Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Spencer
My gaze meets Vivien’s as soon as I cross the threshold into the gym and gets lodged there.
She’s like a lighthouse, illuminating any room she’s in, even when her face is drawn, and lines bracket her mouth. She’s staring down at her phone.
I frown. Something is wrong.
Carter corrals the rambunctious group of kids to line up and quiet down.
Audrey is crouching next to one of the shyer kids.
I make a beeline for Vivien’s direction. “Is everything okay?”
She slips her phone in her pocket, shaking her head. “I don’t know.”
“What do you need?”
She swallows. “Graham’s not here. He’s out of town, and I don’t know what to do.” She winces, cutting off her words and glancing over at Audrey.
My mind races.
If Graham is out of town, she will have to teach the class alone—or with Audrey, I guess—but I am not sure that will meet Beverly’s specifications. Not without confirming with the next letter, which I can’t do until she completes the task.
I wish I could fix this for her, but I can’t. I can’t get involved. But maybe I can ask . . . “Did the letter specifically state Graham had to be here? The movie one did, right?”
Her lips purse. “I can’t remember if this letter said Graham’s name, specifically, though. It said I have to share something I love, and that’s all I remember. I need to get the class started. What if this doesn’t count though? I’m out of time. Today was the last possible day I could do it.”
I reach out and squeeze her shoulder. “Just keep moving forward. It’s all you can do. We’ll figure it out together. Okay?”
She swallows and nods. “Okay.”
“We’ll have Carter stand in for him, just in case.” I have to act as a witness. But depending on what’s in that note exactly, maybe there will be wiggle room to allow someone else to step in. Beverly never would have intended to back Vivien into a corner.
“Fine.” She takes a breath and then straightens, squaring her shoulders. “Might as well make this as fun as I can for the kids.”
She walks directly into the fray. “Hey, everyone.” Her voice rings through the gymnasium. “I’m Vivien, and this is my sister, Audrey.”
Audrey does a pirouette and bows and the kids clap.
Vivien taps a finger on her chin. “Let’s all do an intro like Audrey.
Everyone, get in a circle. We’re going to go around and introduce ourselves and then give us a quick shimmy or turn or jump or whatever you want to do.
Ready?” She pulls a remote from her pocket and clicks a button.
Music kicks on, and “Blame It on the Boogie” fills the space.
Carter comes up next to me as the kids start their introductions and showing off their moves.
I clap him on the back. “You’re going to have to participate.”
“What?”
“I’ll explain later, but you need to get in there and do all this with them.”
He crosses his arms over his chest. “Wait, are you serious?”
“Graham is MIA.”
“So? Why don’t you step in?”
I shake my head. “I can’t. You know I can’t.”
He groans.
“Come on. It’s for Vivien. I’ll owe you one.”
He cocks a brow at me and then looks over at Vivien. “Maybe she’ll owe me one.”
I clench my jaw to keep my mouth shut.
He chuckles. “Don’t worry, I won’t steal your girl.”
“She’s not my girl,” I say, but he’s already walking toward the group.
Once introductions are done, Vivien clicks off the music and shows them some basic steps, like kick ball change, shuffle ball change, toe taps, and combining some of those simpler moves.
Vivien stays at the front so the kids can watch her, and Audrey saunters through the lines, helping some of them who are stuck, quietly showing them proper form.
Carter is terrible, worse than most of the kids, but Audrey skips over him, not even meeting his eyes.
Weird.
After they practice a series of steps multiple times, Vivien clicks on the music again. The kids move through them a little faster, resulting in a lot of stumbles and giggling and exclamations of pride and disappointment.
When the music ends, I clap.
Vivien looks over at me and smiles, a sunny, real smile, and my heart skips a beat.
She may not have fulfilled the terms of the will. This may be the end. But although she might be losing everything, she keeps going.
They spend more time practicing the simple routine, and before too long, parents start filtering into the room, standing in the back and watching. A few people I recognize wave at me, and a couple come over and stand next to me on the side of the room.
“All right, last time!” Vivien claps her hands, breathless but smiling. “From the top.”
Music clicks on.
The kids stomp and shuffle their way through the combination—shuffle, ball, change, heel, heel, toe—and a messy, joyful clatter echoes through the gym.
It’s not great, but they are all laughing and grinning, even Vivien, Audrey, and Carter.
When they finish, Vivien claps. “Beautiful!”
The parents join in. The room fills with clapping, laughter, and the scrape of shoes against the floor.
The gym dissolves into chaos as the applause peters out, voices rising as the kids run over to their parents.
“Mom! Watch what I learned!”
“Did you see me?!”
“Dad, I can tap now!”
Vivien moves through them easily, crouching to talk to a few kids, smiling at parents, answering questions. Thanking them for coming. Taking compliments like she doesn’t quite know what to do with them. Carter is in the mix too, chatting with parents.
I wait until most of the crowd has dispersed before making my way to Vivien.
She waves goodbye to one of the families, then smiles at my approach. “That went surprisingly well.”
“It did,” I say.
She glances around. “Have you seen Audrey?”
“No.”
“Maybe she went to the bathroom. I’ll go check.”
“I’ll see if Carter saw her leave.”
“Perfect.” She heads to the side of the room where the restrooms are.
“Did you see where Audrey went?” I ask Carter.
“I think she left.”
“What? Why?”
He shrugs. “Not sure. I saw her go through the doors like five minutes ago.”
Vivien reappears by us. “She’s not in the bathrooms.”
“Carter saw her leave.”
“Oh. Maybe she’s waiting in the car.” She glances over to the bleachers. “But she left her purse.” She stalks over, picking up a funky fringed purse and pawing through it. “And her phone and the car keys.”
I walk over to her. “Well, then she couldn’t have gone far.”
Carter blows out a breath. “I’ll head into town. Maybe she went to the diner, or to the Surrender Saloon.”
Vivien rubs her head, forehead creasing in concern. “Why would she leave? This makes no sense. I don’t know. She’s not the dive-bar type. More of a martini girl.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll find her,” Carter says. “We can split up. You two head north toward the bar, I’ll head south toward the diner.”
“That sounds good,” Vivien says. “Thanks.” She turns to me, her eyes worried. “That’s okay, right?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll lock up. You two go ahead.” Carter waves at us. “Text me if you find her, and I’ll do the same.”
Thirty minutes later, we’ve gone through every open business between the school and my office, and no sign of Audrey.
We stop in at the office to come up with a new plan. While Vivien is in the bathroom, I text Carter from the waiting room to let him know our status, and he immediately replies.
I’ve found her. I’m taking her back to the house.
Where? When? Why didn’t you tell us?
I stare at my phone until Vivien appears.
“Carter found her. They’re heading to your house.”
Her mouth pops open. “What? Where? When?”
“That’s exactly what I asked. I’m not sure. He’s not replying. Now, I guess?”
She sinks onto the sofa. “I can’t believe this.”
I sit next to her. “Are you okay?”
“This is just like her. Only thinking about what she wants to do, and not how it will affect anyone else. The selfishness is inherent. Genetic. Am I like that?”
I angle my knees toward her. “Not at all.”
“I’m being unfair. I don’t really think Audrey is intentionally like that, either.
” She slumps back. “At least she’s trying.
Sometimes. Sort of. I don’t think anyone who grew up with our mom as a mom could turn out normal.
I’m not normal. I’ve never had real friends because I was so isolated and awkward. ”
“You’re not awkward now.”
She rubs her face. “I got out as soon as I could. Audrey didn’t. I still don’t really have friends, except Daphne, and we just met.”
“What about the guys you did the show with? Weren’t you friends?”
“They call me, sometimes. Actually, Whitman texted me this morning, but only because my Mother called him.”
“Your mom called your ex-costar? Why?”
“She was trying to get information from him on my whereabouts. She does stuff like that sometimes. Anyway, Hudson came to visit me in Boston twice, but he’s impossible to go anywhere with.
He draws a crowd, and he loves it. I hate it.
Hudson and Whit are close. But they didn’t have the same experience as me. ”
“What do you mean?”
She shifts closer. “They’re boys. No one was bugging them about relationships, or printing entire articles on their changing bodies and eventual virginity loss.”
“What?”
“Oh, yeah. There was a whole website devoted to counting down the seconds until I was of legal age.”
“That’s disgusting.” I have a sudden urge to hunt down every person who ever objectified her, even a little bit, and punch them in the face.
As if sensing my violent tendencies, she reaches over, putting a hand on my knee.
“It’s fine. It’s over now. One of the many reasons I disappeared from Hollywood and all its trappings.
For so long, I didn’t know what I wanted to do.
Until I got the letter from you, about Beverly.
And I remembered how much Surrender meant when I was young, and I had to come back.
But I didn’t think I would inherit the theater .
. . and now I won’t be inheriting the theater. ”
“We don’t know that yet.”
Her hand leaves my leg. “Oh. You’re right. You have to confirm with the next letter. I almost forgot, after everything with Audrey.”
“I’ll be right back.” Pushing to my feet, I head into my office.
I read it while I’m walking back into the waiting room, coming to a stop in front of where she’s still sitting on the couch. My eyes skim down the page, and then I read it over again.
Vivien’s foot taps against the hardwood. “Spencer.”
“Give me a second.” I read it a third time. Then I fold it and look at her. “ I think . . . I think it’s going to be okay. I think you did what you were intended to do.”
“I didn’t though. Graham wasn’t there. He wasn’t even in town.”
“I know.” I hold up a hand. “The letter says you have to share something you love. Something personal, something that makes you brave. It says you have to spend an hour in close proximity with someone.” I pause. “It doesn’t specify Graham.”
“That feels like cheating.”
“Maybe.” I look down at the letter again, at Beverly’s handwriting.
I’ve been reading her handwriting for years, and I know when she’s being precise and when she’s being loose on purpose.
“But I don’t think she would see it that way.
Maybe she had Graham in mind.” I fold the letter.
“But you did something harder than sit next to Graham in a dark room for an hour. You got up in front of a room full of kids with high expectations, even though you thought you would fail, and instead of giving up, you did the thing anyway. You didn’t quit.
” I look up at her. “I think that’s exactly what she was asking for. ”
Vivien’s jaw works for a moment. “You can’t know that.”
“No,” I agree. “But I knew her. I know that the point was never really Graham. It’s to get you out of your comfort zone. And create some drama around town, which means task successful.”
She laughs, and then her arms fly around me.
I’m so stunned, the letter flickers to the floor as I hug her back.
“Thank you,” she says, pulling back slightly.
She’s too close. Only inches away. She smells like vanilla and lilac, and her mouth is soft and perfect.
Then she kisses me. Just a brush of lips. She pulls back to meet my eyes, searching, questioning.
Then I kiss her back.
She immediately responds, her arms tightening around my neck, her lips parting underneath mine.
“Wait.” I have to pull myself together. I can’t believe we’re doing this. Again. There are reasons this is a terrible idea. What were they again? “I have to give you your letter.”
Her hands run down the front of my sweater. “What if I don’t want the next letter yet?”
“Why?”
She brushes her fingers against the top of my pants, slipping under the fabric. “With the next letter will come a timeframe and probably something else to force me into contact with Graham.”
My brain is only half functioning. I try to track her train of thought. What is she saying? Graham. “Right, because Graham is gone until next month.” Graham. “Are you sure about this?”
“What do you mean?”
I swallow. I don’t want to ask, but I have to. “What about you and Graham?”
Her hands run around my waist, against my skin. “I don’t want to do this with Graham. I don’t want to do this with anyone else. There is nothing between Graham and me.”
Blood roars in my ears. “I don’t want you doing this with anyone either.” And that’s a problem, but all my blood drained from my brain the moment she kissed me, and now I’m struggling to remember the words ethical boundary, let alone summoning the willpower to enforce them.
I force my thoughts into order. “Maybe we can wait a day. Or two. Or three. There was no time limit on when I need to give you the next letter.”
“Good. Because my letters have had time limits. So let’s wait.”
“Okay.”
Then we’re kissing again.
She yanks my sweater up and over my head. Then somehow, we’ve switched positions, and she’s walking me backward until the backs of my knees hit the couch and I sit, looking up at her, a little stunned and a lot turned on.
She tugs her shirt up and off, tossing it somewhere behind her. She’s only wearing leggings and a sports bra. She slips one leg over mine, and then the other, straddling me.
Holy hell.