by Jayne Denker
She shut the freezer door slowly. Now she was watching him, curiosity in her eyes . . . and a little bit of hurt, as well. “Okay. Um, not much in here, to tell you the truth.”
“Why do I get the feeling there’s no Thai delivery in this town?”
Back on safer ground, the subject of Marsden, Celia’s lighter mood returned. “I’ll have you know we have three pizza places, one Thai place, and one Chinese. Of course, the Thai and the Chinese are the same restaurant as one of the pizza places—”
“Okay, you can stop right there.”
And then that silence again. Niall wasn’t sure why tonight was suddenly different, awkward, between them. Maybe because they were alone for the first time since the closet of his loft—except for their drive, which was mostly supervised by the chaperone balloon and impeded by his need to operate a moving vehicle. Not that either thing had stopped his imagination from working overtime. And now, in the old, empty, oddly intimate house, his thoughts were all over the place . . . and singular at the same time: up against the wall, on the kitchen table, in the hallway, on the—
“Lix?” he said abruptly, and Celia answered, “Yeah,” almost before he finished getting the word out.
Twilight was deepening, turning the sky a mellow violet, the food stand with scattered picnic tables, as well as the batting cages, miniature golf, and softball fields lit up by floodlights. Downright mesmerized by the scene of small-town Americana before him, Niall wasn’t sure if he felt enchanted or nauseated.
Celia paused before she got out of the car. “Are you all right over there?”
Yeah, he had been uncharacteristically quiet on the drive over. It had been a long day, and he was still sifting through his emotions. Adding Celia to the mix just stirred him back up again, and he wasn’t sure where his head was. And that led to fear that his plan to get out of the contract with Tiffany might not work. Niall forced himself to focus on the present. “You bet. Why?”
“Oh, you just seem . . . different.”
“That extra foot sprout out of my back again?” he asked, stretching to try to see over his shoulder.
“You’re acting . . . you know . . . sedate.”
“Well, we can’t have that! I’ll try to do better. Or worse. Whatever.” She was out of the car before he could open the door for her, so he just met her in front of the Corvette. “Now, what kind of ice cream is the specialty of the house?”
“You should probably have some real food first.”
“Yes, Mom. ‘Have real food first.’ You’re going to make a magnificent mother someday.”
“. . . Thank you?”
After a large family cleared away from the window, all attacking ice cream cones as big as their heads, Celia led him through the menu of grilled and deep-fried food, pointing out the most popular options.
“No salads, huh?”
“Does coleslaw count?”
“My trainer is going to kill me, but screw it. Nora’s pancakes just opened the floodgates. Gimme fried, gimme grease, gimme carbs, gimme sodium. I’ll worry about it later.”
“So,” she ventured, when they had settled at one of the picnic tables with their plastic trays. “What about Tiffany?”
Niall froze with a loaded cheeseburger halfway to his lips. “What about Tiffany?”
“Is she going to make a good mother?”
The mere thought of Tiffany being pregnant, let alone raising a small child who would drool all over her designer clothes, or chasing after a toddler in her four-inch heels, made Niall want to laugh hysterically. But he knew Celia wouldn’t take kindly to his laughing at his alleged girlfriend. So instead he carefully set his food down, took a sip of his soda to buy some time, and said, finally, “I don’t think that’s in her grand plan.”
“You don’t know?”
“Should I?”
“Couples usually talk about things like that.”
We’re not a couple! he wanted to shout. Instead, he said mildly, “I take it you didn’t see Tiffany grace the screen in our last cinematic endeavor. If you had, you’d know that she’s dedicated to her . . . art. For her, a personal life is a distant second.”
“Really.”
“You, er, didn’t see Party Clown, did you?” God, he hoped she hadn’t.
Celia pretended to think while she daintily dabbed at her mouth with a flimsy paper napkin. “Mm, I don’t quite recall. In all honesty, I can’t say that I’ve gone out of my way to see many of your films.”
Smart woman, he thought. After the first few good ones, he hadn’t gone out of his way to see them either. “But when I first met you, you admitted to having heard all sorts of salacious gossip about me.”
“Oh, well,” she answered, eyes dancing, “you don’t have to follow a celebrity’s career to get a face full of entertainment gossip every time you turn on the TV or go online.”
“You have a point.” He paused. “And do you?”
“And do I what?”
“Want kids.”
She looked at him evenly and replied with a simple, “Yes.”
It felt like a dare. Like she was giving him a nonnegotiable response just to gauge his reaction, see if the declaration threw him. It didn’t.
“Me too.”
“You?”
“What, you think I don’t like kids? I love kids. I get along great with them.”
“You do?”
“It’s not that difficult when you’re mentally about nine,” he said, tapping his temple and grinning at her.
Despite the heavy food sliding down his gullet, he felt a lot lighter than he had in a long time. He looked around and decided: He was enchanted. Definitely. As long as he was with Celia, he loved everything in sight, no matter how cheesy—the kids, the ice cream, the miniature golf, the softball game, the velvety warm night. She was enchanting, and therefore everything around her was cast in the same light. She had that power.
“You know what?” he said, twirling an onion ring on his index finger. “This place is so great, I’m going to do a movie that needs location shoots in a small town, and I’ll make sure it’s filmed right here.”
Celia flushed slightly and studied her food. “You don’t have to keep saying things like that.”
“I mean it. I told you, I like small towns.”
“Tell me more about the one you grew up in,” she said, resting her elbows on the table as though she were settling in for a good long listen. “Florida, right?”
Niall nodded busily and took his time chewing an onion ring. “Yup. But . . . I can’t remember much. I only lived there till I was three. Then I moved in with my grandma, in Tampa, so it wasn’t quite the same.”
“I thought you said you were raised in a small town.”
“Well, it’s more like it’s in my DNA.”
Celia pointed a french fry at him accusingly. “Faker.” She took a bite, then asked, “You lived with your grandmother? That’s not in any of your bios.”
“Did you google me, woman?” he demanded.
She ignored his question. “So you were with your grandmother from three years old? What was that like?”
“Oh, living with Meemaw was great.”
“Meemaw?”
“She was a Southern lady—what can I say?”
“Were your parents around too?”
Niall shrugged. “My dad was never in the picture. I don’t even know who he was. Is. Whatever. My mom . . . well, parenting wasn’t really her thing. So my grandmother—her mom—took me in.”
“And your mom too?”
“Mm, no. She stopped coming around when I was just a kid. Haven’t seen her since.”
“But . . . you said you had a heart defect when you were a baby.”
“Yeah. I also said I’m fine now.”
“No, I mean . . . your mom . . . You’d think that would have made her more . . .”
“You would think that, wouldn’t you? But it had the opposite effect. She couldn’t cope. So she chose not to.”
Celia frowned at this, obviously shocked that a mother could walk away from her son. She was hurt and outraged for him. But he’d long since made peace with the issue, thanks to plenty of therapy, so before she could comment, he said, “Don’t worry about it. Really. I don’t think I missed out, if you know what I mean.”
“So . . . it was just you and Meemaw?”
“And my cousin Aaron. She raised him too.”
“She sounds like an incredibly giving lady. And why did she raise Aaron?”
“His mom, my aunt, died young. His dad was a trucker—couldn’t exactly take Aaron with him, so . . .”
“Interesting household. And were you older or younger than Aaron?”
“Older. By four years.” Niall grinned. “We used to drive each other crazy. Pranks, fights. Basketball games when we were teenagers that would go on all day. I always won, of course. When we were little, he used to follow me around all the time, wanted to do what I did, but he couldn’t. Then he’d get mad and throw a tantrum right in the yard.”
“So you’re close.”
“Like brothers.”
“They must be very proud of you.”
“My grandmother died just as . . . everything was happening for me. The success and the fame and all that.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Still, she knew—even before I did—that I was going to make it.”
“And Aaron?”
“Aaron . . . he’s gone too. About six years ago now.”
Celia got very quiet. Niall focused on shredding a napkin. She put a gentle hand on his arm, stilling him. “I don’t know what to say.”
Still fidgety, he took another sip of his soda. “Nothing to say.”
“Are you . . . is it just you, now?”
Niall wasn’t sure he wanted to talk about this, wasn’t even sure why he’d started answering her questions in the first place. Except . . . Celia was the type of person who listened quietly, and in that compassionate gap, you ended up telling her things you didn’t think you would. But he wasn’t about to tell her everything. He couldn’t.
So he just said, “Yeah, I guess it is just me.”
She squeezed his arm, and he looked from her hand up to her face. He told himself he shouldn’t, because he knew, before his eyes reached hers, what he’d find there—pity, maybe some sympathetic tears. And there they were. He leaned away from her and cleared his throat. The greasy food churned in his stomach. Niall dreaded what she might ask next—What happened to Aaron?—so he changed the subject.
“So. Your grandmother. Have you, you know, talked to her about anything yet?”
“Not just yet.” She sighed. “Honestly, I’m almost . . .”
“What?”
“Afraid to.”
“Because it’s such a big thing.”
“A big thing that she won’t like at all. I just feel so . . . guilty, trying to get her into a senior home.”
“But if something happened to her while she was living alone . . .”
“Right. I’d feel guilty. I can’t win.”
“Can I ask you a question?” he said softly.
“Sure.”
“Why is it all on you? You’ve got your parents, and other family members, I’m assuming. They should have something to say about all this.”
Celia shrugged, picked at her hamburger bun. “Gran and I have always been close. I kind of feel like she’s my responsibility. I always have. You know?”
“I do.” He knew it very well, in fact. “And it’s admirable, but it’s also very stressful. You need a break once in a while, don’t you?”
“I guess.”
“Tell you what—I was going to save this Very Special Invitation for another time, but I think maybe now would be better.”
“Your invitation had better include the words ‘two weeks’ and ‘Maui.’ ”
“It would if I could.” God, would he. He pushed aside thoughts of Celia in a bikini on a tropical beach. “But this is better.”
“Better than Maui?”
“Okay, not really.” Niall put his hand over hers and looked at her earnestly. “Celia, would you . . . would you . . .”
She frowned, trepidation radiating off her. “What?”
“Would you help me with”—he paused to make sure the words were in the correct order—“Night of the Shooting Stars?”
“Are you serious?”
“It’s a great honor, I know,” he deadpanned, pretending he didn’t see the alarmed expression on her pretty features.
Her question was uncharacteristically blunt. “Why?”
“I need you.” Oh, brilliant. He stopped himself from uttering another word until he’d gotten himself together. He couldn’t tell her that all he wanted was to have her beside him the entire time he was in town. The last thing he wanted to do was freak her out. Instead, he handed her a half truth. “I . . . need a translator who speaks Marsden.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I swear, I don’t know what Ray’s talking about most of the time! He’s going on about stuff we have to do, but he’s talking in shorthand and not explaining himself. Like having to rope in some dude to help with the show? Old one-eyed Zeke who lives out by the sawmill? I have no freakin’ idea.”
“Oh, you mean old Jasper. He has both eyes, but he’s deaf, so I’m not sure how he’s going to be able to help with a singing competition.”
Niall gaped. “There’s really an old Jasper who lives out by the sawmill?”
“No.”
Dammit, she was absolutely glowing now that she’d put one over on him. That really knocked him off kilter. He recovered as best he could, but his heart was hammering in his chest.
“Okay, I see what you did there. Very funny. But that just proves my point, doesn’t it? I don’t know who anybody is, and Ray isn’t going to take the time to explain everything to me. You, however, could. And you’re way better looking than Ray. I could look at you all day—him, not so much. So say yes.” She blushed and turned her head away. “And by the way, why am I always begging you to say yes all the time? Have you noticed that? Just tell me there won’t be other instances of begging in our near future when it counts against my . . . ego, okay?”
Celia’s blush deepened to a red he could see even in the twilight. Then a loud beeping and crackling from the hamburger stand startled them out of the little bubble that had built up around them.
“What’s that?”
“Just the scanner—police, fire, ambulance. Ollie used to be a volunteer firefighter; he can’t seem to get out of the habit of listening to the emergency calls. Or he’s just nosy.”
More noise, this time garbled voices bursting from the speaker. When it was silent again, there was a shout of “Celia!”
“Over here, Ollie.”
A skinny man in an apron leaned out the side door. “The dispatcher just mentioned your grandma. Police responded.”
Chapter 15
Niall’s car barely came to a stop before Celia was out of the passenger seat and sprinting across the lawn, past Officer Billy’s car idling in the driveway. The policeman was standing on the porch steps, talking to Holly, who was sitting in one of the rockers.
“Celia. I was just about to call you.”
“Hi, Will,” she said, using the name he preferred. The young man had been labeled “Officer Billy” by a drunken George a couple of years before and the moniker had stuck, much to his dismay. No matter how many times he corrected people, he couldn’t shake it. “What happened? Gran, are you all right?”
A thousand fears had flitted through Celia’s mind on the drive back from Lix. But obviously her grandmother was unhurt, because she wasn’t at the hospital. Or the police station, which was reassuring. While Celia had panicked at first, fearing her grandmother was ill or injured, it was only a few short seconds before she started wondering what Holly had done this time that required a police response. It was like having a hybrid senior citizen/teenager a
nd never knowing which half was going to show up and cause trouble.
“I’m fine,” her grandmother grumbled.
Predictable, Celia thought. She looked the old woman over for bruises, blood, or other signs that Holly was lying to her.
“I said I’m fine!” she snapped. “Stop looking at me like I’ve got a bone sticking out of my skin.”
But she didn’t look fine. She looked shaken—pale and serious, when she’d usually be ruddy and jocular. Celia knew better than to argue with her, so instead she said gently, “Okay, you’re fine. Do you want to go inside? I’ll get you some water.”
Holly stood up and pushed her granddaughter aside, but not roughly. “I can get it myself. And I’ll add some scotch to it, which you certainly won’t.”
“Gran, I don’t think this is really the time—”
“Oh, I disagree. It’s the perfect time. Go on, talk to Billy like I know you want to.”
And she let herself into the house without another word. A light went on in the hallway, then the living room. Celia turned to the officer and noticed Niall hanging back at a respectful distance. She met his eyes and nodded slightly, giving him permission to stay.
“Thanks for bringing her home, Will. What happened? Was it the hang gliding?”
The officer’s radio squawked; he turned down the volume, then looked up in shock at Celia’s words. “What hang gliding?”
“Never mind. She’s in one piece, so I’m guessing that’s not it.”
“Got a call from Shane Daly. She was doing doughnuts in his north field.”
“It was a fallow field!” came a bellow from inside the house.
“That’s irrelevant, Gran!” Celia shouted back.
“Shane called 911 because he saw the spinning headlights and thought it was a UFO. Your grandmother wasn’t hurt, and neither was her passenger—Mac Wrobel. You know him?”
“We haven’t been introduced yet.”
“I’m getting around to it!” Holly roared.
Celia ignored her. “Go on, Will.”
“Nothing much to tell. I called Jack for a tow—he’s checking your grandmother’s car to see if it needs any repairs. Drove Mr. Wrobel home and then brought your grandmother here.”
