next week?”

  “I-I guess.”

  “Good. Run along now.”

  Dad was waiting in the den when I walked in the door.

  “So, how did it go? I wish you’d let me come, Elizabeth.”

  I set down my purse and keys in a daze. “Hmm? Oh, they sold…”

  “That’s wonderful. Which ones?”

  “All of them,” I said. “Someone bought the whole set.”

  “That’s amazing! I am so proud of you. See, I told you. You had nothing to worry about. Want to go out for ice cream to celebrate?” The sight of my normally reserved father beaming down at me and practically bouncing on his toes finally broke through my haze.

  I smiled back. “Well, if you’re buying…”

  Chapter Eleven

  Tiny showings led to bigger ones. I’d chosen to showcase the buildings in Los Angeles and its surrounds in interesting ways for my public work. Wanting a job, though, I remembered a business card tucked in my files and called Nathan.

  “Talk to me.”

  “Nathan? It’s Beth Lawson. I--”

  “Hey, Liz! Why has it been so long since you called me? You got the get-well flowers, yes?”

  “You know how it is, and I did. I sent a thank-you note.”

  “My secretary must have buried it. So what’s up?”

  “I’ve picked up my camera again and was wondering if you have any contacts. I’m not looking for a major shoot or anything--”

  “Your e-mail still the same?”

  “Yeah.”

  “If you want to work for a little architecture magazine, you’re in luck.”

  “Thank you, Nathan.”

  “Any time. Don’t be a stranger.”

  Within hours, I sent my résumé in to the mag. Though cashing out my benefits when I resigned left me with a nice sum in the bank on top of my savings, money never lasted forever, and I didn’t know how to not work.

  I walked into an office building downtown and checked the directory for the correct floor to meet with the photo editor. After getting directions from a secretary, I knocked on the office door.

  “Enter!”

  A woman stood from behind the desk as I walked in. Long red curls framed her face and though she was much shorter than me, her figure made mine look like a boy’s.

  “You’re my ten o’clock?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I shook her hand.

  She grinned. “Relax, honey. First thing you gotta know about working with me is I don’t stand on protocol and crap. Think of me as your best ally. You want to keep your job and I want photos that keep our readers coming back. What’s your name?”

  “Elizabeth Lawson. I have a copy of my resume if you--”

  “Just hand over your portfolio and we’ll take it from there.” She took the album from me and sat at her desk again. I took the chair and waited.

  This was the strangest interview I’d ever had.

  She flipped pages, eyes scanning the images. “Got a digital camera?”

  “Yes, just recently.”

  “I’ll take the shots off the memory card after each assignment. Any problem with travel?”

  “No…”

  She lifted her head and closed the book. “Then welcome to the team, Beth.”

  “Thank you, Ms.--”

  “Celeste. Or ‘Boss’. That works for me, too.” She winked. “Fill out this employee packet and come back tomorrow for your first assignment.”

  And that was the start of our friendship.

  We were the same age, but Celeste had been at the magazine working her way up since she was twenty, and took me under her wing. She was my exact opposite, bold and bubbly and totally fearless.

  For the first time when I traveled, I got to see the city I was in. Shadowing Jacob, it had been hurry-hurry-hurry, and we were out of a place just as fast as we’d come into it. The pay wasn’t near what I’d been making before, but that was okay. I had a job making art.

  Keeping in tou
ch with Jacob was hard with both of us traveling. Our postcards constantly crossed in the mail. We were sounding like friends again, though, so maybe communicating over distance was letting us heal the damage. I wasn’t ready to talk to him live, yet, but I sent an occasional text message or e-mail. Electronic communication was more likely to get to him than snail mail while he moved around so much.

  The job was more fun than I expected and so lacking in stress I thought I might be doing it wrong. As long as I made my deadlines, I set my own hours and dressed how I liked, and except when an assignment took me out of California I was home for dinner with Dad every night. Our relationship was better than it ever had been before.

  My body had passed my high school weight for the first time, too, and it was strange to not feel tired all the time. When we visited Andrew this summer, he said he finally saw a sister he didn’t need to worry about and I wondered how he put up with me all these years. What must I have looked like to people around me? Only allowing myself to heal let me see the dark, self-centered hole I’d dug into, and I was embarrassed. He laughed when I asked him to kick me in the head if I get that way again, then promised he would!

  Now, we were in September and the SoCal sun was making its last attempt to boil us before summer faded into fall. Cooler weather was expected soon and I’d be grateful for it. Since the car Jacob gave me was in his name, though I paid for the insurance and stuff, I had to wait for him to get the check then send the payout to me, so I was in Dad’s old car again and the AC lacked.

  ****

  March to September was a long time without Beth, something he hadn’t experienced since he hired her. Back when, they never fought on the phone, so he tried a similar approach with notes and e-mails. They hadn’t talked this friendly in years, so it seemed to be working. He only hoped she would see the progress he’d made when they finally met again.

  The tour for album number two was an even bigger smash than the last time they traveled the US, and was twice as long, divided in two legs. Then, they’d head overseas in November after a little time off. If Beth would see him again, he hoped to take that time in L.A.

  The second album, Personal Attention, was a more shallow effort. He thought he was writing fun lyrics at the time, and they were, but man…the thing came off very commercial, and lacking heart. The rumor about him laying down new melody demos was close to the truth—since cracking his soul open, he’d been writing every chance he got, but they weren’t for another album. They were for Beth, if she’d come hear him sing.