by Judy Clemens
He looked at her bleakly, and Casey felt the sudden urge to smooth his hair and take him in her arms, comforting him. “Come on,” she said, instead. “Let’s go do the little we’re able to. Thanks to you they’ll at least have full bellies tonight.”
He stood for a moment, head bowed, knuckles white on the chair. Finally he looked up, gave a ghost of a smile, and held out a hand. “Shall we?”
As they left he turned to look at his office once more, as if seeing what it could have been, before turning off the light.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Eric was right. The people really did seem to enjoy the dinner. Somehow just the sight of pizza rounds on the table made the room more festive. Not laugh-out-loud, party favor kind of festive, but a more subdued hum of contentment. Children took huge, sticky bites, cheese stringing from their mouths, while adults wandered from pizza to pizza, trying out varieties of Veggie Special. A few of the pies even featured pepperoni, that coveted pizza foundation.
To complement the main course, Loretta had tossed up a salad of slightly wilted greens, garnered from neighboring grocery stores for cheap, and the diners had their choice of several kinds of generic soft drinks. All the room needed, Casey thought, was a clown to pop out of the kitchen and perform bad party tricks.
“Nice,” she told Eric at the kitchen door.
He didn’t say, “I told you so.”
The cheery atmosphere lasted until the pizza was gone—except for one forlorn piece missing half of its cheese—and the two-liter bottles were empty. Napkins lay strewn on the tables, and tomato sauce dotted the floors and the children.
But then reality came crashing down, and the look of quiet desperation began to leach back into the adults’ eyes. The children, oblivious to the changing emotions, continued to skip or run around the room until their parents snagged them and pulled them, protesting, out of the building.
Eric closed the door behind the last of the diners, sagging against it. “At least,” he said, picking up on their last conversation, “it was nice while it lasted.”
Casey stooped to pick up a ragged piece of pepperoni, flattened to the floor. “You gave them a respite. You always do. It’s important.”
He didn’t look at her, but shoved himself from the door, calling toward the kitchen. “Loretta! Is there enough left for supper tomorrow?”
“Praise God, there’s plenty!” Her face, shiny with perspiration, appeared in the opening to the kitchen. “There’s even enough for us each to have a couple of pieces tonight. Hallelujah! ”
Eric waved her off. “I don’t need any.”
Loretta gasped, a hand to her chest. “I believe you do, young man, thank you, Jesus! You will sit down and eat the pizza our good Lord has provided for you. Amen! ”
When Eric seemed ready to argue, Casey sat down across the table. “You’re no good to anybody if you faint from hunger.”
“But this pizza is for—”
“It’s ready now, and she said there’s enough for tomorrow.” She tipped her head toward the front door. “They aren’t hungry now.”
Eric looked at the ceiling, took a breath, and let it out. “Fine. But I’m not going to enjoy it.”
Casey blurted out a laugh, and though he fought it, Eric had to smile.
“Eric got us pizza!” Johnny bustled out from the kitchen and shoved Eric into his seat. “Pizza and the nice lady!” He beamed at Casey before dropping onto a folding chair.
Loretta brought out part of a Veggie Special, and the four of them made quick work of it, along with bowls of the wilted lettuce. Casey wouldn’t have said she actually enjoyed it, but it was pretty good.
They cleaned up as much as they could before heading out for rehearsal, Eric quiet as they scrubbed tables and mopped the floor. Johnny and Loretta did their part in the kitchen, Loretta singing gospel songs, Johnny talking in streams about silverware, tomato sauce, and nice ladies, their dual monologues punctuated with the sounds of clanking dishes.
Casey worked with Eric, filling trash bags and brushing crumbs from the table. The sounds from the kitchen served as a comforting background, and she wasn’t aware she was listening to the words until she heard Ellen’s name.
“She was a nice lady, too,” Johnny said.
“Umm-hmmm, Praise God,” Loretta sang, right in rhythm with her present melody.
“But I didn’t like that man. He didn’t look at my silverware.”
“Praise Jesus.”
“I’m glad he doesn’t come here anymore.”
“Thank the good Lord.”
Casey jerked upward, listening, the trash bag held out in front of her. What man? She looked at Eric, but he either didn’t hear the conversation, or was pretending not to.
“Why did he stop coming?” Johnny’s voice was high with question.
“Don’t know, baby. Maybe Eric knows, thank you, Jesus.”
Maybe Eric did know, but he wasn’t saying.
“About that time,” Eric said suddenly, thrusting a last wad of soggy napkins into the bag. “I’m going to go wash up.”
Casey tied the bag, watching Eric go. By the time he was ready, she was waiting at the door.
“Drive or walk?” Eric said, still not looking directly at her.
“Oh, walk, definitely.”
So they set out. Casey had been hot when returning from the dojang, so she had forgotten to grab her jacket at The Nesting Place afterward. She wished now that she was wearing it, and hugged her arms to her stomach.
“Cold?” Eric hesitated on the sidewalk.
“I’ll be fine. We’ll be there in a minute.”
They turned the corner, leaving Home Sweet Home behind.
“So why doesn’t Leila work with you at Home Sweet Home?”
Eric didn’t answer.
“I mean, she obviously adores you. I’d think she’d want to help out with the soup kitchen, since it’s important to you.”
He glanced over at her, obviously uncomfortable.
“Sorry,” Casey said. “None of my business.”
They walked in silence for a bit.
“First of all,” Eric said, “Ellen worked there with me. That cramped Leila’s style.” He gave a little smile.
“That makes sense.”
“But most of all…it’s that her family eats there.”
“Oh. But…”
“I know. Leila drives the cute little car. Not exactly cheap. But she bought it with her own money. She’s not about to sell it now. Besides, I don’t know how much equity she has in it, and how much is loans.”
“So coming to Home Sweet Home would be awkward. Because of her family.”
“Very.”
They walked a little further.
“Where does the money come from?” Casey asked.
“What money? Leila’s?”
“No. To fund the dinners. The food’s not all for free, and the building would cost something, for rent and utilities.”
Eric made a face. “Well…”
“You fund it, don’t you?”
He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Someone has to.”
And if someone had a rich father, it made it a lot easier. Especially if that someone felt the money he had was at the expense of the poor.
“It’s a good thing,” Casey said.
“Is it?”
“You know it is.”
The theater came into view.
“So you didn’t have to borrow any money to start it?”
Eric looked at her. “No. Why?”
“It’s just…yesterday, here at rehearsal. I was talking to Todd and mentioned Home Sweet Home. It seemed to make him very uncomfortable.”
Eric frowned. “It should.”
“Why?” Although she was already forming a picture of Todd at the soup kitchen, not appreciating Johnny’s silverware. From the way Todd’s ears had lit up at the mention of Ellen, Casey figured he’d been busy appreciating something else. And his daughter had known. Or
had at least suspected.
They reached the theater before Eric could respond, and other cast members were arriving, greeting them.
Aaron, Casey’s mechanic from the morning, held the door for her. “How’s the bike?”
“Doing great. Thanks to you.”
“Oh, that’s so sweet.” Jack pinched Aaron’s cheek, taking advantage of the open door to slip by him into the theater.
Aaron batted his hand away, but his brother was out of reach before he could actually latch onto him. He scampered after him, chasing him into the foyer and through the double doors.
“What’s this?” Eric asked, his face reflecting relief at the subject change.
They walked toward the doors where the boys had disappeared. “Aaron saved me from flat tire syndrome.”
Eric still looked confused.
“He put new tires on my bike. Or, your mother’s bike.”
“Oh. That old thing is my mother’s?” He held open the right-hand door.
“From her garage, remember? Which reminds me…” She walked through, but waited for Eric in the aisle. “What’s the deal with the Orion in the garage?”
“Take a wild guess.”
“It’s your dad’s.”
He snorted. “Might as well be. He gave it to my mom. Thought it would make her less mad at him when he got remarried and took away our old house.”
“I don’t suppose it worked.”
“Would it work on you?”
They reached the front of the theater, where Aaron and Jack sat side by side on the edge of the stage, still pestering each other. Becca crouched in the second row of seats, scribbling madly in her notebook, and Todd lounged in the first, feet stuck out in front of him, back slumped into the seat. It looked like he was asleep. Or, more likely, pretending to be. Leila, watching for Eric, scowled at Casey before practically gluing herself to his side. Casey didn’t see Thomas, or the two men who’d been threatening him.
“You must be Casey.”
She looked up to see a smiling face, white teeth against a dark tan. “Yes.”
“Lonnie.” He grabbed her elbow and led her to a seat, where he pulled her down beside him. He gazed at her, sparkling blue eyes beneath the bleached blond—almost white—hair, his smile growing wider. “Tell me everything.”
She glanced back at Eric for some help, but Becca had snagged him, and now their heads were bent together, Becca gesturing wildly. Leila hung back slightly, obviously unsure whether she was supposed to be included in the conversation.
“Oh, you don’t need to tell me about him,” Lonnie said. “It’s written all over his face.”
Casey blinked. “What?”
“That he’s madly in love with you.”
“No.”
“I can see it.”
“But it’s only been a week since Ellen—”
“I know. I know that, but sometimes the heart does strange things, doesn’t it?”
Casey forced herself not to look at Eric. “He’s not—” she held up a finger to forestall Lonnie’s protests “—but if he were, it would just be because he needs something to fill the void.”
Lonnie patted her hand. “Okay, you can tell yourself that.” He studied her face. “But then, you look like you’ve confronted the void yourself, haven’t you?”
Casey opened her mouth to reply, but snapped it shut when she realized Lonnie was no longer paying attention to her.
He craned his neck toward the back of the theater. “I wonder where Thomas is?”
Casey looked around. “And Holly.”
“Oh,” Lonnie said. “That makes sense, all right.”
“What? They’re together?”
Lonnie laughed. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But no, it’s not that way with them. At least, not that anyone knows about. Her husband would kill her. Or him.” He considered this, a hand on his chin. “Perhaps that wouldn’t be such a bad thing.”
“Holly’s married?”
His face lit up. “Didn’t you know?”
She shook her head. “I’ve been here a total of three days. And not even quite that.”
He leaned toward her, his eyes twinkling. “Then would it surprise you to hear that Holly is none other than your erstwhile lover’s stepmother?”
Casey froze. “Holly is married to Karl Willems?”
Lonnie glanced over her head, but Eric apparently remained unaware of their conversation topic, for he continued. “He married her a year ago. Caused no end of scandal, of course, with her being so much younger, and him being, well, him.”
Casey rubbed her temples. What else hadn’t Eric wanted her to know?
“Anyway,” Lonnie said with a squeeze of her arm. “Holly’s late sometimes because she likes to make a grand entrance. You know, that we all missed her so much, but she ‘was detained by an important phone call,’ or something else vague and ridiculous.” He rolled his eyes.
Casey squinted up at him from between her hands, remembering Holly’s fit the day before when Lonnie hadn’t shown up. “And Thomas lets her get away with that?”
Lonnie shrugged, releasing her arm and sinking back into his chair. “What’s he going to do? It’s not like we have anybody else to do her role.” He eyed Casey sideways. “No matter how much we do or don’t like her performance.”
The doors to the back of the theater slapped open, and Thomas barreled down the aisle, his face a picture of barely controlled fury. Aaron and Jack stopped poking each other and jumped to their feet, Becca clutched her notebook to her chest, and even Eric backed up a step, almost stepping on Leila.
“Oh, boy,” Lonnie said in Casey’s ear. “Looks like we’re in for it tonight.” His voice sounded almost gleeful. “I hope I’m not the one he takes it out on. But then, that could be kind of fun, in a perverse sort of way.”
“Lonnie!” Thomas bellowed.
Lonnie jumped, then shot an amused glance at Casey.
Casey took another look at Thomas and leaned back to avoid his glare as he checked out Lonnie’s clothes. “Done with your shopping?”
Lonnie grinned. “Thank you so much for asking, Thomas. I did manage to find some great deals.” Thomas’ hands curled into fists, but Lonnie took no notice. “I found a sweater that would’ve been perfect for you, but unfortunately they didn’t have it in your size.”
“Lonnieeeee…” Thomas’ voice was a growl.
Lonnie held his hands up as if in surrender. “Sorry. Sorry. I won’t do it again.” He looked innocently at the director, blinking woefully, until Thomas turned away. “Until the next end-of-season sale,” Lonnie whispered. Casey glanced at him, and he pinched his lips together, trying not to laugh.
“Becca!” Thomas’ voice was very quiet, but filled with steel. “Where are we starting today?”
To Becca’s credit, she stuttered only once in response, and had the stage all ready to go. Any more arguments were forestalled until the next break.
Casey worked through her scenes, pleasantly surprised at Lonnie’s talent, especially since he was playing her character’s brother, Sebastian. She found herself a bit shy when on stage with Eric, and tried to avoid him between scenes. If Lonnie was right about Eric, she’d have to watch her step. The last thing Eric needed was for her to crush his feelings, no matter how misplaced they were. Besides that, she didn’t need any more of Leila’s wrath to come her way.
Holly made her grand entrance about a half hour late, but they barely noted her arrival. She sat sulking in the seats until Becca called her, and even then she needed some extra coaxing to get on stage.
They stumbled through several scenes before break, and Casey escaped to the bathroom, where she stayed until Becca called them back.
“You okay?” Eric joined her, several rows back from the stage.
She didn’t look at him. “I’m fine. Thanks.”
She was spared further conversation by being summoned to the stage, where Thomas kept her busy every moment. When the end of rehearsal fin
ally arrived she cast about for thoughts of how she might get out of walking home with Eric.
“Casey!”
She stopped in her tracks, as did the rest of the actors.
“Everyone else,” Thomas said. “Shoo!”
Shoo? Casey smothered a laugh, albeit a nervous one.
Eric hesitated mid-aisle, and Leila ran into him.
“Go ahead,” Casey said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“I can wait.”
“Really. No reason for you to wait. I’ll be fine.”
His face set into stubborn lines, and he went out the doors, Leila on his heels. Casey sighed, figuring he’d be outside when she was done, although maybe Leila could convince him to go out for that drink he’d promised her. She turned back to Thomas, who sat in his seat, tapping his pencil on his closed script. She glanced up at the darkened stage, wondering if they actually were alone, but got no sense that Taffy and Bone were anywhere in the building.
She looked back at Thomas, but stayed facing the stage. “Yes, Thomas?”
He didn’t stop the pencil, and looked steadily forward. “Casey, I want to know who you are.”
She stood still, the rhythm of the pencil almost hypnotic. “Who I—”
“Your real last name, for one thing.” He grabbed the pencil, stopping it, and looked over at her.
“I told you. It’s Smith.”
He stared at her, unblinking. “You’re going to stick with that, are you?”
“Yes.” Her body began its defensive routine of relaxing muscles and deeper breathing. The aisle was on an incline, which could be tricky, but she could compensate. If Thomas came after her, he’d be down in an instant. He didn’t have a clue.
“Then how about where you came from? Let’s start with that.”
She looked at him. “West.”
“West. I see. And that would be west as in Iowa, or maybe California? Or perhaps you’re thinking the Wild West, in which you are the female version of the Lone Ranger?”
“Just west.”
“Ah.” He looked down at his script again, laying his hand flat on it, studying his fingers, or perhaps the ring on the fourth one. “Is there a reason you don’t want people to know?”