Chapter Thirty-Three
Hank put on his tuxedo and straightened his bow tie. Elizabeth had insisted he wear a lavender shirt to match his date, who happened to be his Apollo costar, Heather. She was sweet and pretty and wore a lavender dress, but she wasn’t Bethany.
He rubbed his temples, but it didn’t lessen the pounding headache—probably brought on by a guilty conscience. He scrounged in the medicine cabinet for two aspirin, which he tossed down with a glass of water.
He picked Heather up in the limo, traveled with her to the Palace Theatre, and exchanged boring pleasantries.
Hank was grateful that Heather liked to talk, and that she only required him to say yes or no or the occasional maybe.
The moment they got out of the limo, she threw her arms around his shoulders and kissed him at the same moment a photographer snapped their picture.
Hank knew the embrace was purposeful on her part, since it was good for their careers if fans thought they were an item.
And then they were admitted to the auditorium and seated at the front of the stage.
She leaned toward him and whispered, “Do you think you’ll win best actor?”
“Maybe.” His answer seemed to satisfy her.
A few minutes later, his name was called, and he moved to the podium to accept the award, his chest swelling with pride and relief.
He had worked hard on Apollo, and the win would help to solidify his place in Hollywood.
Elizabeth and Blackie would be delighted at this turn of events and the boost to his career.
An hour later, they came out of the theatre to the flash of cameras and well-wishes from the crowd. “Hank, how does it feel to be voted best actor in a television series?”
“It feels good,” he said, placing his hand on Heather’s back to guide her through the onslaught of press.
“There’s a widely circulated picture of you kissing a woman on a kiss-cam at a Guardians’ baseball game not long ago. Are you dating anyone special?” A tall woman with fake eyelashes thrust a microphone in his face.
He’d been asked this question many times over the years, so he knew how to play the game. He widened his smile and winked at the camera. “Not at the moment. But you never know.”
“What about you?” The lady pushed the microphone in Heather’s face. “You’re on the god Apollo’s arm tonight, and you’re both recently single. Wouldn’t you like to make this a permanent arrangement?”
Heather was a veteran in front of the camera too. She cocked her head his way and batted her long, dark eyelashes. “I’ve been told we have chemistry on set.”
“So there you have it, folks,” the lady with the microphone said into the camera. “The god and goddess are out tonight, and they make quite a pair, don’t they?”
Hank figured the camera panned in for a close-up, so he kept his grin firmly in place and guided Heather by the elbow to the waiting limo. Once they were inside, he went for the liquor between the seats.
Heather put her hand on top of his. “You know, we could see if our chemistry on set extends into the bedroom.”
Hank stilled. “Aren’t you planning to get back with your ex?”
“No, that ship has sailed. And I know you and Melanie are no longer an item, so, what do you say? My place or yours?”
Hank pulled his hand out from under hers. “Sorry. I’m not looking for a good time right now.” He made himself a gin and tonic.
“It’s Melanie, isn’t it? You still have feelings for her.”
“Yes.” He did have feelings for Melanie—ones of relief. But he wanted to spare Heather’s pride, so he didn’t bother elaborating.
She slid her hand onto his thigh and stroked. “If you change your mind, Apollo, you have my number. Call me.”
He ignored her hand. “Can I get you a drink?”
Heather moved her lips into a little pout. “Vodka and cranberry—heavy on the vodka.”
And that ended that.
Later, when he was home, lying in bed at ten o’clock, he asked himself why he’d refused Heather’s advances.
They were both single and consenting adults.
Except he was not single—not really. It had only been a few days since he’d left Cleveland, but he tortured himself thinking about Bethany, where she was, who she was with, whether she hated him.
He wondered if she thought of him whenever she looked up at the stars, like he thought of her.
He brought her white sweater to his nose, the one she’d dropped in his rental home the night he’d made her dinner, and breathed in her lemon and vanilla scent until he slept.
Bethany woke to the sound of her cell phone alarm piercing the quiet morning. She groaned and found the time. Was it six o’clock in the morning already on a Thursday? She tried to drum up her normal optimism for the day ahead, but all her enthusiasm had vanished when Hank had left town.
She rubbed her tired eyelids and forced them open.
She couldn’t fall apart because Hank had disappointed her.
She had chores, responsibilities, a living to earn.
She had enjoyed her life before Hank slid across her countertop.
She would enjoy it again one day—just maybe not at this particular moment.
Travis knocked at her bedroom door. At first, he’d taken Hank’s desertion much better than she had, preferring to think it was only temporary.
Until yesterday, when they had seen on the news that Hank would play Robin Hood on the big screen and filming would start in a few weeks.
Travis had sworn then and given her a hug, offering to work late so she could have the evening off.
“You awake?”
“Yeah. C’mon in.” She pushed her feet over the side of the bed and sat, staring at the floor.
He opened the door. “I’ll go in for you this morning. You can join me when you’re feeling up to it.”
She studied the concerned expression on his face. “I’m okay. You don’t need to take on my work.”
“Yeah, I do.” He handed her his phone. “You were right about Hank. He didn’t waste any time.”
The photograph caught her eye—Hank kissing a beautiful dark-haired woman and the headline: Apollo Actors Rumored to Be Dating.
Blood rushed to her temples. He’d kissed his costar—the woman she’d watched him kiss on screen that evening not so long ago, when he’d made her dinner and asked to be her friend, and they’d watched an episode together.
She fought to breathe. “It doesn’t matter,” she managed.
But it did. She knew it, and Travis knew it, although he didn’t say anything more, probably not wanting to upset her further.
They said little on their way to Grandma Lou’s, but once they got there, he took on the task of greeting customers, allowing her to disappear into the kitchen.
She eyed the clock—the knife seemed to take forever to move a millimeter.
Was it still only eight o’clock? Five customers visited the restaurant, but only three could afford to pay for meals—the others were looking for handouts from the pantry.
Maybe it was time she stopped treating her customers like family.
If they kept this up, they would be out on the street by the end of the month.
But at least they still had the contest—finalists would be announced tomorrow, and if they won, it would be the lifeline they needed.
She tugged at her cotton T-shirt. She always dressed for comfort, but today her clothes felt too snug, too sticky.
Today, she pined for her parents’ calm advice.
Today, she wanted to scream and cry and flail her arms about and have a good old-fashioned temper tantrum.
But she couldn’t afford to have an emotional breakdown.
So she donned her apron and headed to the kitchen for her own brand of therapy.
She pulled out the flour, baking powder, sugar, salt, milk, cream of tartar, and cold butter to make her dad’s homemade biscuits.
By the time Travis left to pick up supplies, and Rosie and the girls arrived at eleven, she had just pulled the first golden, flakey tray from the oven.
“Oh, my. Are those homemade biscuits I spy?”
Bethany removed her oven mitts and wiped her hands on a towel. Already, she felt a million times better. “Today is a biscuit kind of day.”
Rosie raised an eyebrow. “That bad, huh? Girls, give Miss Bethany a hug.”
The girls ran toward Bethany, and she crouched to take them into her arms. Above their heads, her gaze caught Rosie’s.
Her broad smile seemed forced in place. “Ay caramba. I’ll get the jam. Nobody is ever sad eating a warm biscuit with homemade strawberry jam.”
And that was the truth, Bethany thought when she bit into the buttery crust and a little jam dribbled down her chin. But when the biscuits were consumed and the jam wiped from her face, all the misery she felt at Hank’s abandonment returned tenfold.
“Girls, run and look in my purse in my locker. See if you can find my tissues.”
Tia and Tana ran to do their mother’s bidding, their feet pattering as they hit the wood floor.
“You’re in love with him, aren’t you,” Rosie said, handing her a napkin and patting her back.
Bethany realized she was crying, a slow trickle of wet tears. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose, but the trickle kept coming.
“I didn’t want to be,” she said. “I did everything I could not to.”
“Querida, don’t blame yourself. You couldn’t have stopped from falling for Hank even if you were gagged and tied to the stove with your apron strings. Love knows no boundaries. Some things are meant to be.”
Bethany swiped at the annoying tears with the napkin and hiccupped. “Yes, I could have. I should have kept my distance. I should have listened to Elizabeth. She said Hank would break my heart. She warned me to stay away, but I ignored her.”
“Bah. The woman is a cold-hearted snake. You listen to me. We have a saying where I come from. Cuando alguien te da comida preparada con tanto amor, te está dando un pedacito de su corazón. When someone gives you the food they cook with so much love, they give you a piece of their heart. You couldn’t have stopped yourself from falling for Hank the minute he took that first bite of tomato soup.
You couldn’t have stopped him any more than you could have stopped taking care of me and the girls.
That’s just the kind of woman you are. It’s what makes you special, carino. ”
The tears were coming faster now, rolling down her cheeks in warm rivulets, like a summer rainstorm.
“Honey, you didn’t do anything wrong, you hear me? Hank had his reasons for leaving, and I’m pretty certain they had little to do with you. Don’t blame yourself.”
Bethany couldn’t keep up with the napkin, so she stopped trying. “It’s just—I really care about him, Rosie. I thought he cared about me. How could I have been so wrong?”
Rosie embraced her, patting her head like a baby and placing it on her shoulder, where it made a wet patch. “I don’t know, honey, I don’t know. I think Hank does care about you as much as he is able to. I know he couldn’t take his eyes off you most of the time. This turn of events is real strange.”
Now the sobs began. Great big body-heaving sobs she couldn’t contain.
All the pain she held inside welled up and spilled over like a plugged sink with the water running.
She couldn’t stop crying even if she wanted to, which she didn’t.
She hugged Rosie and shuddered in her arms and allowed the deluge to wash over her.
“Let the tears flow, honey. Let them all flow. Tears are bueno. Tears are muy bueno. They’ll help ease your pain better than any medicine I can give.”
“Miss Bethany, are you sad ’cause Mr. Hank left?” Tia returned with a wad full of tissues. She handed them to Bethany, who managed a nod.
“I’m sad, too,” Tana said. “Mr. Hank was nice.”
“C’mon girls. Let’s give Miss Bethany some space.
” Rosie released her from her comforting embrace to usher her daughters to the dining area.
She turned at the swinging doors. “You just sit and rest. I’ll take care of things out here until you’ve got yourself together.
It may not seem like anything could ever be right again, but trust me, the passage of time will help.
You’ve got the contest to look forward to.
Won’t they announce the finalists tomorrow? ”
Bethany managed a nod.
“It’s one day at a time, amiga. That’s all.”
Bethany tried to smile, but it was too much. So she nodded and blew her nose into the tissues and tried to think about what to do next.