Chapter 3 #2
He taps the envelope against his thigh. “There is one question you have to answer though, before I can hand this over. Now that you know the inheritance involves ownership of the theater and all of her assets, would you keep it and stay here and manage it? Or would you want to sell it?”
“Is that relevant?”
“Yes. If you aren’t staying here, I have a different letter.”
This is wild. I can’t believe it. “I have to give an answer now?”
“No. But I can’t give you this letter until you can say definitively. Would you rather wait until morning so you can sleep on it?”
I pick up the coffee and take a sip, stalling. Maybe I should sleep on it. It’s so much to take in. But owning the theater . . . the thought shoots sparks of excitement through my veins. What do I want? It’s truly the ultimate question.
Do I want to go back to Boston to hide away? Continue my self-imposed exile and eventual decline into obscurity and insanity? Nothing about that sounds appealing, even though it’s a multimillion-dollar Beacon Hill luxury condo.
I don’t care about the money. I have money. Well, enough, anyway, to get by. I could sell my place in Boston. I still get residuals that are put into a trust, managed by some firm that sends me a monthly stipend, and I don’t spend a lot beyond living expenses.
I still can’t believe Beverly left me the theater.
The Palace Theater was my refuge. The one place that offered peace during the darkest time in my life.
The one place that made me remember why I love movies.
I thought Beverly might have left me a few of my favorite reels or something, maybe the vintage projector if I was lucky.
That alone was worth braving the snowstorm and getting arrested. Well, fake arrested. But everything?
I can’t even fathom it.
Do I want to stay in Surrender? Indefinitely? Run the theater? I have a lot to learn. But this is what I’ve been waiting for, isn’t it? For something to do instead of hiding from the world?
“I don’t need to wait until morning. I’ll take the letter now. I’ll accept it. And the challenges.” It’s a bit like volunteering as tribute, but I trust Beverly.
“Okay.” He holds out the letter. “Read this, and then I’ll answer any other questions you might have.”
I set my coffee down on the end table and accept the envelope.
“I’ll give you a minute. I’ll be in my office. Holler if you need anything.”
He disappears, and I turn the envelope in my hands, taking in the black ink on the outside in Beverly’s sloping hand.
Letter #1
I take a deep breath and break the seal.
Vivien,
If you’re reading this, it means I’ve met my ultimate demise. Don’t feel bad for me, I’m sure I’m laughing with Betty White and dancing with Donald O’Connor.
I press my lips together. The words echo in my head, like she’s sitting beside me, wearing her trademark flared pants and funky tops.
She loved ’70s styles, all browns and oranges and wavy lines.
Her hair was long and white and usually pulled back in a braid or two. I take a breath and keep reading.
You might be surprised to find that I’ve left all my earthly assets to you, but you see, no one will appreciate the theater like I do, except you.
You’re the only one who loves films with your whole heart, and I know you’ll do what’s needed to ensure my wishes are met. The Palace needs someone just like you. This town needs you. And, my dear, I think you need them.
But before you start panicking about the work involved in keeping a movie theater operational, have no fear.
I’ve written down every last detail you might need to know, and Daphne will help you with whatever you need on that front.
Spencer too. He’s as honorable as Atticus Finch.
You can trust him (and he has a cute butt too, don’t you think?).
I turn my head to peek at him over my shoulder.
No comment.
I can’t think about him like that. My life is too complicated for romance, let alone a romance with the person apparently in charge of my inheritance.
That whole thing about keeping ethically aboveboard to avoid contestation of the will would probably include not hooking up with the attorney in charge of it.
And my priority will always be avoiding my family at all costs.
And the press. And anyone else who just wants a piece of me for their own gain.
Been there, done that, got the super sad T-shirt that says Living My Okayest Life.
I turn my attention back to the page in my hands.
He’s been through a hard time, like you have, and I think he will be a good friend if you need one.
As you may be aware, I’ve left you both The Palace and my farmhouse. However, you will need to complete certain tasks before you can take official ownership over both properties, although you’re welcome to inhabit and manage everything until the terms of the will have been satisfied.
For now, get some rest, reacclimate yourself to the town, and get settled in somewhere—maybe The Surrender Inn; they have free breakfast, and Prudence is a hoot—and you’ll be receiving the second letter soon.
Love, Beverly
Your adoptive grandma (from beyond the grave! Imagine me making spooky noises now oohhh arrrrghh)
Folding the letter, I place it in my lap, my eyes filling with a sudden, irrepressible heat.
I should have visited. Before she passed. I should have been here. I should have called or written, anything, to let her know how much she meant to me. But I didn’t. I shut myself away from the world, and everything in it, which included the one place I could be myself. All because I was scared.
Not anymore.
Well, that’s not true. I’m terrified. But I’m also . . . excited. Is this my purpose? Is this something I can have that Mother can’t touch or push her way into?
I read the letter again, absorbing her words and swallowing back the guilt of not being here, not making the time.
Beverly nurtured my love of movies with soft hands.
She didn’t squeeze me in her grip until I choked, like Mother.
I take a breath and stand, putting the grief aside. I can dwell on all my what-ifs later.
Spencer is in the other room, frowning at his computer screen.
I stand at his desk for a few seconds, waiting.
He doesn’t look up.
I clear my throat, and he startles.
“Sorry.”
“I guess we’re just scaring each other tonight.”
I smile. “When do I get the second letter?”
He leans back in his seat. “Tomorrow. Did you have any questions? I’ll answer what I can.”
“I’m not sure.” My brain is mush. This whole night has been a lot. I’m overwhelmed. Exhausted. I sink into the chair across from him. “Is the theater currently closed?”
“No, they’ve been running weekend shows when they can.”
“Who’s they?”
“Daphne Green and one of her brothers. They have some teenagers help with concessions too, occasionally. Daphne is managing what she can, but she has a few other jobs. I’ve been helping with some of the paperwork where I can, but it’s been rough.
Not many people have been coming to shows, so I think Daphne’s been feeling a bit defeated.
I think she’ll be really happy to meet you. ”
“Why has it been slow?”
When I was younger, the theater was the cornerstone of the community.
There were events constantly, Gatsby nights, Oscar nights, holiday-themed parties, and events.
People would dress up and come out every weekend to a show.
Plus as Beverly was the town’s informal matchmaker, she would constantly be rearranging seats, ushering people around.
She was the direct cause of more than one marriage.
Sometimes people even got married at the theater because it was where they’d met.
Spencer rests his elbows on the desk. “I’m not sure. I think it’s been a gradual thing, over time. As Beverly got older, things got a bit harder.”
Of course. She could have used my help. She was what, eighty? Definitely spry for her age, but still.
I’m basically swimming in guilt at this point.
Spencer must sense some of my fatigue, or my need to wallow, or both, because he glances at his watch. “It’s getting pretty late. Did you have somewhere to stay tonight?”
Actually, he probably wants to get me out of his hair. I glance at his ring finger. No ring, but probably a girlfriend or someone waiting for him.
“Do you think you can drive me over to the inn?” Oh, wait. I lift a hand to my head. How could I forget? “Wait. I don’t have my purse. Do you think they can wait until morning for payment? I think I left it in the tow truck.” Lord, kill me now. I literally only have the clothes on my back.
I am such a pain in this guy’s ass.
Then another thought hits me. “Oh, or the farmhouse. Can I stay there?” Beverly mentioned I could take possession physically, if not legally. It’s not really on a farm, but it has a giant wraparound porch, a gabled roof, and shiplap siding.
He winces. “I’m afraid that will be a problem.”
“Why?”
“There is a provision for you to manage the theater and live in the house until you can take full legal ownership. But the residence has been uninhabited for over a month, and it’s winter.
Per Beverly’s instructions, we winterized, and I’ve been doing enough to maintain the property so it doesn’t fall into disarray, but nothing beyond that. ”
I stare at him. “What does that mean?”
He shifts, rubbing the back of his head. “Well, there’s no power. The pipes are drained, the water is off, and I don’t think it will be habitable for at least a week.”
“Okay.” Back to plan B. “So maybe we could try the inn and just see if I can pay later.”
He shrugs. “Or you can always stay here.”