He wasn’t going to get there ten minutes early. No. He was going to be there forty-five minutes early and sit there happily, one crisp trouser leg over the other, until the man opened the door.
Chip patted his suit jacket, trouser pockets, and briefcase as he stepped outside his door.
Phone.
Keys.
Financial documents. Résumé. Estimates. Pages upon pages of estimates.
Here we go.
As he pulled into the parking lot of the Bank of Abingdon, his phone buzzed inside his trousers. He hesitated before pulling it out to answer.
But the clock on his dashboard said he had fifty-two minutes of waiting left. He was there. Although he’d told his subs to do their best to hold all calls until 3:00 p.m., there was no telling what emergency had cropped up. Heck, if one of the subs was calling him after he’d been so clear, the odds were real and high that whatever was happening was dire and getting costlier by the minute.
He pulled the phone out of his pocket and saw a number he didn’t recognize.
That ruled out his mother, his brothers, and all of his dependable subs.
Francis maybe?
Chip pressed Accept and put the phone to his ear. “What’s up?”
But it wasn’t Francis. Or Eric. Or any one of the three guys who cycled through phones and phone numbers the way they cycled through fast-food meals.
“Chip, is that you?” The woman’s voice broke.
Chip paused before turning off the truck’s ignition. “Mrs. Leake? Yes, it’s me. What’s going on?”
Her voice was unsteady. It cracked as she spoke. “I’m so sorry to bother you like this. It’s just”—she paused, sniffled—“we’ve been trying to reach Bree for an hour. Her phone goes straight to voicemail like it’s turned off and—and she needs to know about Anna.”
Chip held his breath. He cast his eyes down Main Street. “Does she . . .” He fought to find the words. “Is she . . .”
“She’s in the PICU now,” she managed. “I’m in the lobby. They aren’t letting us in. We’re all here. Everyone—”
Chip’s jaw flexed.
He glanced in the rearview mirror at the bank’s doors.
Then back down Main Street where, a few short turns away, the Barter warehouse stood.
He closed his eyes. Exhaled.
His keys dug into his hands as he put them back in the ignition. “I think I know where she is. Don’t worry, Mrs. Leake. I’m gonna find her.”
Chapter 21
Bree
“Remember, it’s flap-heel-toe-heel, flap-heel-toe-heel, and then Maxie Ford pull back.”
Bree nodded at Birdie’s words and without slowing adjusted the clicking step to fit the sequence. In unison they stamped, shuffled, jumped, clicked the tips of their shoes in the air in the breath of a millisecond, and landed, tapping their right foot behind the left on the floor.
“Again,” Birdie said. “From the Maxie Ford.”
Sweat rolled down the back of Bree’s neck. Though the warehouse was 65 degrees, every inch of her black leggings and white leotard was soaked. Her thighs burned, calves burned, body burned, but at this point the sensation somehow just fueled her to keep going. Birdie had said it was her goal to brainwash Bree’s body over the course of their limited practice time. Well, she succeeded.
“You’re scraping the toes in the air, not clicking. Do it again.”
Bree obeyed.
Birdie stood there watching Bree with her hands on her hips, her own ponytail damp. She nodded. “Good. Again.”
Bree jumped into the air and clicked her tap shoes in smooth tap-tap-tap precision.
She did it a fifth time, a sixth, a seventh. At the eighth Birdie turned toward the CD player. “Good. Let’s do it with the music.”
Both of them had pulled hard, full days, especially since Kayleigh’s Off-Broadway friend had sauntered onto the scene. It didn’t take but a few hours for gossip to confirm their suspicions, and while some of their peers threw in the towel then and there, Birdie never stopped working. After Bree’s conversation with Chip over chili, she didn’t either.
What had he said?
“Is anything worthwhile ever easy?”
Well, here she was, eating, sleeping, and breathing tap dancing, cramming years’ worth of lessons into a matter of days, hoping it worked. Just enough to be a chorus girl.
Not a lead.
Just a chorus girl.
That was all she needed.
Violins and drums blasted cheerily through the speakers as only 1950s musical numbers could, and Bree jumped into formation with a lively smile as she placed her hands on her hips. She watched herself in the broad mirror and straightened her posture as she exhaled, waiting for the beat.
Four. Five. Six. Seven. And—
On the seven-and-a-half beat, as she was preparing to lift her right toe, her eyes shifted to a movement in the mirror. To the reflection of the door opening. And the man who entered.
Her arms lowered slowly.
She turned.
Of all the people in the world—Chip? He stopped just inside the warehouse. Looked at her.
But it wasn’t his presence that concerned her most.
Or that he knew where she was.
It was his expression: the hard eyes, creased forehead, not even a snicker of a trick on his lips.
He strode toward her.
Just as she strode toward him.
His eyes didn’t so much as flicker toward Birdie, toward anything else, as he moved.
“Come with me.”
Before her mind had processed what he was saying, her body was moving toward him, with him.
“Um, guys?” Birdie called out, but they were already out the door.
He opened the door of his truck for her.
She got inside.
Bree felt her blood pressure rising while he slipped into the driver’s seat and put the car in reverse. He was back on Main Street, but driving away from their homes, when she finally spoke.
“What aren’t you telling me, Chip?” Her voice was low.
He shook his head. “Let me just get on the interstate first.”
Bree pursed her lips but said nothing. His truck took the on-ramp and shook with the wear of twenty-five years of hard use as it crept up to sixty miles an hour. Seventy.
She watched as Little Downtown Donuts & Dogs flew by. The Highland Ski Center. The Cracker Barrel in the distance.
Finally, with the Bristol sign flashing by, he looked her in the eye.
“Your mother called. About Anna.”
Bree’s stomach hit the floor with those five words, and suddenly she was finding it hard to breathe. Chip told Bree everything her mother had told him, all the information he knew.
“I don’t”—Bree found herself fumbling, pressing her hands against her cold and wet leotard, her leggings—“have my phone. It’s at the warehouse.”
Chip tossed her his own.
The outside world was a blur for the next thirty-two minutes as her mother spoke to her over the phone, relaying every single bit of information the family had gleaned from the doctors’ hourly updates. Retelling every single torturous moment since Anna’s downward turn that morning. Anna’s parents were the only ones allowed in the room. The rest of the family was in the waiting area. Both of Anna’s younger sisters were at home with Bree’s cousin, everyone too afraid to let them see what was going on.
By the time Bree hung up she was hunched over, her hand covering her wet eyes.
She lowered the phone to the seat, her immediate surroundings coming back into focus.
She sat back.
The truck hummed.
And then, blinking, she realized exactly where she was.
“What are you doing, Chip?”
She looked down at the seat she was sitting in, the cracked vinyl. The smell of old tobacco. Then the man beside her, the crisp white button-up. The polished shoes. One hand wrapped firmly around the steering wheel
as he stared straight ahead at the road.
“I’m taking you to Knoxville.”
“But—but your meeting. I could’ve driven myself—”
“I’m taking you to Knoxville,” he repeated. “And you could use a friend.”
Fresh tears pricked Bree’s eyes as she turned to face the road again, his words more unfamiliar, unexpected, and welcome than she’d ever known words could be. She pressed her lips together as she looked out her window, blinking furiously.
A moment later, she felt his warm hand encapsulating hers.
It stayed there for the next two hours.
Chapter 22
Bree
Two days later the phone alarm chimed softly and Bree’s eyes flitted open. The first thing that came into view was Chip’s window. The crystal-clear view through his window.
He had taken down the heavy blue curtains he put up last week and taped a sign in their place.
WANNA MAKE A DEAL?
Bree’s head popped up from the pillow.
She had stayed in Knoxville Tuesday and Wednesday, taking turns with the family praying, hoping, dreading, sleeping in the waiting area, and living for news from Anna’s doctor. They whispered to each other in chairs and beside vending machines and in halls. For forty hours every word was dire. Heart-breaking and chest-exploding and have-insane-urges-to-punch-the-walls dire. But then the news changed.
From respiratory failure to rest. From infection to recovery. Finally, the doctor’s lips started to twitch toward a smile.
Things weren’t over for Anna. They were far from over. But she was, at least for now, out of those particularly dark woods.
Bree hadn’t seen Chip since he’d made a quiet exit from the waiting room an hour after dropping her off. But she’d thought about him. A lot. Enough to remember something Cass had said she should do.
Bree pushed the covers off her legs and slid off the bed toward the dresser. Her tangled braid fell down her shoulder as she picked up the legal pad. She paused, nibbling the end of her Sharpie while she thought about Chip’s question, then scribbled her reply.
DEPENDS. ARE DOG FENCES INVOLVED?
Bree jerked her head toward the bedside table clock to check the time.
8:00 a.m.
Audition day!
She had one hour.
She taped the paper in the window, grabbed her robe hanging off the closet door, and made for the bathroom.
Energy ripped through her as she turned the cold, then hot, water knobs. She bounced on her toes while she waited for it to start steaming.
Today was the day.
She was ready.
Oh, geez. Was she ready?
Her stomach seized up as she stepped inside and felt the pinpricks of hot water on her skin.
Who was she kidding? Was she ready to stand in line next to Kayleigh and Selena and Birdie and a dozen other girls whose mothers had My daughter tap-dances better than yours bumper stickers since they were three?
For that matter, Stephen and the rest of the cast already knew just how long, and short, her résumé was. She had no doubt he was going to sit in those chairs at the Barter today predisposed to believe she was an easy cut.
“Bree Leake?” Stephen would say, surprised to see her name on the list. He’d lean over to the other judges. “Go ahead and strike her name out now. Can someone get me more coffee?”
Bree gripped the bar of soap so tight it slipped out of her grasp and landed hard on her big toe.
She was doing it again. Beating herself up before the fight had even begun.
“Stop,” she mumbled aloud. “You are capable. You made it into the cast once. You can do this again.”
“That’s right!” Evie said on the other side of the curtain, and Bree jumped. “You are a fierce tap-dancing warrior.”
Bree smiled slightly as she picked up the soap.
“You will take no prisoners today.”
“Okeydokey,” Bree said, lifting her chin and calling over the curtain.
“The stage will be full of those slain by the might of your steely heels.”
“Allllrighty—”
“The blood of—”
Bree pushed the curtain open halfway. “Thank you, Evie. I’m tremendously inspired.”
Ten minutes later Bree toweled her dripping hair as she slipped back into her room, tightening her robe around her waist. She checked Chip’s window before ravaging her drawers to find the proper audition attire. She returned to the bathroom.
Two minutes later she wandered back in to find a better pair of tights. Ticked her eyes to the window. No new sign.
Walked out.
Came back for the hair dryer. Checked the window.
Walked out.
Came back on the premise of wanting her phone to keep an eye on the time, realized she was holding it, checked the window. Walked out.
With hair half blow-dried she rushed to the bedroom and peeked inside, just to see if—
And there it was.
Her stomach flipped to see the new note.
MEET ME AFTER YOUR AUDITION AND MY BID, NO MATTER HOW IT GOES?
Bree pursed her lips to keep the smile at bay.
WHERE?
She threw the old sheet on the ground and taped the new one to the window. After thirty minutes of checking and rechecking, a final spritz of hair spray, and a smoothing of her bun, she dashed into the room one more time to grab her duffel bag and tap shoes.
She slowed as she stepped closer to the window.
Bree’s eyes danced around his room to see if he was still there, then moved back to the sign and let herself fully grin.
WHERE ELSE? HOW ABOUT WHERE WE FIRST MET
She checked her phone. She had about six minutes to get down to the Barter, but she wasn’t about to miss this reply. Hastily she scribbled on the sheet of paper, ripped it off the pad, and pushed it to the window.
DEAL
She had never been so nervous in her life.
At the bottom of the stairs, Evie gruffly shoved a plate of donuts at Bree.
“Here. Take these to Stephen.” Bree looked down at the plate and Evie avoided Bree’s eyes. “Everyone knows he gets grumpy at these auditions. He’ll need more than a double shot of Zazzy’Z espresso for breakfast.”
Bree hesitated, then pushed the plate back. “I’m not going to bribe him with donuts, Evie. Even if it would probably work with your magical elixir.”
“Who said anything about bribing?” Evie replied. “This is just a little reminder that you live with me, and if I lose my roommate because she can’t afford rent, I’ll be unhappy, and if I’m unhappy I don’t cook, and—”
“And if you don’t cook, no donuts or sequins. I get it.” Bree smiled down at her, still clad in her lipstick-pink bathrobe. “I’m touched.”
“I’m not doing it for you,” Evie added, pushing them into Bree’s hands once more. “These are primal instincts. Survival. No female roommate is as large and intimidating as you—”
“What a compliment. Thank you.”
“I don’t have a stake in this audition of yours at all aside from that.”
“Sure. Obviously.” Bree opened the door and called over her shoulder as she stepped onto the porch. “Shall I keep you apprised on how it goes?”
“Yes,” Evie replied and shut the door.
Bree turned down the steps, her thick hair up in a tight bun, the sun beaming on the dark green sweater covering the thin leotard. Her tights itched under the wool leg warmers, and just as she was reaching down to lift one drooping side, he caught her eye.
Slowly, she dropped her hand.
They went down the steps and met at their cars at the same moment.
Now Bree stood across from him, the man she hadn’t seen since he’d driven her to Anna two days ago, holding her hand the whole way. Neither of them had addressed the moment.
Bree tried to think of something to say but couldn’t find the words.
One of his hands held
the keys to his truck, while the other gripped a leather messenger bag. On his feet were the type of scuffless shoes that were shined as the wearers sat in old chairs. In his eyes was a story, an itch to share.
“Got a most curious call a few hours ago,” Chip said, standing at the hood of his truck.
Bree shifted her weight and felt a light coming into her eyes. “Is that so?”
“Yeah.” Chip took a step toward her. Rested a hand on the hood. “Oddest thing. Seems your old pal Theo got wind of my financial straits and has an investor wanting to sink some money into a new project. She called this morning.”
Bree shifted the duffel bag on her shoulder. “Oh?”
“The coincidence was uncanny.”
“Mmm,” Bree murmured, nodding. “Indeed it is.”
He put a hand on his heart. “You can imagine how I felt telling her how perfectly timed her phone call was.”
“Oh, I’m trying.” Bree held her deadpan face.
“That Theo is a good man,” Chip said, carefully watching her eyes. A question, a curiosity flickered in his own.
Bree paused. Tilted her head. The slightest smile flitted across her face. “Yes. He’s wonderful.”
He frowned. “Really?”
“Of course.” Bree pressed her lips together to fight the smile. “Charitable. Polished. Charming. Like your girlfriend, I imagine.”
“Ex,” he said gently.
“Ah.” Bree nodded, her smile finally beating her will to look detached. “Ex. I see.” She let the silence linger for two beats. “Well,” she said at last with a shrug. “Perhaps we should get the two of them connected somehow.”
Chip’s brow rose. “That would be good.” He started nodding, a bit too vigorously. “That would be really good. The two of them would be perfect for each other.”
“A match made in heaven.”
“An angelic duo.”
“We could do their toasts at their wedding.”
“Oh, we’d have to.”
They both held each other’s eyes for one long moment.
“Well, I should get going,” Chip said, though his eyes weren’t checking his watch for the time.
“Yeah. Me too.” Bree held his eyes while popping open her car door. “Good luck, Chip. May you get everything you dream of.”
The Cul-de-Sac War Page 23