Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
I woke the next morning to an old woman standing over me, a mirror in my face, and the realization that I had not dreamed the last thirty-six hours.
I had indeed quit the show in London and hopped on a plane three weeks early. That plane had done the watoosie in the sky, and I had thrown myself at my teenage love. It was a lot to pack into seventy-two hours.
I blinked against the sun filtering through my old bedroom window. “Maxine, what exactly are you doing?”
“Checking to see if you were still breathing.” She removed the pink handheld mirror. “For a moment there it was iffy.”
“Is that my Hermes scarf around your neck? Were you even going to wait until my body was cold?”
“It’s twelve-thirty in the flippin’ afternoon. Who sleeps that late except werewolves and dead folk?”
“People with jet lag? People who nearly crashed in an airplane and have a concussion?”
“You’re boring me.” She plopped herself on the bed and flopped to her side, her blue eyes assessing me like a hanging judge. “You gonna tell me what’s wrong? ”
I sat up, feeling slightly underdressed in my worn In Between High School t-shirt, while Mad Maxine wore canary yellow skinny pants, a white button-down, and layers of turquoise beads artfully wrapped around her slender and surgically smoothed neck.
She kicked off her black patent spike heels and leaned her chin into a propped hand. “I’m waiting.”
“Nothing’s wrong. I’m exhausted, and I have a headache.”
“Please. I've dated two former presidents. I know a lie when I see it.”
I scrubbed a hand over my face and wondered how a woman who had to surely be from her own planet could be this intuitive. I’d never been able to get away with anything with her—from little white lies to sneaking candy from the secret liner in her purse.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Sitting up, I swung my feet over the edge of the bed, the room tilting a little to the left.
“You know what I think?”
I grabbed Maxine’s mirror and inspected my bandage, as well as the bruise covering my forehead.
“I think something happened in London.” Maxine’s hands mimed an explosion, complete with sound effects. Pow! “Something big.”
“I was homesick.”
“Oh, yeah? One of your college friends from your drama program has been calling here for days. Said she was sorry about what happened, but she knew a director in New York who wanted you to give him a ring-a-ding.”
My head ached for caffeine and a room without prying conversation. “I’m taking a break.”
“From what?”
Life. Love. Airplanes. “The theater.”
A knock interrupted my grandmother’s next comment as Millie poked her blonde, curly head in the room.
Her familiar smile had me blinking back tears, and for a moment I longed for the days when she’d slip her arm around me, kiss the top of my head, and talk me off some adolescent ledge of drama. “There’s my girl. How are you feeling?”
“A little gassy.” Maxine patted her tummy. “I think it was that sixth piece of bacon. ”
“I meant Katie.”
Maxine rolled her eyes. “Attention hog.”
“I’m okay,” I said as Millie padded across the floor in her bare feet. Since she’d conquered breast cancer seven years ago, Millie had taken up yoga, even teaching it at a studio downtown, and she now moved with an enviable grace I would never possess.
“Why don’t you get dressed and come downstairs? I’ll whip you up something to eat, and we can all talk.” Millie leaned down and kissed my cheek.
But as I shuffled to the bathroom and freshened up, I knew it wouldn’t be chit-chat that awaited me downstairs.
You didn’t suddenly come back from your Chance-of-a-Lifetime-Part, in a Chance-of-a-Lifetime-Play in Chance-of-a-Lifetime-London just because you were missing home. My family wanted answers.
But did I have them?
Millie stood at the stove and stirred something I hoped was edible. "We were kind of limited on groceries, so I ran to the store and stocked the fridge this morning. Do you want breakfast or lunch?"
What I wanted was to go back to bed, pull the covers over my head, and not resurface until sometime next year. "Lunch is fine."
"Good." She smiled and stood on tiptoe to get some bowls. "We're having tomato soup and gluten free grilled cheese."
"Sounds delightful."
Maxine snorted as she pulled out a chair and sat down. "It's better than the vegan burgers she fed my honey and me last week. Not only were there beans in those things, but spinach. Who puts spinach in burgers?" She took a sip of tea from a sweating glass. "Weirdos, that's who."
James walked into the kitchen, unfolding a newspaper. "You made the In Between front page today." He held it out for me to see, pointing a finger at the headline in all caps. "Local Woman Injured in Plane Incident. Saved by Former Beau." He leaned down and kissed my cheek. "You guys are famous. "
"That’s one for the scrapbook.” I slid my tired body into a seat, folding one leg beneath me.
"Still think we ought to sue the airlines," Maxine said. "Your pilots were probably having a little drinkie poo."
I ignored this. Again.
My grandmother was not deterred. "Stuff like this usually involves mental anguish."
James grinned. "I'm familiar with that."
Maxine cut her eyes at her son-in-law. "I mean Katie could turn straight-up crazy from this. She could end up unable to work, roaming the streets, talking to the voices in her head."
Millie set a platter of grilled cheese sandwiches on the table. "Come fill your bowls with soup."
"Speaking of work, I do need to find a job." The room halted like someone had pressed pause . Millie held a ladle over a pot, her eyes round. James's hand hovered toward the newspaper, and Maxine just stared, her collagen-filled lips pursed.
"But you're. . ." Millie didn't seem to know where to start. "You’re an actress. All that training. Surely—”
"I'm taking a break."
"For how long?" James asked.
"Not sure. Six months. A few years." I tore the crust away from my sandwich. "Forever."
Maxine shook her angled bob. "The crazy has done set in.”
Millie put a bowl of soup before me, then sat down. "Katie, what's going on?"
"I just need some time. London was great." In the beginning. "But lately I realized . . . it's not what I want."
"Did something happen?" Millie asks. "You weren't supposed to be here for weeks."
"I missed home." I took a bite, and the cheese slid against my tongue. Knowing Millie, it wasn't really cheese, but I didn't even want to think about what veggie product had been sacrificed in its place.
"You've wanted to be an actress since you were sixteen," James said. "All those plays, all that training. You get handed this amazing opportunity right out of college, and now you're done? When we talked to you last week, everything seemed fine."
I’d barely been holding it together. When Ian, my ex-boyfriend and director, had replaced me in the show that had been the last straw. I’d packed my bags and jumped on the first flight out.
"Tell us what happened, hon." Millie's voice was so gentle, aching with concern, and I considered pouring it all out, telling them every detail. "Did you and Ian break up?"
I pushed aside my soup, not the least bit hungry. "Yes."
"I knew I didn't like him," Maxine said. "You cannot trust a man with an accent. One time I dated this chap named Jean Luc and--"
"You seemed pretty serious," James said. "I thought he was coming back with you at Thanksgiving."
"I don't want to talk about him." Or think about him, or hear his name, or see his face. "We broke up. There's really nothing to it. It didn’t work out.”
"Who dumped whom?" Maxine asked.
"I dumped him." Technically.
"Atta girl."
"So you break up with a boy, then hop on the next flight to Houston?" Millie asked. "Switching that plane ticket had to be astronomical."
It had completely depleted my checking and savings. I had about fifty dollars to my name, and most of that was in foreign currency. "So, know anyone who's hiring?"
Their unanswered questions hung over us, thick and sweltering.
I knew I was disappointing them. But I just wasn't ready to talk. I'd yet to process it all myself. In one year of living in London, I’d gone from being “woman number seven” in Shakespeare’s Much Ado About Nothing to finally getting a small speaking part, to being the understudy for the lead, grateful to fill in every few weeks.
When the lead quit, I had the insane opportunity to stand in the spotlight as the permanent Beatrice, only the best character in the history of literature. One whirlwind year.
"Verla May's son runs the funeral parlor." Maxine patted my hand. "He could use an assistant. "
"In the office?" I asked.
"Nope." She smiled. "The makeup department."
"Katie, we hate to leave you like this,” Millie said. “I could stay here while you—"
"I'll be fine." Though the thought of staying in this home all alone for the rest of the month my parents would be gone did not sound the least bit enticing. “I’ll keep an eye on the house. Hold down the fort.”
Millie enfolded me in a warm hug. “We just want you happy, sweetie.”
"Being here makes me happy." I put on my best smile and felt the sting behind my eyes. “I’ve missed you guys so much.”
"When you're ready to talk, we're here," James said. "But know one thing."
I dashed a tear and sniffed. "Yes?"
"You can run from your troubles." He watched me over the rim of his glasses. "But those troubles will find you no matter where you live.”