Just Between You and Me

by Jenny B. Jones

  “Why?”

  I’d even take some of those Pepto tablets. The nasty ones that make you feel like you’re crunching up chalk. “What do you mean, why?”

  “Why are you taking the job, Maggie?”

  “Because I want it.”

  “Do you?”

  I think of Riley and know she would be rolling her eyes at this point. “I’ve worked long and hard for this. I came from nothing. I put myself through college and nobody cared if I made it or not. But—”

  “And you still think no one cares.” It’s not a question. The muscles flex in his jaw as he studies my face. “And you’re still working like a maniac to get someone’s approval. To make Ivy sit up and take notice.”

  “That’s not true.”

  Connor throws down his napkin and stands up. He walks to the edge of the deck and peers out at the water. “Your dad hurt you a long time ago. I guess he still does.” He looks back over his shoulder. “But you can’t fill that space with job accolades or by climbing any ladder. Seeing your name on the National Geographic credits isn’t going to do a dang thing for you.”

  The chair slides across the floor as I shoot to my feet and face Connor. “I want this. For me. It’s what I’ve wanted since the beginning.”

  “Dreams can change. I thought you wanted to make your documentaries.”

  “Nobody wants to see them. The economy is in the tank, the world is inundated with bad news, and the last thing people want to see right now is a movie about hurting children who get beaten or sold into prostitution.”

  “Excuses. You’re just running scared. Why can’t you go after what you really want?”

  “I am.”

  “No, you’re not.” His voice raises, and he runs his hand over his face, his fingers scraping across the light stubble. “Everyone thinks you’re this big daredevil. This legend of courage with a wild streak as big as this town. But you’re not.” Connor steps closer until our feet are touching. “I’ve never met anyone more ruled by fear in my life.”

  “I jump out of planes, for crying out loud. I travel all over the world in—”

  “You’re just running scared. That big job you’re going after? It’s safety. That’s what it is. I’ve seen you huddled over that laptop when you were sitting in the hospital with your dad. I’ve seen you jotting down notes in the middle of our conversations because you couldn’t let an idea go. I’ve seen the way you hold your video camera like it’s some sort of extension of you. It is you. That’s who you are.”

  “The documentary business is a tough market. Impossible.”

  Fire flashes in his eyes. “Then fight for it.”

  “I have to take this job, Connor.”

  He steps back, making no move to touch me. “Is God telling you to do your documentary?”

  Yes. No. Maybe. “I . . . don’t know.”

  “I think you do. You just need to get out of your own way. You have to let God have the driver’s seat, Maggie.”

  Now I’m the one who’s loud. “I have surrendered my life! I got saved last year and—”

  “All of it?”

  My chest rises and falls with each breath. “What?”

  “Have you surrendered all of your life? Every decision?” He stabs his finger toward the lake. “Every horrible thing in your past? Every rotten thing that’s ever been said or done to you?” Connor looks down that arrogant nose. “Because I think you’re still on the bottom of that lake waiting for your mother to come back. Waiting for someone to pull you out and tell you everything’s okay.”

  A slap could not hurt worse.

  Connor’s hands grip my shoulders. “You didn’t kill her. It’s never been your fault she died. Let it go. You don’t owe anyone anything—not your father and certainly not your sister.”

  I cough at the tightness in my throat. “It’s over.”

  He doesn’t mistake my words. I watch his eyes narrow. Then he nods that dark head. “Okay.”

  I swipe away a tear. Just like that? Just okay and he’s turning me loose? “I can’t do this, Connor. It’s too hard. You’re . . . this huge force of life, and I’m”—I throw up my hands—“just me. You’re strong and full of all this faith and confidence. I can’t compete with that.”

  “It’s not a competition.”

  “You want things from me I can’t give you.” I go on before he interrupts. “I feel it every time I stand next to you. I think I knew it from that first night at Beth’s.”

  “You’re right I want things. I want you to be yourself. I’m one of the rare few who get to see glimpses of the real Maggie Montgomery—the girl her daddy ignored and her sister can’t stand.”

  I blink the moisture from my blurry view as the words twist into my soul.

  Connor brushes a tear from my cheek. “And the girl Riley loves and has come to depend on. Who’s helping Beth and her husband get back on their feet. Who’s nursing her father back to health.”

  I search those sky blue eyes. And the girl you might care for? Ask me to stay. Give me one reason, something that has nothing to do with work or family. Just you. Just me.

  Connor presses his lips to my forehead, and I close my eyes against the pain. The good-bye.

  “You’ve got more than a lake holding you down, Maggie. I hope you find what you’re after. And I hope it makes you happy.”

  I drag in a ragged, choking breath. “I care about you, Connor. I don’t want to walk away from this”—at all—“don’t want to walk away from this angry. I hope that when I come back into town we can still be . . . civil. Even friends.”

  Connor shakes his head and gazes out toward the lake. “That’s not what I want from you. It’s all or nothing.”

  All or nothing.

  Isn’t everything?

  And funny . . . because nothing’s all I have to give.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Mrs. Lewis, you were a teacher for thirty years?”

  “Yes, dear. First grade.” My sixth nanny candidate sits on the couch. She’s not dressed prim and proper. She doesn’t even have comfortable shoes on. She looks like she’s probably been known to drive a convertible up and down the hills of Ivy Lake blasting Rolling Stones at noise-polluting decibels.

  I like her instantly.

  “And then you retired?”

  “Yes.” She plays with the diamond pendant resting on her sweater set. “My husband was diagnosed with terminal cancer, and I retired so I could take care of him. That was three years ago. I don’t want to go back into the teaching profession, but I love children.” She laughs, a melodic sound that fills the room. “And I’m bored. My kids are all grown and moved away, and I have no one to cook for, no one to take to soccer practice. Sometimes you just need someone to bake for, you know what I mean?”

  “Actually my family calls the fire department every time I get near the oven.” I smile and move on. “Your letters of recommendation are excellent. I called them all, and your old boss at Ivy Elementary wants you back. And the woman who now stays at home with her kids said you did a better job with her little Joshua than she did.”

  “I understand life hasn’t been easy for your Riley.”

  “No.” But she’s improving by the day. Last night she let me tuck her in—into her own bed. And right now she’s upstairs doing her homework before the play. “She’s been tossed around a lot. Things still haven’t settled down for her. Sometimes she acts out. Gets in trouble at school.”

  The fine lines around Mrs. Lewis’s eyes turn into full-blown crinkles. “Then we’ll just have to love her through it, won’t we?”

  I shut my folder and say a silent hallelujah. “Mrs. Lewis . . . when can you start?”

  “Okay, Dad, I’m going to wheel you right here.” I dig in my heels as I roll my father’s wheelchair down the sloped floor of the Ivy Elementary auditorium.

  “Don’t get any ideas about letting go and sending me crashing into the stage.”

  “Never entered my mind.” Okay. Maybe once.


  “Don’t need to be wheeled around like a darn invalid anyway.”

  I pat his hand. “Well, that’s what you are, so suck it up.” Sure, he could walk, but no sense in pushing it. He was up and around more than ever today, and I knew he was exhausted. But he refused to stay home and miss Riley’s play.

  Dad’s face changes as he raises up and kisses her cheek. She and I share a look. I just shrug.

  “You’re gonna be great, kid.” Dad busses her on the chin. “And later you can autograph my program.”

  “Thanks, Grandpa.” Her sigh drags out. “I guess I better go put on my costume.”

  I pat her back. “You’ll be the best horse’s patoot ever.” I give her a wink. “You ready for a little preshow excitement?”

  Dad props his head in his hand. “I don’t even want to know.”

  With a wave to Beth and Mark in the third row, I lead Riley backstage. Mrs. Ellis claps her hands for attention and shouts some orders.

  Riley sends an uncertain look over her shoulders. “This might get Sarah’s feelings hurt again.”

  “I know.” Another weakness in my evil scheme. “But then we’ll end it for good. You can do it. You were born for the stage. Think Reese Witherspoon. Julia Roberts.”

  “Those are all old ladies. How about that dark-headed girl from the Disney Channel?”

  “Even better.” I hug her to me. “You’re so brave, Riley. You’re my hero.” I hold out my fist and she bumps it. “Go get ’em.”

  As Riley casually strolls toward this Megan girl and her pack of mean girls, I greet Mrs. Ellis and draw her as far away as possible from my niece.

  Ten long minutes later, when I’ve fixed Abe Lincoln’s tie, powdered Martha Washington’s hair, and located Teddy Roosevelt’s cowboy hat, Riley gives me the look.

  The voices of twenty-five children with stage fright make for a loud backstage area, and I have to do very little to muffle the sound of my approach. I stand a few feet away near a loaded coat rack. Far enough to not be noticed. But close enough to hear.

  “. . . So that’s why I think you should leave Sarah alone from now on.”

  Megan curls her lip and laughs with her friends. “We’ll do anything we want. Sarah’s not going to tell. She’s too stupid to say a word. And Mrs. Chapel believes me. She’s always going to believe me. She and my mom are best friends.”

  Well, the final puzzle piece clicks in place.

  “Leave her alone, Megan,” Riley says. “I mean it. Don’t touch her again. And unless you’re telling her to have a nice day, don’t even speak a word to her.”

  “What are you? Her mommy?” The girls dissolve into giggles. “It’s not like you can do anything about it.”

  “No.” I step forward. “But I can.” I rest my hand on my niece’s shoulder. “I’m Riley’s aunt. And I’m going to need you ladies to have a nice long talk with Mrs. Ellis and Mrs. Chapel tomorrow morning at school. I believe it’s time you came clean about your little bullying game. Sarah’s suffered enough. And so has Riley.”

  I wait for them to break down into tears, to pour out the remorse, and beg me not to tell.

  “Whatever, lady.” Megan twists a curl around her finger. “I’m, like, Ivy Elementary royalty.”

  “So you don’t want to come clean? Mend your ways? Go the straight and narrow?”

  The girl looks at me like I’m generic tennis shoes. “I’m not ratting myself out and telling Mrs. Chapel.”

  “Yeah.” I share a smile with Riley. “I think you will.”

  Megan laughs. “What do you want to bet I don’t?”

  “One video?” I turn behind me. “Oh, Josie, dear. Do step out here for a moment.” From the coat rack comes Josie Sterling. “Did you get it all?”

  She hands me my camcorder. “Every snotty word.”

  Josie, Riley, and I stand together, united in bringing down a brat mafia. “Excellent work, girls. It’s going to make a lovely movie for Mrs. Chapel.”

  Riley smiles. “I’ll bring popcorn.”

  Megan turns on her heel, her posse right behind her. “Mom!” she wails. I think the little princess knows her days as Ivy Elementary royalty are numbered.

  I wish Riley good luck one more time and follow Josie toward the exit.

  “Maggie, wait!”

  I turn around at the curtains as Josie goes on ahead. Riley runs to me, her red curls bouncing. She stops. Then promptly stares at the floor.

  “Did you need something?”

  She shakes her head.

  “Okay, then. Um . . . I’ll just go get my seat. I’ll be on the—oomph!”

  Riley throws herself at me, her arms wrapping around my waist. “I love you.”

  Speechless, my brain numb, I slowly pull her close, my hands on her back. “I love you too.” And the stupid water works start again. Like I haven’t been crying nonstop since last night. Like I didn’t just pour an entire bottle of Visine in each eye. “I love you too, Riley. I mean it.”

  She pulls away, still focused on the tile beneath her. “Okay then.” And then she races back to her class.

  I stand there just watching. Replaying it in my head. Marveling in the shock . . .

  . . . the peace.

  Thank you, God. Thank you.

  I walk back to Dad. But find he’s not alone.

  “Hello, Maggie. Riley asked us to come.” Mary Katherine Blake stands visiting with my dad, along with her husband. And her son.

  Mr. Blake continues telling my father a story, with Mary Katherine chiming in.

  I feel Connor’s eyes on me and force myself to meet his gaze. “How are you?”

  He nods, then gives me the once-over, taking in my flirty skirt and funky hat. “You look nice tonight.”

  “Thank you. So do you.” His pink button-down could make some men look feminine. But not Connor. He could wear a tutu and still be the most masculine guy in the room.

  “Good luck on your interview tomorrow. I think I might’ve forgotten to say that last night.”

  Oh, when I left my heart bleeding on your back deck? “Thank you.”

  “Connor!”

  I twist my head around just in time to see Danielle Chapel flouncing down the aisle.

  “There you are! I have our seats on the front row.” She greets his parents and paints on a smile for me. “Hello, Maggie. Are you looking forward to the play?”

  “Yes. But the preshow entertainment was not to be missed.” I hand her my camcorder. “I’m going to let you borrow this. It’s a taped confession of your future Gossip Girls, admitting to harassing Sarah and my niece. Maybe you can watch it during intermission. You can give the camera back to Riley tomorrow.” Now I’m smiling. “When you call her to your office for an apology.”

  When Connor and his parents escort Danielle back to her seat, she’s still stammering.

  “I guess someone finally took up for our girl,” Dad says watching them walk away.

  “Yes.”

  He nods. “About time.” His pale hand slides over the armrest of his wheelchair and rests lightly on mine. “You never needed me, Maggie. And I didn’t know what to do with you.”

  I startle at the topic change. At his hand holding mine.

  “You were always so independent. So normal. You were this whimsical sprite like your mother, something that couldn’t be tamed or understood. While your sister was the needy one. Always upset. Unhappy. In pain.”

  “I needed you too,” I whisper. “When Mom died, I had no one. You didn’t talk to me unless you were yelling. My sister hated me. And most of my friends just hung around me because I was the life of the party. I had to be.” Because I was afraid when the fun stopped, everyone would walk away. Kept me in detention a lot. Riley and I have that in common.

  “I’m sorry.” His voice is low. Reluctant. “I did everything wrong, and you still turned out fine. I gave any time I had to your sister, and she’s completely messed up. Maybe I did you a favor. Because you sure have it together.”
/>   My eyes travel the room and land on the first row. Connor laughs at something Danielle says. She gazes into those familiar eyes.

  “Yes, my life turned out perfect.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  The sample of your work is amazing. Your eye for the landscape, your subjects—just second to none.”

  I sit at a conference table in Los Angeles and let the compliments soak in. I should be eating this up. Heck, I should be writing this down. The vice president of the National Geographic Channel just said I’m amazing.

  “You would be in charge of all aspects of production, Ms. Montgomery. From idea development, some writing, shoot supervision, even managing your crew. We have every reason to believe you’re prepared for that.”

  “I am.” I sit up straight, the waistband of my pencil skirt cutting into my circulation. Stress-eating may be good for the taste buds, but it’s wreaking havoc with my ability to breathe. “As you’ll see from my résumé, I was the assistant producer on many of our shows this past year. I worked very closely with Carley Fontaine. She taught me a lot.”

  Mr. Torkelson, the gray-haired gentleman beside me, smiles. “Life is different when you’re not behind the camera.”

  “It certainly is.”

  “Will you be able to relocate? You’ll be traveling a good part of the year, but we like most of our staff to live close to the studios.”

  “Yes.” I think of Riley. Of Ivy. I see Beth surrounded by white taffeta, her sewing machine flying. Her smile beaming. And Connor. His healing hands, and those eyes that seem to read my every thought. The night he took me to the prom. “Relocating won’t be a problem. I never really put down roots in Chicago.”

  The VP fills me in on the team I’ll be supervising, the plans for the upcoming season, and, finally, my salary. It’s enough to buy Riley all the Disney movies she wants. My mind reels at this incredible opportunity. Girls who graduated with a 4.0 in trouble do not turn this kind of chance down.

  “We also viewed the documentary you sent in with your résumé. Very impressive as well.”

  My pulse quickens. “Really? You like it? Because I have so many more ideas and—”