by Sarah Ready
I start the exercise.
“I was thinking,” she says.
I keep tugging. “Yeah?”
“Yesterday, in the tree…that wasn’t because you were out of shape.”
I shove the tire up and flip it back to the ground. It’s hard to say out loud, hard to admit. “No,” I say.
I keep at the tire and wait for her to ask more questions. I’m sure she’s seen the videos of me trashing the movie sets. Her and a hundred million other people. Maybe she’s connecting the dots. When I get too high, when I’m reminded of the fall, I…lose it. But after a whole twenty yards of shoving and flipping the tire she still hasn’t said anything. I let the tire hit the ground and dirt flies up in a cloud at the impact.
“That it?” I ask.
She nods. Then she walks back to the tree and starts a cool-down sequence. I follow her motions. Stretch the legs, the arms, the back. I start to relax and my muscles unwind. I watch Ginny for the next move. She crosses one leg over the other and bends down. I swallow. She’s got the pertest, most nicely formed behind I’ve seen in…ever. I was exhausted, now I feel ready to go.
“Where’s that ice water?” I ask. I need to spray it over myself. It’s by the tree. I grab it and hit the back of my neck with the cold liquid. But it doesn’t do squat. When I come back, Ginny’s standing upright.
“Alright?”
“Fine,” I say. “I’m fine.”
She doesn’t look like she believes me. Her eyebrows go up and she’s looking at the wetness of my shirt. Her eyes flicker back to my face and she purses her lips.
“You sure? If this morning was too much, tell me, I’ll readjust the schedule. Or—”
She keeps talking and her voice runs over me. Its throaty purr sends images through my mind that shouldn’t be there this early in the morning.
“I’m fine,” I say in a choked voice. “Just ready for a shower.”
I turn away. A cold shower. I wonder if she’s going to wear those little shorts every morning. If so, the hardest part of the morning isn’t going to be the exercises, it’s going to be watching her in her tiny shorts ordering me around.
“Right. Okay,” she says. “I’ll leave the schedule with you then. For this afternoon and tonight.”
“Sounds good.”
I expect her to set it down and leave, but after she drops the clipboard next to the water bottle she hesitates.
“The reason I asked,” she says. She stops and stays quiet. Finally I turn back to her.
“What?”
“About yesterday.”
I shrug. “It’s nothing.”
“Okay. I guess. It’s just, not that this is what happened with you, but after my husband died…I couldn’t sleep.”
“Yeah. No. I’m sorry, that’s not it.” I cross my arms over my chest and lean against the tree. I don’t elaborate. Now she’ll go.
She wipes a drop of sweat from her brow and sighs.
“Okay.” She turns halfway then stops. Smiles, a sweet smile that makes me want to keep her here just so I can see more of it. “Sorry, it’s stupid. I just need to say it. I almost died, no it’s fine”—she waves me back—“I was drowning, and there was a moment before I lost consciousness where my body relaxed and I felt completely at peace.”
I wonder if this is the time Bean wrote about in her letter. There’s a hollow leaden feeling in my stomach.
“Okay,” I say. Which I realize sounds completely idiotic.
She gives me a rueful smile.
“So, every time I started to fall asleep, when my body relaxed and my mind started to drift to sleep, something inside me would trigger and I’d be pulled back under, and all of a sudden I was back trapped in the car, drowning and a second away from death. I couldn’t sleep, for years, sleep was just as terrifying as dying.”
I look down at my feet. “What did you do?”
“Years of therapy. Meditation. Medication. Vitamins. Acupuncture. Anything and everything to make it stop.”
“And?”
“And one day, I realized that it hadn’t happened in a week. Then, it hadn’t happened in months. And finally, I can count the time in years.”
“So, you’re saying that I won’t always be afraid of heights.”
She doesn’t respond right away, so I look up. I catch her eyes with mine, but then my gaze travels to her mouth. It’s bright pink from all our exercise and I don’t want to think about heights anymore, I want to think about kissing her.
“No,” she says. “I don’t know what’ll happen for you. I’m just saying I understand.”
I nod. She understands.
“See you tomorrow.” She lifts her hand in goodbye.
“Tomorrow,” I say.
I watch her as she walks back to her beater car. She’s got trim legs, a pert behind, a voice of honey, a will of iron, and enough baggage that not even the superhero Liam Stone would be able to lift.
“Not for you,” I tell myself. A sometimes-crazy widow with a sick kid is not dating material. Not even if she makes me feel alive again.
I sigh and head back to the trailer for a cold shower.
8
Ginny
Bean can hardly contain her excitement. “Where are we going? Are we there yet?”
Liam shakes his head and I grin. “Surprises aren’t her forte,” I say.
He called this afternoon and said he scheduled Bean’s first official training session for five thirty. It worked for me, so now we’re on our way to the mystery location. Bean’s strapped into her car seat and I’m in the passenger seat of Liam’s posh car. I felt bad cramming her devil car seat with its juice stains and sharp plastic edges onto the soft leather backseat, but he didn’t seem to mind.
Bean leans forward and says for the seventeenth time, “Are we there yet?”
When Liam sends her an incredulous look I try and fail to smother my laugh.
We’ve only been in the car for three and a half minutes, so I sympathize with him. I really do.
He turns left onto Route 511B.
“Are we going swimming in the old quarry?” asks Bean.
That’s a good deduction. We don’t usually head this way unless we’re going swimming. The county filled in the quarry pit and made it a public park years ago. There are ledges to dive off and a little pebble beach with picnic tables.
“Nope,” says Liam.
I don’t know where we’re headed either. Bean may not like surprises, but they used to be one of my favorite things. As a kid, when everyone else in school snooped to find out their Christmas presents, I savored the surprise and never wanted to know. That pleasure faded once I grew up, but now I’m feeling the joy of anticipation again.
I look over at Liam. He has next day stubble on his jaw, and his hair is messy, but he looks rested and there’s a sort of excited energy coming off him. Bean’s grilling him with her twenty questions routine and he’s holding his own. The right edge of his mouth quirks and I think he’s trying not to smile.
As Bean chatters happily and Liam gets in a yes or a no I lean back into the warm leather seat and find myself starting to relax. Someone else is driving, Bean’s happy, and right now, in this moment, I don’t have to do anything but go along for the ride.
I watch Liam out of the corner of my eyes. He laughs at something Bean says and then Bean laughs too. A warm glow fills me and I want to capture it and bottle it up so I can take it out later.
“No. We’re not about to fight The Spider. I beat him, remember?” says Liam.
“Then are we going to Stone Mountain?” asks Bean. She doesn’t wait for an answer. “No. That’s in the Arctic, we couldn’t drive there,” she says to herself. “Unless, are we going to the airport?”
I glance over at Liam. Finally, the smile he’s been holding back gets away from him and he grins. “Not today.”
“Are we there yet?” she asks.
“Just about.”
Bean cheers.
Then Liam p
ulls into the large, nearly empty parking lot of the archery center.
“Wow,” says Bean when she realizes where we are. “I’m going to learn to shoot. I’m going to learn to shoot, Mama! Just like Liam.”
I raise an eyebrow at him and he winks.
Once inside, I realize that Liam rented the place out for the night. We have an instructor, a Bean-sized bow, and the archery range all to ourselves.
“You should try it too,” says Liam.
He’s holding a bow out to me. “I don’t know,” I say. “I’m not really a bow and arrow kind of person.”
“Come on, Mama. If you don’t learn, then we’ll have to rescue you from a villain. And that’s so lame.” Bean gives me an exasperated look.
Liam coughs into his fist. I glare at him, because he’s obviously laughing at me.
“True,” I say. “That would be so lame.”
Liam coughs harder and I smirk at him.
So it’s settled. I’m going to learn to shoot too.
Bean’s in awe when she realizes that Liam had all the bad guys from the comics and movies printed out for the targets. I’m in awe when I realize that she’s a natural and her aim is perfect.
“You’re a natural,” I say. “This is amazing.”
I clap when she hits another. After Bean makes a dozen shots, Liam steps next to me.
“She’s amazing,” I say.
“That she is,” says Liam, but he’s looking at me.
“Um, I…” I blush and awkwardly heft the bow in my hands. Liam looks at it and seems to remember that I’m supposed to be shooting too.
“Your turn. Give it a go.”
“Alright,” I say.
He gestures to the range. He shot before Bean did. His arrows are bullseye in the farthest targets. When he loaded the bow I was surprised at the bunching of his shoulder muscles and the steadiness of his aim. I didn’t think that he’d actually shot in his movies, but clearly he did, and he didn’t lose his touch.
I listened carefully while the instructor laid out what to do, but I’m still not quite sure how it all works. When I let the arrow fly it sort of skitters through the air and then flops to the ground.
“That was pretty bad,” calls Bean from across the range.
“Thanks, kiddo.”
“You could try again,” she says.
I do, and the second time’s even worse. On my third try the arrow bounces off the wrong target. Bean realizes that archery is apparently the one physical activity that I’m not naturally talented at.
She works with the instructor on technique and is soon happily absorbed in hitting all the targets dead center.
Liam stands next to me. We’re quiet as we watch Bean shoot and then cheer when she hits a villain.
“So, you’re pretty terrible at archery,” he says.
I pretend to be affronted.
He rubs his chin and gives me a contemplative look. “I figured you were good at everything you set your mind to. I mean, what’s a measly archery target compared to an unsuspecting actor minding his own business…”
“Hey now,” I say. I elbow him in the side and he laughs.
“Come on, I’ll help you.” He gestures for me to stand next to him. I move closer and he motions me closer still. I do, and I try not to notice the way I react to his nearness.
He’s changing. It’s been such a short time and he’s already regaining the parts of himself that made him such a success. Or maybe it’s me. I was so focused on getting his help for Bean that I ignored the way my stomach flutters when he looks at me.
“Hold up your bow,” he says.
I hold it up and my arms shake. Not because it’s too heavy, but because he’s so close. I take a breath to steady myself and I can smell the clean fresh scent of the soap he uses.
“Not like that,” he says. “Can I?”
“Okay,” I say. He moves his hands to my arms and runs them over me. I stand perfectly still and try not to let on what his touch is doing to me. He’s the first man to touch me in years.
“You alright?” he asks. His lips are near my ear and I fight not to rock back toward him.
“Good,” I say. My voice is tight and my muscles strain against the lock I have on them.
“Relax your stance a bit,” he says. “Lean back toward me.”
I let go a whisper more and move another inch toward him.
“That’s better,” he says. There’s a husky note to his words and I fight not to look back at him.
“Now what?”
He moves his hands down my back and my hips. “Keep yourself in line,” he says.
My eyelashes flutter and the bow wobbles in my grip.
“Whoa there.”
“Sorry.” I straighten the bow again.
“Pull it taut,” he says. His deep voice vibrates over me and I can nearly feel his lips against the sensitive skin of my earlobe.
I draw the arrow back. The tension of the bow mirrors the tension in me. I’m so close to Liam that the heat of him flows over me. My stomach flutters and I ache to let the arrow go. To release.
“Find your target?” asks Liam.
“Yes,” I whisper. I’m ready.
He exhales and his breath flutters through my hair and over my skin. I ache to stretch against him.
“Send it home,” he says.
I let the arrow go. The power and tension of the bow shoots it forward. All the anticipation, the tautness, explodes out and the arrow flies through the air. Then, it hits the target with a hard thump. The contact echoes a clenching in my gut.
I drop the bow to my side. For a moment, Liam and I stay close. My heart pounds and I feel the energy coming off him. Then the moment ends and he steps back.
“You did it,” he says. His voice is taut.
I turn around and smile up at him. I try to keep my face free of any of the heat I’m feeling.
I search his expression. What is it that we’re doing here?
He gives me his Liam Stone smile. That flash of dimples and the ruefully curled lips.
“Good job,” he says. His smile turns polite and friendly. No heat there. It’s just me.
And really, it means nothing.
I mean, it’s been more than six years since a man has touched me, even as casually as this. My oversized reaction doesn’t mean anything. I’d react this way to any guy that took a moment to smile and do a kind deed. Truly.
“Guess I can do anything I put my mind to,” I say, trying to take us back to lighthearted joking.
“Sure can,” he says, and I think he’s relieved that I’m ignoring what happened just now.
“Thanks for this.” I gesture to Bean. “You have no idea how much it means.”
“Nothing to it.”
“Still.”
He shakes his head. “It’s nothing. I’m just trying to get my career back. Nothing more, nothing less.”
The warmth that had been unfurling in my belly fizzles out. “Yep,” I say. “I know.”
And I’m just trying to make Bean happy. Nothing more, nothing less.
I can’t make too much of any of this. As Grandma Enid would say, that would just lead to abject misery and a case of hellish disappointment.
9
Liam
“Let’s get breakfast,” I say.
It’s six thirty a.m. and Ginny and I stand in the morning mist sifting over the field next to my home. The wet dew sparkles gray and silver against the green and brown of the late summer grass. Even though it’s supposed to be eighty today and I’m sweating up a storm, the morning air is still cool.
I look over at Ginny. She’s in her tiny spandex shorts, a sports bra, and a backless tank. Sure enough, there are goosebumps on her arms.
“How about coffee?” I ask. “I peg you as a coffee drinker.”
She does that thing I’m starting to love where she raises an eyebrow and lifts one corner of her lips. It’s the look that means she’s thinking something outrageous. She had it when s
he first knocked on my door, when she dumped cheap whiskey over me, and when she trussed me up in my costume, and…plenty of other times, but each one meant something good was coming.
“Alright,” she says. “You’ve been a champ. You can have a cup of joe, and then a cooldown.”
“I have to pay for my coffee with more exercise?”
She gives me that look and heads to her car. I happily follow, watching the sway of her hips as she walks away. I try to not think about how much I’m enjoying her company and how every morning I wake up at the crack of dawn actually excited to get up. Because she’s coming.
It’s like with her, I’m starting to feel again.
I shake my head. I don’t want to think about it. Things will get complicated real fast if I pursue that line of thought. Right now I only need one thing on my mind, getting myself in shape and getting back to Hollywood. No detours.
Ten minutes later we pull up to an Airstream in a deserted parking lot. Ginny rolls down her window and leans toward the open window of the silver Airstream.
“Hey Mona. Nice morning isn’t it? We’ll have two large black coffees,” she says.
“Hey ya, Gin.” The woman, Mona, smiles at Ginny. She has big, red cheeks, big hair, and lots of blue eye shadow. She glances at me and her eyes go wide behind her glasses. “Well I’ll be darned. You’re that actor.”
I put on my charm-the-pants-off-them smile. “A pleasure,” I say.
“Well,” she says. “I don’t know about some folks, but I’d like to say that I didn’t care for you in that dinosaur movie. Too much swearing.”
“Uh…” I look over at Ginny and shake my head. Never in my life have I been in a dinosaur movie.
Mona shakes a cup at me. “And that alien movie. Why’d you have to go and do something so violent?”
“Erm…” I clear my throat.
Ginny snickers into her hand.
“Bill, come out here,” says Mona. A small man shuffles into view. “Look, it’s that actor fella living out on the old Ridley Farm like a hermit. He’s taking up with Ginny Weaver.”
A bright blush springs up on Ginny’s cheeks. “Oh no, Mona. I’m just his personal trainer. He needs to get fit for a movie role.”
