Chapter Eighteen
AFTER ONLY A few days of staying with Reed, Grace felt like she had never lived anywhere else. Monday morning they’d picked up the rest of her things from her parents’ house, including Greedy Boy. The giant bear now sat on a beautiful, tufted velvet antique chair that Reed claimed he’d brought home because they’d needed it, but Grace had a feeling he’d bought it for the bear. His ever-present nostalgia was just one more thing she loved about him. Nothing beat waking up in his arms and creating new memories and future dreams with the man who knew her best, except maybe finally being able to openly spend time with their families. They’d taken Roy and Ella to the Stardust Café for dinner last night. It was wonderful to see how protective Reed was of his aunt and uncle and how loving they were toward him. They’d extended that warmth to Grace as if she’d always been part of their family. This morning she and Reed had jogged into town as the sun rose over the mountains and talked about all the things Reed could do with the Majestic. They’d even arrived at her parents’ house early enough to have breakfast with them before Reed started painting the porch.
Now it was midafternoon, and Grace was in the gazebo working through emails about her next production, while also stealing glances at Reed painting the gingerbread around the porch. He was shirtless, his jeans riding low on his hips as he stood on the ladder, steadying himself with one hand on the edge of the roof as he painted. Reed had worked with her group Sunday morning straight through the afternoon. Grace had since had time to read the whole script, and while it needed a few adjustments, it was a beautiful mix of generations, with themes of old-fashioned family values and modern youth all wrapped up with more than a hint of rebellion and an overwhelming amount of humor. She and the girls continued meeting in Amber’s bookstore, as Grace had promised to teach the class in order to help her sister gain customers. That’s why they’d decided to make flyers asking for volunteers for the play, and distribute them at local shops and at the high school. Anyone who was interested could meet them at their class. Nana and the girls had taken charge of that endeavor yesterday, and Grace hoped they’d get at least a few willing participants. The girls were so excited, she didn’t want them to be let down.
Reed looked over, his cheeks lifting with that sexy, crooked smile that always sent shivers of awareness through her. God, she loved him so intensely. She hadn’t known what she was missing.
She blew him a kiss just as her phone rang, and her stomach sank when Satchel’s name appeared on the screen.
“Don’t kill the messenger,” Satchel said before she could say a word.
She sighed heavily. “What’s Keagen doing now?” She listened to a litany of complaints, from his bitching about the talent of the supporting actors to his unprofessional behavior onset. Another call beeped through, and she glanced at the screen. Amber. “Hold on, Satchel. I have another call.”
She switched over. “Hey, Amber.”
“Grace, you’ve got to get over here.”
“Why? We don’t have class today.”
“My phone has been ringing off the hook,” Amber said in a hushed and hurried tone. “You didn’t tell me you put flyers out. My store is packed.”
“I don’t think the girls put them out yet, but that’s good news. Do you need help with the register? I can be there in fifteen minutes.” The perfect excuse to end her call with Satchel.
“Just get here. I need more than register help.”
After ending the call, she told Satchel to deal with the issues and reminded him that she was supposed to be taking time off. Then she went and filled Reed in on where she was headed.
He wrapped his arms around her. His skin was warm from the sun, and when he touched his lips to hers, she wished she could stay right there in his embrace forever.
His phone vibrated, and he pulled it out of his pocket, quickly scanning a text. “It’s Roy.”
“You can get back to him. I have to run to the bookstore.”
He tightened his grip as he slid his phone into his pocket. “I’ll call him later and kiss you now.”
Twenty-five minutes later, which was totally Reed’s fault for kissing her until she almost forgot Amber was expecting her, she walked into the bookstore. Or rather, she squeezed in. There was barely room to inch into the store, as people filled every aisle.
“Grace!” Amber waved from behind the counter, looking a bit frazzled.
“Grace?” someone called out from the back of the store. “I can help with makeup!”
Suddenly people began calling out to her as the crowd pushed forward like concertgoers trying to get backstage. Energy radiated through the shop, as real as the encroaching crowd. Grace mouthed, What’s going on? to Amber as she pushed through a gaggle of girls hanging around the checkout area.
Amber held up a flyer, and Grace quickly read it. WANT TO BE A STAR? COME TO THE STORY TIME BOOKSTORE! WE NEED ACTORS AND VOLUNTEERS FOR…It went on to describe the play and list all the areas in which they needed help. Grace was overwhelmed with the realization that all these people had come out to help.
She stepped behind the counter, and Amber said, “It’s been like this for more than an hour.”
“I’m so sorry. They must have forgotten to add the class times to the flyers.” Grace held her hands up and turned to the crowd in an effort to gain some semblance of control. “Hey, guys, can I have your attention, please?”
As the din of the crowd quieted, Grace took in a host of familiar faces—women and men she’d gone to school with, her friends’ parents, and a slew of teenagers. Among them, Nat stood quietly, a smile on her pretty face.
“Thank you all for coming out. First, I want to be sure you understand these are not paid positions, but voluntary.”
“Of course,” a woman said from somewhere off to the left.
Grace was shocked. She’d expected a number of people to leave when they heard that. “Okay. I never expected this many volunteers.”
“Why not?” a teenage boy asked from the back of the crowd.
She glanced at Amber, whose eyes held the same silent question, and when she answered, the truth came easily. “Because I’ve been entrenched in a cutthroat world for too long.” And I’ve forgotten how amazing and supportive this community is.
Unexpected emotions bubbled up inside her.
Amber must have seen something in her expression, because she took Grace’s hand and said quietly, “We’ve got this.”
Grace cleared her throat, struggling to push past her racing heart and find her voice. “We’ll find places for everyone who’s interested,” she said loudly. “It’s going to take me a few minutes to get things organized. While I’m getting ready, why don’t you show Amber some love and see if you can find a book to buy for yourself, or as a gift for someone else.”
“Good idea!” someone said loudly.
The crowd shifted, moving toward the shelves and talking among themselves as Grace dug in her messenger bag for the outline of the play.
“I can’t believe this,” Grace whispered as she pulled out her notebook. “I need to call Nana and the girls and text Reed and tell him it looks like I’ll be running later than I thought. This could take hours.”
“First, that was brilliant. Thank you,” Amber said. “And second, you’ve been gone a long time, but don’t you remember? This is what it’s always been like. When someone needs help, there are more people than you could ever dream of who are willing to pitch in. Remember when Mom had her hysterectomy and so many people brought dinners over that we had to give most of them away? And when the tree fell on the Jerichos’ barn, nearly the whole town turned out to help repair it?”
“It was the dead of winter. I remember,” Grace said. “I froze my butt off.”
“But you were there, Grace. Just like these people are here for you. That’s why I couldn’t ever figure out why you wanted to move away so badly.”
“I wanted more than this,” she said reflexively, but the words left her lips dulled and unenthusiastic.
“And you got it. The question is, is more always better? Because this…” Amber gazed out at the crowd, and her hand covered her heart as she said, “This is everything I could ever hope for in a community.”
Grace asked herself if she’d wanted more than this community, or more than what the area had to offer her in terms of a career. She was no longer able to decipher the answer.
REED CLIMBED FROM his truck Tuesday evening as his phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out, and as he read his uncle’s message, he realized he hadn’t returned his earlier text in which Roy had also asked him to call. He rubbed an ache in his shoulder and gazed up at the house, missing Grace after only a few hours. He’d wanted to see if she had time for a quick dinner and had driven by the bookstore before coming home, but even from the road he’d seen a swarm of people inside.
He texted his uncle, Just got home. Will call after I shower. We’re confirmed for tomorrow at 7pm to get inside the theater. He wanted to show his relatives and Grace the interior of the theater. He grabbed his tools from his truck and noticed a beat-up old white car crawling past. The trunk was rusted, and one of the back windows was blocked with a piece of cardboard. The hair on the back of Reed’s neck stood on end, his built-in trouble radar. He set his tools down and strode toward the street. There was nothing beyond his house other than Sophie’s family’s properties, and he’d be damned if he let trouble find them.
The car pulled over and parked by the curb. Reed folded his arms over his chest, watching a disheveled-looking man climb from the car. He walked with a limp as he opened the trunk and withdrew a shoe box.
“Can I help you with something?” Reed asked.
The man closed the trunk and turned squinty eyes on Reed. He had thick brows, a slightly bulbous nose, and yellowish skin. His pants and shirt hung on him like a boy wearing his father’s clothes, only this wasn’t a boy. It was a weary, sad-looking man with hair the color of pennies and dimes and a beard that was white on the sides and brownish around the goatee area. He took a few uneven steps, and a smile lifted his thin lips, making his eyes look even smaller. A pang of pity rang through Reed.
“Reed,” he said with more than a hint of familiarity.
A spear of recognition shot through Reed as he studied the man’s aged face, trying to pull the image of his father from memories of their visit when Reed had been only four years old, but it was like tugging a fishing line that was hooked on the bottom of a lake, refusing to break free. Could he be wrong? He swallowed hard, breathing harder, and forced his voice from his lungs.
“Yes?”
The man’s gaze dropped, a pinched expression forming on his face as he limped closer. Reed unfolded his arms, feeling the man’s presence like an enemy approaching the gates. Gates that had been erected to protect Reed. Gates he had no interest in unlocking after more than twenty years of absence. A violent storm raged within him as the man stopped arm’s distance away, meeting—and holding—Reed’s steady gaze.
“It’s been a long time,” the man said.
His voice was a gravelly remnant of the cloudy memories Reed held. The man wiped his brow, and Reed’s gaze caught on the mangled skin on the back of his left hand and forearm, a map of angry scars. Reed’s stomach pitched at the hauntingly familiar sight of the burn. His phone rang, but he was laser focused on putting the fragmented pieces of his memories into place. They felt dark and ugly, causing ice to form around his heart.
“It’s me, Reed. Frank.” His pleading eyes begged for recognition. “Your father.”
Reed’s jaw clenched tight, his hands curled into fists. Anger roared up like a wild animal, and he was powerless to stop hurtful words from flying out through gritted teeth. “Roy Cross is my father.”
Frank looked at the box in his hands, and then his eyes shifted to the house. Reed didn’t want this man anywhere near his home or his life. He didn’t want to feel the pity and longing battling against his anger, his burning hatred, for the man who had given him away like an old dog. Reed stepped closer to the curb, drawing Frank’s attention away from the house.
“I came a long way,” Frank said. “I thought we could talk.”
“You came a long way?” Reed scoffed and crossed his arms again, steeling himself against the hurt child trying to claw his way up from the depths of hell. He lifted his chin toward Frank’s car and said, “I suggest you turn around and head back the way you came.”
A painful expression climbed across Frank’s face. “I deserve that.” He held the shoe box in a shaky hand toward Reed. “I thought you might want a few of your mother’s things.”
Reed stared at the box, wanting desperately to have a connection to the mother he’d never known but felt that accepting the box might somehow let Frank in. He kept his arms crossed and said nothing.
Frank set the box on the sidewalk, like an uncapped grenade that might blow if handled incorrectly, and said, “I’m staying at the Marriott Courtyard at the edge of town until Monday. Room 433, in case you change your mind.”
Reed stood stock-still, shoulders back, head held high as Frank limped to his car and drove away. Only after the sound of the car was long out of earshot did the air rush from Reed’s lungs, leaving him panting as his knees gave out, and he sank down to a squat, his mind too numb to think, his eyes locked on the box Frank left behind.