Chapter Twelve

“So, what’ll it be, gidgets?” Lane planted Mima on a copy shop counter and fanned out brightly colored sheets of paper. “What shall we pick for our first ever Midsummer Night’s Dream flier?”

Gemma stood on tiptoe and ran her fingers over the samples. “It’s a momentous decision.”

“Purple.” Mima went for the obvious.

Lane picked up a baby-blue sheet. “This one is like the sky at sunset.”

“But yellow’s summery,” Gemma said. “And Aunt Ari says people can see yellow from farther away.”

“Purple with yellow glitter,” Mima chirped.

“You may be on to something.” The fliers, a miniature version of a poster designed by Ari from Barefoot Brides, featured two fairies—one in cowboy boots—who closely resembled the girls. “We could hand-paint glitter onto the wings.” If they worked fast. The Mimosa Community Theater’s grand opening was only ten days away, which meant the fliers—a last minute impulse—had to go up tonight.

Lane selected bright yellow and stretched her budget to heavier stock. What the heck. She had a whole auditorium’s worth of seats going in tomorrow, thanks to Mike, who was down the street right now, selling his building and making a mind-boggling donation to the Mimosa Community Theater Foundation. She’d snuck the gidgets out of school early so they could meet Mike in Naples to celebrate.

Mike. Lane’s skin tingled. Magic Mike. The man’s power, his generosity, most of all, the tender look that came over him when he was gazing at her…she could hardly believe her good luck.

Of course, Magic Mike was returning to the Caribbean in a few days and hadn’t said anything about coming back. Lane shrugged, refusing to worry. She had a fabulous boyfriend, the finest daughters in the world, and an amateur cast that was showing real talent for Shakespeare. This was going to be the best ten days of her life.

“There you are,” Mike rumbled behind her.

“Mikey!” The gidgets ran to him.

Lane turned and then hesitated, seeing an unexpected frown. Mike looked like an opera star who’s been locked out of his dressing room, thunderous.

His eyebrows flattened. “You were supposed to meet me at McDonalds twenty-five minutes ago.”

“Oh.” She checked the time. “Sorry. We dashed across the parking lot to order fliers. I thought you’d probably run late with Charity—”

“And Mima’s shoes are untied.” He knelt to repair the offending laces, took the girls by their hands, and marched them out the door into the September sunshine.

Lane fished for a credit card…and then a different card that had room on it…and paid the attendant, arranging to pick up the fliers in an hour. By the time she got to McDonalds, the gidgets were wolfing down chicken nuggets and staring longingly at the play structure.

“Don’t you feed your own children?” Mike sat on a hard plastic swivel chair, drumming his fingertips on the table. “They’re half starved.”

“They’re kids. They burn a lot of energy.” What was his problem?

“And the Caribbean Pirate shirt I brought Mima is inside out.”

“She likes to read it in mirrors.” Lane sat next to her daughters. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” He made a never-mind gesture. “I’ll get you a soda.”

“Iced tea. And fries.” This was beginning to look like a conversation that needed carbs. Lane sat with the girls, wondering if now was the time to start worrying about Mike. Had Charity Grambling been spreading malicious gossip? Was he mad that she’d blown money on fliers? Was he actually accusing her of being a bad mother?

“I’m done.” Mima crushed her empty nuggets box and stood on her chair. “Can we go play?”

Mike returned with Lane’s food. “You can start by not standing on the furniture.” He lifted Mima to the ground.

Lane frowned. “You can play,” she said, asserting her role as parent. “After you clear your tray and thank Mike for lunch.”

The girls squealed thanks, bounced off the trash can, shed their shoes, and were inhaled by a pink tube.

Lane braced herself. “So are you mad at me?” She placed the bag of fries halfway between them. “Or did something go wrong at the closing?”

Mike pulled out a salty french fry. “The Captain’s Club withdrew their offer.” He pinched the potato between his thumb and forefinger before squashing it like a bug. “Charity blocked the sale.”

“You’re kidding.” Lane couldn’t believe it. “She called five times last week to make sure you’d be there.”

“It’s my fault. I should have scheduled a private appointment. The escrow agent cut two checks—one for me and one to deposit into the theater’s account. When Charity realized the Captain’s Club was funding MCT, she walked.”

“But she can’t. You’ve got a contract, right?”

“The Club will lose some earnest money. Apart from that, they can do what they want, which is apparently whatever Charity Grambling dictates.”

“Dammit.” There went Lane’s theater seats. “Just damn. But…we can manage. We’ve got electricity, a stage, an almost working sound system. People won’t mind if things are a little rough.” This was community theater, after all. “I’m sure Barefoot Brides can lend me some stacking chairs.”

“A hundred-fifty chairs? All winter? Won’t they need them for weddings?”

Lane winced. Her friends at Casa Blanca had already done too much. “I’ll just…I don’t know. Borrow chairs for a couple of days and take it from there.”

Mike dumped the fries onto the paper mat. “That’s not all.” He smoothed the bag and creased it in half. “I didn’t mention this before, because I planned to take care of it, but there’s a lien on the building. Great-aunt Essie didn’t pay her property taxes during the last seven years.”

“She didn’t? Seriously?” This was the first Lane had heard of it. “For seven years? How much do we owe?”

Mike named an amount. A terrifyingly large amount.

“Oh.” She dug her fingernails into her palms. “Oh. Well.” There went Lane’s salary. “I guess…we’ll have to use the town council grant. It’s not enough, but surely the county will set up some sort of payment plan.”

“It has to be paid in full.” Mike shook his head. “Under Essie’s will, MCT has to cover the building’s expenses.”

“Well, yeah, technically, but this isn’t our debt. Besides, you didn’t sell, so that condition shouldn’t matter….” Lane dug her nails deeper. “Unless you’re kicking us out?”

“Really?” Mike’s hands closed, too. “That’s the first thing you think of? That I’m double-crossing you?”

“No, the first thing is that Charity Grambling is a conniving, manipulative…oh, crap.” Lane got it. “She’s going to kill my grant.”

“The town council grant requires the theater company to remain free of debt. Charity showed me the paperwork. She thinks she can shut you down and get the building cheaper after it’s empty.”

“Can we borrow money for taxes? Privately?” But Lane had nothing. No income. Not even a car. Just the little bit set aside for the girls. “Couldn’t…?”

“I can’t cover it,” Mike said gruffly. “I’m sorry, I don’t have the cash, and nobody will lend that kind of money against my Air Force retirement pay. As far as the bank’s concerned, my boat’s a liability, not an asset. And the Mimosa Theater building has no value except to someone who wants the corner lot it’s sitting on.”

“So that’s it. We’re finished.” Lane felt like she’d been punched in the heart. Punched, pushed into the street, and run over by a fleet of busses. There had to be something….”

“If you give up the theater today, Charity said she’ll still buy the building.”

“Give up?” That wasn’t going to happen. “Walk away?”

“The place can’t run on nothing. Even Essie knew that. It’s either walk out now or get thrown out in a few weeks. At which point, we’ll make a lot less profit from the sale.”

“I can’t believe you want to give in for the sake of a little profit.”

“It didn’t sound little when I was donating it to you.”

“To restore your building.”

“To give you a job.”

“And what will I do after the theater’s gone?” Was this what Mike wanted? “Go with you?”

“Why not? Yes. Come with me. You said yourself the building isn’t important.” He stretched out his hand, but she couldn’t quite take it. “Start a new theater—Shakespeare of the Sea. There’s a community of live-aboard families around the world who will welcome you. We’ll have the girls, financial stability, everything we want.”

“Everything you want. All packed neatly into the Hermia like perfectly-stowed cargo.”

Mike took his hand away. “I’m sorry my offer insulted you.”

“I’m not insulted.” Lane’s head was swimming. “It’s very generous. You’re very generous.” Wait, had Mike proposed? If so, not very romantically. “I’m in shock.”

“What shocked you? The fact this crazy theater scheme—a plan Uncle Elias had the good sense to block for thirty years—finally fell on its face?”

“It didn’t—”

“Or the idea I might possibly ask you to give my life a try?”

“For goodness sake, Mike. You don’t even like your own life.”

“What?”

“You weren’t on that boat five minutes before you moved into my flat.”

“I thought you wanted me there.”

“You spent half the time on your fishing trip talking to me.”

“So we’d have time—”

“Why bother?” Lane interrupted. “Why bother getting closer if all you want is to travel the world?”

“Well, why were you talking to me? To make sure I’d give you the money?”

“No.” Lane buried her face in her hands. “I don’t know.” She mustn’t cry. Not in front of the girls. “I care about you.” She lifted her chin. “A lot. But I can’t walk out on my dreams.”

“Well, I can’t wait for you forever.”

“I never asked you to.”

“That’s right. You didn’t.” Mike got to his feet. “Give me your keys.”

“You’re leaving? Now?” And he’s taking my car? What would Lane do without transportation? How would she get the girls home? “You’re going back to your boat?”

“I think that’s best.” Mike dropped the keys to his pickup on the table. “Keep the truck. It’s safer than the MG.”

Don’t go. I love you. I’ll do whatever you want. But Lane had made that bargain once. She’d given up everything for Alex and he’d abandoned her. She turned her face away. “Bye.”

“Good bye.” Mike kissed her cheek lightly. “I’ll call you. Soon.”

“OK.” She watched him carry her heart out the door.

“Mama.” Mima tumbled, head first, from a slide. “Where’s Mikey going?”

Gemma joined them. “Is it time to pick up our fliers?”

Lane found a tissue and blotted her eyes. “Not yet.” She took a cooling sip of tea. “Go back and play.”

“Are you sick?” Gemma’s arms circled her neck.

Mima captured her waist. “Are you catching cold?”

Lane swiveled the chair and pulled them both onto her lap. Mike hadn’t left with her heart. She had two hearts still beating right here in her arms.

“Just a sniffle,” she told the girls. “But that won’t change anything.” They might be bankrupt ten days from now, but it was going to be a spectacular ten days.

She kissed her daughters on top of their heads. “What’s our motto?”

They all said it together. “The show must go on.”