Page 67 of Just Ten Seconds

After her call, we drive down Main Street, heading toward her house.

We listen to the Anastasia soundtrack in the car. Because of the movie, Amanda knows most of the songs, so she belts them out at the top of her lungs. I’ve heard this song a hundred times, but until tonight, I’ve never listened to it. The song is about strangers who find unexpected love. When hope is lost, that love is there to remind them that they can always start over.

“Are you crying?” Amanda asks as the song comes to an end.

“No.” I wipe my cheek to make sure I have no tears. A quick peek in the rearview shows my eyes are a little glassy. “It’s a beautiful song about love.”

The next song starts, and it’s an instrumental, so we listen in silence.

“Mara? How do you pick a husband?” she asks. “Like, what’s the difference between a friend and a person you marry?”

I drum my fingers on the steering wheel. “That’s something you should talk to your dad about. However, I will tell you that you should marry a man you can dance with.”

“That doesn’t help. I dance with people all the time.” Her body slumps down in the seat as she picks at the cotton inside her cast. “My dad’s a really good dancer.”

“Oh, really?” I say with a raised brow.

“Yeah. You should ask him to dance. You’d like it.”

She doesn’t need to know that I already danced with her father.

When we pull up to the house, I smile at the pumpkins lined up the staircase. There are two scarecrows, one big and another small one, standing side by side on the front lawn, surrounded by hay bales and corn stalks.

Amanda runs up the walkway, and I follow her around to the back, passing the vegetable garden and heading over to an old shed. It’s a far contrast from the stucco and brick home Dean lives in. This shed is worn wood and shingles, freshly painted to match the home but older nonetheless.

“You wanna see something super cool?” Amanda asks as she stands by the sliding door of the shed.

I walk toward her, and when she opens the door, I’m immediately transformed under the sea. Ten feet high and brightly colored, Dean’s scenes for the play are beautiful. Coral reefs and jellyfish are painted under crescent waves. There are three-dimensional faux rocks coming out of the bottom. And the size, not just is it tall, but the boards are also lined up together, taking up the entire space, making you feel like you’re swimming in the ocean.

Dean is kneeling by a gray structure, a spray-paint gun in his hand and a mask on his face. He lifts the mask and smiles. “You’re home.” His words are said to Amanda, but his focus is on me.

I, on the other hand, am staring at the walls in awe. My chin rises as my head looks around the room, as I’m in complete wonder at what he’s created.

“Dean,” I breathe, unable to properly express in words just how beautiful his work is. “This is … you’re amazing.”

He nods with an agreeable bob. “This is true. The display, however, is only okay. I messed up a few times and keep going over it to get it right. I had to YouTube how to paint a jellyfish.”

“Well, Pinterest and YouTube aside, you’re an outstanding artist. Have you always been creative?”

He looks at the scene, thinking about my question. “Honestly, no. But when I set my mind to something, I’m not gonna stop until I get it right.”

Amanda rolls her eyes. “He’s not lying. I asked him to French braid my hair, and he made me sit there for two hours while he figured out how to do it. And it was still crooked.”

He points his spray gun at her. “Two hours is an exaggeration. It was two episodes of Fuller House, and I make an awesome braid now.”

She walks up to the structure Dean was painting when we walked in. “What’s this gonna be?”

“A rock for Ariel. Look.” He hits a brake release on the bottom, and it starts to roll. “You’ll be able to move it on and off the stage in between scenes.”

“That’s so cool! Can we keep it after the show?” Amanda beams.

“Maybe. That’s up to Paul and Mrs. Needleman and Mara.”

I hold up a hand. “I have no say. I’m just a temp.”

“You never give yourself enough credit. Paul told me you went over the finances for the production and showed him a few ways for the theater to save more money in a high interest account. He was impressed.”

“It was nothing,” I say, dismissing it.