Page 112 of Just Ten Seconds

I must have nervous jitters because I cry-laugh at that comment. “That’s putting it mildly. She was trying to make me strong. What works for her doesn’t work or me.”

He faces me, his handsome face glistening in the sunlight as he speaks, “What does work for you?”

“Closure.”

“And?”

“Time’s moving forward again.”

He’s so close and yet so far away. I want to touch him. So, I try. I reach my fingers out and let them brush against his fingertips. When I feel the heat of his skin, my lungs expand with a heavy breath. He withdraws them just as fast, and I cringe at the rejection.

“We still have to talk about Nicole,” I say.

“I’m not ready for that.” He puts his hands against the back of his head and looks up, turning away from me. He takes steps down the path and lowers his arms. He talks over his shoulder, “I can’t talk about Nicole because I’ve spent eighteen months dealing with her loss. To trick myself into thinking something miraculous would have happened would just be foolish. She died. My wife did die, and I have to deal with that. I have to stay in the present. If not for me, then for Amanda.”

I nod, knowing that Dean will always put Amanda first.

“Will you ever be able to find it in your heart to forgive me?” I’m almost afraid for the answer.

He faces me, and his eyes glass over slightly as if he’s scared of what he’s about to say. “I don’t blame you for the lie you told. I blame you for the lie you kept. And at the end of the day, I have a daughter, and I can’t have you in her life when you’re still trying to figure out your own.”

I look down at my fingers and nod in understanding. “I know. I’ll let Paul and Mr. Kenner know I won’t be able to work on the show any longer.”

“Don’t do that. It’s only a few weeks away. Amanda will be crushed. All of those kids will be disappointed if you leave. Stay on, and then we’ll figure something out after the show.”

By “figure something out,” he means, plan a way for me to never see his daughter again. I lay my hand over my heart and feel the pain of that statement. It hurts. More than I ever thought it could.

We stand here, on the pavement, face-to-face, and yet we might as well be miles apart. Because the space between us is an impossible distance.

“Good-bye, Mara,” he says as he walks up the stairs to his home.

When the door closes, I hold up a hand and bid him good-bye. I look down at a stray piece of paper on the ground. The rest have blown away with the breeze.

I came here to grovel. Instead, I got a kick in the ass.

The one good thing about living the last three years in mental disarray is, I’ve always been able to work. I credit my mother for that. No matter what went wrong, she always got herself out the door.

So, that’s been me.

Working at the café by day and volunteering for the theater by night. As the final show draws near, there’s a ton of work to be done with the kids and behind the scenes.

Rita is helping to make the costumes, so the days that I’m not at the theater, I’m at her dining room table, sewing sequins. And Jackie even offered to help make the programs using the fancy printer they keep at the café to print the weekly menus.

Today, we did our first full-cast run-through of the show. There were more kinks than I was comfortable with, but I know the kids will get it together. At least, I hope they will.

One of the actors who is having the hardest time is Amanda. No matter how many times she tries, she can’t remember all of her lines. She also fell during one of the dance numbers. From the look on her face, she was more embarrassed than anything.

I’m packing up my tote bag at the end of tonight’s practice when I see her standing at the foot of the stage. The other kids have long gone home, but Amanda is still here.

As I walk over to the stage, I see she’s sitting cross-legged on the floor and picking away at her cast. Her mouth seems to be mumbling something unintelligible.

“Everything okay back here?” I ask her as I approach.

“It’s fine.” She doesn’t look up as she pulls a piece of gauze and tosses it onto the floor.

“Do you need a ride?”

She shakes her head, her long braid lying over her shoulder. “My dad’s in the back, bringing in the set.”