Can't Let You Go (31 page)

“It’s not mine.”

Maxine plucked it from his fingers. “I’ll take that.”

The doorbell rang, and James hopped up to answer it.

“Girls, I’m going to a yoga class later if anyone wants to join me,” Millie said as she chopped some strawberries.

“Oh, yeah.” Maxine snorted. “Nothing I love better than getting all bendy.”

Millie opened the refrigerator door. “It’s good for the digestion and peace of mind.”

“So is Maalox and a trip to the mall.” My foster grandmother clicked her polished fingernails on the table and watched her son-in-law return to the kitchen. “Whatcha got there?”

James held up a white box. “No return address, but it came from a Chicago post office. I had to sign for it.”

An Alaskan shiver slid along my spine. Was it from Charlie?

Maxine pulled James’s oatmeal her way. “Who’s it to?”

“The Scott family.” My dad grabbed a pocketknife and sliced through the tape. Even Millie stopped her kale tearing to see what was inside.

James set the mystery box on the table. “Files. Some paperwork.” He laid it on the table. “Some photos? Is this. . .the mayor?” He held the picture to the light, and I looked over his shoulder.

“It’s the mayor and that McKeever from Thrifty Co.” I grabbed another picture. “Who’s this with the man from the special commission?”

“That’s Charlie’s uncle,” Millie said. “The one who works for Thrifty.”

James rustled through the box, as if he were hunting something in particular. He would read a page, then pick up another, scanning as fast as he could. “Here it is.” He shook his head. “I’ll be darned.”

“What is it, James?” Millie asked.

“What we have here is documentation of a payoff from Thrifty to certain community members, local government, and at least one member of that impartial commission.” In his fingers, he held a flash drive. “I’m betting we’ll find even more here.”

Chairs slid across the floor, as we raced one another to James’s office. He fired up his Mac, and inserted the drive. James clicked on the new icon and a menu appeared.

Millie put her hands on her husband’s chair and leaned in. “There are hundreds of files there.”

Maxine, Millie, and I stood unmoving for the next hour as James opened every file. More photos, scanned bank drafts, grainy images of deposit slips, even ten voice recordings of illicit meetings.

“Thrifty paid their way into this town,” James finally concluded. “And I don’t mean the big fat checks they were ready to hand to us.”

By the time we had sorted through it all, we had enough information to thoroughly ruin our mayor, three city council members, and two members of that special commission.

James grabbed me by the shoulders and gave my cheek a loud kiss. “I think we’re saved.” He laughed and hugged me to him. “I think the Valiant is saved.”

*

By eight o’clock
that evening, the news was all over town. The local media camped up and down our street, our phones had been ringing like the world was ending, and friends and strangers alike stopped by for visits. The Thrifty deal had been rescinded, and multiple people had lost their jobs.

I needed some peace and quiet, and only one place would do.

The sun was still at full scorch when I pulled into the Valiant parking lot. Rehearsals for the summer musical were already over, and I knew I’d have the place to myself. Unlocking the doors, I went inside, inhaling deep of the familiar, comforting scent. My cheeks tugged with my smile, and I took a moment to look all around the lobby. It was like hugging an old friend. It was all I could do not to drop to my knees and kiss the floor.

Thank you, God.

I could hardly walk straight for being drunk on the gratefulness and relief.

My legs carried me into the theater, and I ran my hand across some of the names on the rows. I kissed my fingers and pressed them to the chair that held the names of the Scotts. All of us.

I went in the back and climbed the steps, walking onstage, past the set that would make the hills come alive next week. I stood center stage, imagined the spotlight on my face, the crowd waiting in anticipation. I settled onto the floor and lay on my back, closing my eyes and listening to all the subtle sounds of an old theater settling in.

Now that the theater was saved, I would take over in the fall. James had already approved it.

I would be the one handling the accounting, organizing the events, maintaining the facility.

It would be business.

No more spotlight on my skin. No more standing ovations or bringing a crowd to tears or raucous laughter.

Thanks to some anonymous whistleblower, I had gotten exactly what I wanted.

My future was set.

My job, secure.

“Be valiant,” Frances had said. “
You’re
the Valiant.”

I startled at the footfalls coming down the carpeted aisle and lifted my head.

“You know,” Maxine said. “For a girl who just got her wish, I expected to see a big, fat smile on your face.”

“I’m meditating on my happiness.”

She found her way onstage. “Aren’t you going to get up out of respect for your elder?”

“No.”

“So be it.” My grandmother plopped herself down beside me and rested her body on the floor. “This is quite nice,” she said after a long moment. “I assume my white sweater is getting dirty business all over it, but still, not a bad spot to rest in.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I had to get out of that zoo of a house. So I hopped on Ginger Rogers and here I am.” It wasn’t age that kept Maxine away from the steering wheel of a car, but her horrible driving skills. Her bicycle, Ginger Rogers, had gotten the two of us into many adventures. “I assume you told the Valiant she’s saved.”

“I did. She’s very happy.”

“And are you?” Maxine turned her head to study me. “Are you happy?”

“Yes, of course. We got a Hail Mary of a miracle, and my theater is saved.”

She watched me so closely, I knew something profound was about to leave her lips. “You need some lipstick on.”

I laughed. “I love you, Maxine.”

She laughed too, then closed her eyes, took some deep stage breaths, then went quiet. We laid there like that for a long stretch of time, Maxine with her thoughts, and me with mine.

Until her fingers reached for my hand.

“It was nineteen sixty-something,” she said, piercing the silence. “I was young, skinny, and I could dance better than any girl in Vegas. A man came in every Friday night to watch my show. You could find me front and center in the final kick line, and he always sat in the second row, middle seat. After months of watching, he approached me one night. I figured he wanted a date. The boys liked them some Maxine, you know what I mean? I had a reputation for showing them a
real
good time.”

“Am I old enough for this story?”

“Poker, you nitwit. I was a mean poker player with the gentlemen after the show. Few could beat me.”

“Because you cheated?”

“That offends me.”

“You still keep the occasional ace in your bra.”

“You’d be surprised how often it comes in handy. Anyway, Edward Bridgerton was his name. He handed me his card. Said he was a director and wanted to talk to me about a role in this movie he was doing. Mr. Bridgerton told me he saw star power in me, and if I was interested, he had a small part for me in a little movie. He asked me to join him for dinner that night.”

“And were you interested?”

“Boy, was I. It would’ve been a dream come true. The life of a showgirl was fun, but it wasn’t easy, and I knew it had a big fat expiration date on it. But Mr. Bridgerton wasn’t my only regular customer. Because a man named Davis Simmons had also been coming in to see our show. Twice a week he got the steak buffet, a water with no ice, then came in and watched us dance. He was in construction and there on business for the summer, so I knew he was just passing through. Asked me to meet him for dinner at the Sands that same evening.”

“And you did.”

“A smart girl leading with her head would’ve met that fancy director. But my heart said . . . go out with the quiet fellow who blushed and stared at his shoes when he asked to buy you a meal. So I told Mr. Bridgerton I was sorry, and I had surf and turf with the man I’d marry before the Christmas season.”

“And what became of Mr. Bridgerton?”

“A few years later that movie came out, and I bought myself a ticket to see what I had missed. And let me tell you, it was a dandy. So good I saw it twice. My part would’ve been pretty small, but it would’ve surely led to other things, like it did for many of its stars.”

“Did you regret it?”

“I suffered the occasional days of
what if
, but I was always happy with my decision. I was blessed with a happy marriage to a wonderful man, and we had a beautiful family.” Maxine lifted my hand to her mouth and left her lipstick pucker on my skin. “And that includes you. He would’ve been crazy about you.”

“How did you know that was the right thing to do?”

“I never knew until I jumped. That was part of the fun.” Her blue eyes seemed to look right to my withered heart. “Honey, when you get to be my age, you realize your regrets in life aren’t the things you did, so much as they’re the things you didn’t. The chances you let go by. You have to ask yourself what is it that just won’t leave you alone?”

“My grandmother.”

“What else?” she asked with a sly smile. “That relentless thing that consumes you. You think about it when you wake up, and it’s the last thing on your mind when you go to bed.”

“Charlie.” There. I’d said it. “I still think about Charlie.”

“
O teach me how I should forget to think
,” quoted Maxine.

“What?”

“It’s a line from your very first play. Recognize it?”

I thought I might. “Did Romeo say that?”

“He did indeed. ‘O teach me how I should forget to think,’” she repeated. “Sweet Pea, sometimes thinking is the last thing we should do. Logic doesn’t always lead us down the right path. Logic tells us not to take chances. Not to chase after that risk. To ignore the what ifs. I guess part of growing up is deciding when to listen to your head . . . and when to listen to your heart.”

“I want to be valiant.” My whispered admission sounded like a trumpet blast to my ears.

Maxine drew herself up to a seated position and eased to her feet. With a tug on my hand, she pulled me up. “Then do it, honey.” She held a fierce grip on my shoulders. “Be valiant.”

“What if I fail? What if I go all the way to New York and don’t make it?”

“Then we’ll eat lots of pie and decide what to do then. But for now, take that chance. You have a gift, and Sweet Pea, life is waiting for you to pick it back up.”

I took another long look at the theater—my home for so many years, my sanctuary and place of safety. “I’m really scared.”

She gave my cheek a gentle pat. “Sounds like the first line to what will become a remarkable story. One I can’t wait to see you write.”

We walked off the stage hand-in-hand, my grandmother humming a catchy little ditty, and me with my whirling thoughts. The next few weeks and months would be terrifying, but I was ready to take that first step. If I fell on my face, I had a wonderful family to pick me right back up.

“Oh, Maxine.” I flipped off the lights over the stairs. “The part that director offered you. You didn’t tell me what movie it was for.”

She glanced at the Austrian hills behind her and gave a winsome smile. “It was called the
Sound of Music
.”

T
he plane shook
and shimmied like a cart on a roller coaster. My fingernails made slivered indentions on the chair arms, and the woman beside me sent a curious look in my direction more than once.

What? Was it not normal for one to cry out the Twenty-third Psalm during takeoff? And was it totally weird to sing “Jesus Take the Wheel” during landing? I had survived two hours and fifteen minutes of this calamity we called air travel, and I didn’t want any more of it. Maxine had slipped me something she called a “calming Tic-Tac,” and James and Millie had prayed over me before I went through security. I had a bladder full of three diet sodas, and I had accidentally shredded my
People
instead of reading it.