Chapter 10 #3
“I wanted them to have a happy ending.” She covered her eyes with her hands. “Now they’ll never speak to each other again. And I embarrassed them—publicly. It was nothing—nothing like I imagined, and it was even worse than you imagined.”
Prescott released another sigh. She was right about that.
“I’m sorry, Press. You warned me, and I didn’t listen.
Why didn’t I listen? Grandpa told me not to meddle, told me if I’m keeping secrets, I’m meddling.
But no, I told myself it was no different than a surprise party or a Christmas gift.
But it was meddling. And I ruined their lives.
” True remorse quivered in her voice, and she chewed on a thumbnail.
Why would Prescott need to speak when she was telling herself everything he might have said—and more?
“I was trying to listen to God.” Limp dark strands covered her cheeks. “I was. I was praying about this. I really was, Press.”
That niggling again, and words built in his head and flowed over his tongue. “Were you praying that your plan would work? Or were you asking God whether your plan was wise?”
Maggie lifted her head and shoved aside tendrils of hair. In the darkness, her eyes and mouth formed large dark circles. Then she sobbed and hunched over her knees again.
“Come on,” Prescott said. “Let’s get you out of the rain.”
“No. I chose entertainment over people, just as you said. Same as I always do. I’m the one who got Rose sick. My little sister got meningitis because I ignored my mother and played with her when I was sick.”
Prescott arched one eyebrow. He hadn’t heard this part of the story.
Her teeth clicked on her thumbnail. “My parents never blamed me, said I was only six years old. But I was old enough to listen, old enough to know I’d ruined my sister’s life.”
A twisting in Prescott’s gut. What a heavy load to carry. “You were little. How were you to know?”
She waved him off. “And now—why didn’t I listen to Grandpa? To you? I’ll lose my job and rightly so.”
Prescott groaned. “It may not be as bad as all that. If you apologize—”
“No, no.” She clapped her hands on her knees and sat up straight. “I won’t make them fire me. I’ll resign.”
“Don’t be hasty.”
“It’s the right thing to do. The USO trusted me, and I abused their trust. Besides, if I resign, maybe Vi will agree to perform. You and Ria—you can manage the show. Everything ran smoothly tonight. You don’t need me.”
Not true, but she had a point about Vi, and he grimaced.
“Oh, Grandpa.” She sagged back down over her knees. “What am I going to do?”
“Get a job.”
She glanced up. “Pardon?”
“The aircraft factories in San Diego are hiring. If you can’t get a job as a secretary, there are training classes at the vocational school right here in Balboa Park.”
“The Ford Building . . .” One of the few not occupied by the Navy.
Prescott planned to apply first thing in January. Maybe a factory could figure out what to do with strong arms and disfigured-but-willing hands. “Pays better than the USO, I’m sure. It may not be your dream job, but—”
“But it’ll keep Grandpa in his home with Tobias. And that is my true dream.”
Her heart really was in the right place, and Prescott fought against the softening inside. “Come on. You need to catch your ride.” He pushed away from the railing but didn’t offer a helping hand.
Maggie awkwardly swung her legs over the railing and hopped down to the walkway. “I need to find Vi. She deserves an apology.”
Prescott led the way, staying a good four feet away from Maggie, and they entered the shelter of an arcade.
“Oh, Vi. Oh, Frank.” Maggie clapped her hands to her cheeks. “I know they still love each other. Vi—she was so angry with him. But how could Frank have found her? She changed her name.”
Prescott dug his hands into his coat pockets. “Vi is a reasonable woman. She’s upset now, but—”
“What should I do, Press?” Her eyes looked wild in the dim light. “I’ll listen to you this time, I promise. Or should I keep my nose out of it?”
Tempting to accept the last suggestion, but he shook his head. “Talk to Vi. She may not be ready to listen, but if she truly loves Frank—”
“She does. I know she does.”
“How about I talk to Frank tomorrow? Ria can help me find him.”
“Yes, man to man. That’s good. Please apologize to him for me. He looked sick to his stomach. The poor man.”
Indeed. A man’s pride didn’t bear humiliation like that well. They crossed the plaza, and Prescott tipped the brim of his hat low. “If they both want to see each other, we’ll set something up. Quiet. Private.”
“All right. That sounds wise.”
Prescott sloshed through a puddle. Thank goodness he had spare shoes in the hotel.
“Press?” she said. Soft. Tremulous. “You said ‘we.’ We’ll set it up.”
Prescott stopped in his tracks and fixed a strong gaze on her. “Not like that.”
“Oh my goodness.” Both hands flew to her mouth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—I know—I’ll stop talking now.”
He plodded forward. Eventually he would forgive her. She was truly remorseful and wanted to make amends, and he admired that.
But romance would be asking too much.