Chapter 27
In less than an hour the town was buzzing with the news.
—Gertrude Chandler Warner, The Boxcar Children
“That wasn’t only a touchdown,” Clint whispered into her ear as the crowd surrounded her. “You won the Super Bowl.”
Erin powered through the crowd surrounding Dancy and hugged her. “You were amazing! I got chills!”
A red-haired woman with a cheery sprinkle of freckles held up her phone. “I can’t believe I’m meeting Dancy Flynn. I didn’t
know you could sing. You were incredible.”
Lots more photos followed, along with more comments, including deeply personal ones.
A tired-looking woman in a “Dance Mom” sweatshirt saw Dancy as a kindred soul. “I’ve been in such a bad depression . . .”
The brown-eyed teen Dancy had seen holding herself approached shyly. “I had a boyfriend who hurt me.”
“I miscarried, twice,” a slender middle-aged woman confided. “It still hurts to think about.”
Dancy’s heart went out to all of them. She posed with them. She smiled. She hugged. She gave her phone number to the teen.
The men also came up, and not one of them looked at her breasts.
“I didn’t know what to expect, but it was damn good.”
“You’re quite a philosopher.”
People wanted to bring a friend or a relative to see the show and asked when she was next performing.
“I’m working on that now,” she replied, because soon she would be.
Even Leo had a comment. “I thought it would be boring, but it wasn’t.”
Through it all, Clint stood nearby and smiled as one person after another ignored him to speak with her. All this time, she’d
been afraid of losing herself in his shadow, and here he was, happy to stand in hers.
As the audience filed out through the open front door, Dancy saw a crowd gathered in the driveway and glimpsed a few people
recording the reactions of audience members who’d seen the show. Rory, Clint’s curly-haired chocolatier sister, gripped Dancy’s
hands. “We’ve all been there. That was brilliant.”
Rory’s handsome husband slipped Dancy his business card. “We’re looking for a celebrity spokesperson for the company. Let’s
talk.”
Kristin introduced her husband, Daniel, who, with a great deal of seriousness, complimented Dancy on her performance. Kristin
said nothing.
Finally, the only people remaining were members of Clint’s family. “Bad news,” he whispered to her. “They’re spending the night in the house.”
More than anything she wanted to be alone with him so they could have the conversation they needed to have, but that would
have to wait. He set the flat of his hand against her waist. “I’ll come over as soon as I can.”
She nodded and made her way to the stairs to get her things from the guest room. As she reached the top step, Clint called
up, “One last time!”
Smiling, she turned on her gown so the tiny fiberoptic lights were illuminated.
He laughed. “That’s my girl.”
The gown that had been her downfall had become the symbol of her rebirth.
She undressed, peeled off her sweat-dampened bodysuit, and took advantage of the guest room shower. Face free of makeup, she
changed into her joggers and sweater. As she gathered her things to take them back to the caboose, the door opened. She smiled,
expecting to see Clint, but Kristin appeared instead.
Clint’s mother was her customary immaculate self: each blond hair in place, impeccable makeup, her silky magenta tunic top
a perfect companion to a white pencil skirt. Dancy braced herself.
Kristin gently clasped her arms. “That was beautiful. I’m so proud of you. I couldn’t be prouder if you were my own.”
Kristin had said the words Dancy’s own mother and father had never uttered. Dancy’s bottom lip began to quiver.
“Don’t you dare,” Kristin said, with a shaky smile. “You’ve already put me through an emotional wringer tonight.”
Dancy gave a sob-laugh. Kristin cupped Dancy’s cheek, her eyes filling with tears. “You’re a marvel.” Grabbing a tissue, she turned away and left Dancy alone.
Dancy slipped unnoticed out the back kitchen door. She flicked on her phone’s flashlight as she began walking across the dark
yard toward the lake. She was exhausted right down to her bone marrow. And happy.
Her breath clouded the late September air, and she zipped up the jacket she’d borrowed from Clint’s closet. Wearing his clothes
was becoming a habit. A nice one.
She reached the boathouse and climbed to the roof. She couldn’t stay for long—she needed to let Watch out—but she wanted a
few moments to herself. The furniture sat under protective covers, and the umbrellas were folded tight. She walked to the
railing and turned off the flashlight. The summer people had left weeks ago, and only a few lights flickered in the homes
across the empty lake.
The adrenaline had faded, but her satisfaction with what she’d done filled her with joy and purpose. She needed to fix her
entrance and tighten up some of the comedy bits. There was an awkward costume change. But all that was easily done. Tonight
had taught her what she needed to know. Audiences identified with her. They understood. And she was taking her show on the
road.
Bringing the fragment of an idea into bloom was more satisfying than she’d ever dreamed. She’d loved writing the show as much
as she had loved performing it. Was it too much of a cliché to think that she might direct a play some day? Or even a film?
She heard footsteps on the dock and watched a tall figure climb the steps to join her. As he came nearer, she held out her
hand. He took it and moved behind her, so her back was to his chest, both of them gazing out at the dark water. He crossed
their arms in front of her, his warmth enfolding her, his breath falling soft on her ear. “Quite a night. You were wonderful.”
“I love you so much, Clint Garrett.”
“You don’t know how happy that makes me.” He pulled her closer, his muscles tensing ever so slightly. “I have something to
tell you.”
She turned to face him, and his expression was as serious as she’d ever seen. He leaned forward until their foreheads were
touching. “I’m not going to let my career stand between us.”
She pulled back. “I don’t know what that means.”
“You’re more important to me than the game ever will be. If I can’t get my head straightened out, I’ll retire.”
She smiled. “I’m not worried. Your head is going to be just fine. You’ll make sure of it.”
He released her. “You have more confidence in me than I have in myself right now.”
“That’s not a problem.” She laced her fingers through his. “We aren’t people who walk away from our dreams. When one of us
is down, the other steps in to make sure the job gets done.”
He drew her fingers to his lips. “You’re incorrigible.”
“I’ll be in the stands next Sunday. I hope you win, but you won’t win them all, and as captain of your private team, I’ll
help you cope with failure. You might not have noticed, but I’m kind of an expert.”
He cocked his head, regarding her searchingly. “You’re sure about this?”
“Absolutely. But I do have bad news.” She offered up a prim little pout. “That sweet, stay-at-home wife I imagined for you? She’s gotten too clingy.”
His eyes crinkled at the corners. “I was afraid that would happen.”
“She’s not happy having a husband who’s away so much. All those Sundays. Sometimes Monday and Thursday nights. It’s a lot.
She tries to hide her insecurity, but she’s also paranoid about . . . you know . . .”
His lips toyed with her earlobe. “The groupies?”
She nodded. “Which proves she doesn’t know you at all.”
His lips trailed down the side of her neck. “My imaginary marriage is a disaster.”
“I should have warned you.”
“One question.” He lifted her wrist to his mouth and kissed the pulse. “Is she still hot?”
“Yes. But not as hot as me.” She sucked in her breath as he found an especially sensitive spot.
“Nobody is.”
She trailed her fingers along his jaw. “You obviously need an independent woman with a big enough life of her own not to depend
on yours for fulfillment.”
He curled his hand around the nape of her neck. “A woman with shows to do, movies to film. And—I might have this wrong—but
since she can sing and dance, she’ll probably end up playing Roxie in Chicago, except on Broadway instead of our old high school auditorium.”
She whispered against the corner of his mouth. “She’s more interested in directing, but don’t you dare tell anyone. I hate
being a cliché.”
He pulled her closer, their hips meeting. “She wants babies. I’m hoping not more than a couple, but she’s an overachiever, so who knows?”
She smiled all her feelings at him, her doubts gone. “I love you, Clint. Will you marry me?”
Through the blur of her own vision, she saw Clint’s beautiful, ocean-blue eyes fill with tears. “It would be my privilege.”
Their kiss was everything a kiss should be, tender and generous, both an erotic promise and a sacred pledge. The only barrier
between them was a thin layer of lip balm.
A furious barking interrupted this perfect moment. Watch had somehow escaped from the caboose. He raced across the yard and
out onto the dock. When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he looked up at them. Before either of them could react, he shot
to the end of the dock and jumped in the lake, landing with a huge splash.
“Fuck!”
“Fuck!”
Watch howled as the frigid water washed over him. This wasn’t what he’d expected.
“I hate that dog!” Dancy cried as she headed down the steps. “Remember he’s joint property under California law.”
“We’re in Wisconsin!” Clint exclaimed from behind her.
“Immaterial.”
They hit the dock. Clint glanced around. “The boat hook’s stowed away.”
“You need to build him a ramp!”
“Which doesn’t help now.”
Watch’s yipes grew louder. Dancy looked hard at Clint. “One of us has to go in. You’re stronger. It should be you.”
Clint disagreed. “He responds better to you. You need to do it.”
Watch whimpered, furiously paddled. The lake had never looked darker, colder, or more forbidding. Dancy thought fast. “Whichever
one of us loves the other one the most has to make the sacrifice.”
“On it.” Clint whipped off his jacket and kicked off his shoes, but not before Dancy had abandoned hers.
They jumped into the water together.