Rewriting Rita

by Kristy Tate

  Christian watched him go and then turned and headed in the opposite direction, searching for Rita.

  Kidrick met him between cars. The wind whistled around them. The train clicked over the tracks with almost deafening noise. Christian pulled at the door to go back inside, but Kidrick grabbed his shirt and pulled him close.

  “You lack the chutzpah to kill me, but I have the fearlessness to kill you.” Kidrick pushed him, but Christian grabbed hold of the door.

  His feet skittered on the shifting metal and his grip on the door slipped. He managed to grab hold of Kidrick’s coat before losing his footing. The train rounded a bend and Christian’s grasp gave way. He flew through the air over a ravine, conscious of Kidrick sailing beside him.

  ****

  Rita didn’t know what had made her look out the window as the train rounded a bend, but the memory of Christain sailing to his death was seared into her mind and heart. At first, it felt wrong to use his things and gold, but since she didn’t know his family or how to contact them she used what she needed to springboard her career on the stage, keeping a promise in her heart that somehow she’d repay him for all he gave her and the lessons she’d learned from his generosity and goodness.

  Shell Falls

  “If you’re thinking of a way to finance the remodel, you should publish this.” Ginny tapped her fingers on the manuscript.

  Addison looked up from the spreadsheet Landon had helped her create on her computer. Things like this made her nuts. While she appreciated the lists and timelines, when it came to actually tallying up numbers, she got lost. “You must mean self-publish. Because no one would call traditional publishing a get-rich-quick scheme.”

  “Self-publishing isn’t a scheme.” Ginny’s words were tinged with disapproval.

  As much as she hated business spreadsheets, Addison returned her focus to the computer. “You know how I feel about the whole dumbing down of the reading world.”

  Ginny stomped across the office, braced her hands on Addison’s desk, and leaned in. “Stop being such a snob. My cousin Lenny makes five figures a month with his Sexy Sally books.”

  “Rita isn’t Sexy Sally!”

  “I know! She’s so much better! That’s why you need to share her with the world.”

  “She’s not even mine to share.”

  “The lady gave her to you. Do you really think she wanted you to keep her hidden?” Ginny straightened and went back to dusting bookshelves in the showroom. “I think you’re being selfish,” she shouted through the open door.

  “Selfish?”

  Ginny nodded. “And prideful.”

  “Prideful?”

  “Think of all the good you could do with a five-figure monthly income.”

  Addison leaned back in her chair as a thought crossed her mind. “What were you going to do when the shop closed?” Why was she just thinking about this now? The realization that she had been selfish struck her like a punch to the belly. Of course, she knew that Ginny didn’t really need to work—her divorce settlement and monthly alimony had guaranteed her a life of relative luxury—but she still needed some place to pour her time and talents. She had been working at the bookstore since she was a teenager—they both had.

  Ginny ducked her head, making Addison worry that she may be trying to hide tears. “I thought about going back for my master’s degree, but I don’t know… I could volunteer at the library. Or I could show you the mock book covers I made for Rita.”

  “You made up book covers?”

  Ginny nodded. “My cousin, he could show you the ropes. Put together a marketing plan and get you recommendations for an editor and formatter.”

  “Maybe you should publish it.”

  “I knew you’d say that, and believe me, I’ve been considering it.”

  “You should do it.”

  “No, you should do. She was given to you.” Ginny walked over, scooched her butt onto the desk, and gave Addison a sly look. “Why don’t we both do it with the understanding that all the proceeds will go to the bookstore? We can publish it under Geneva’s name.”

  “A pen name?”

  Ginny nodded. “What do you think?”

  “But it’s my bookstore. What would you be getting out of it?”

  “Please, I want to do this.”

  “Let me see your book covers.”

  “Okay, but before we talk about this anymore, I have to tell you, we need to change the ending.”

  Addison perked up as if she’d been poked. “You finished it?”

  “Haven’t you? How could you have stopped yourself?”

  “You don’t like the ending?”

  “No. We have to change it.”

  Addison’s shoulders slumped. “Why bother? If we’re just going to self-publish it, who cares?”

  Ginny jerked a thumb at her chest. “I care! And you should, too.”

  “How many books are self-published? Thousands, if not millions. No one is going to find Rita.”

  “But my cousin—”

  “We’re not publishing Sexy Sally!”

  “He can still teach us the ropes.”

  “I hope they’re not the same sort of ropes Sally uses.”

  #

  “Who’s this?” Landon asked as he stooped to tickle Mitzi between the ears.

  Mitzi growled and showed her teeth.

  Addison jerked on the leash. “Sorry. This is Mitzi. We call her Mad Mitz. She has an attitude problem.”

  “She’s cute.” Landon straightened, put his hands in his pockets, and smiled at the hostile little dog.

  “Do you think? Maybe if you didn’t know her you might think so.”

  He chuckled. “I know a lot of people like that. Pretty people that look good until you actually have to have a conversation with them.”

  “Yes, well, fortunately Mitzi can’t talk. I’m sure she’d only bitch if she did. No pun intended.”

  “So, where are we walking?”

  “I don’t care.”

  “This is your town, not mine.”

  Addison realized she hadn’t been on a walk in years and she wondered why not. Paul, of course, had been into more adventuresome forms of exercise—surfing, rock climbing, mountain biking. A walk was too mundane. If death or serious maiming wasn’t a risk, then he’d rather stay at home and watch a movie where people were in danger of being killed or maimed. “Have you been to the candy castle?”

  “No, but I like the sound of it.”

  She steered Mitzi down the street. “The owner tried to make a candy house like the one in Hansel and Gretel and during the long, dry summer, things were great.”

  “I take it things fell apart with the first rain.”

  She nodded. “It was very sad. The whole thing just dissolved into a sticky mess.”

  “What did she do?”

  “Well, at first, she owned just a little tract house in a quiet neighborhood, but no one wants to live next door to a house with Snickers bars and Skittles candies plastered on its walls. So, shortly after that first rainfall, she sold her house and bought a big piece of property on the outskirts of town.”

  “Is it far?” Landon asked. “I’m not asking for myself. But I’m concerned about Mitzi. She doesn’t have much of a stride.”

  “She’ll be fine. We can cut through the park.” Even though they were still a block away, Addison could hear the children’s laughter from the playground. Her heart tightened as she remembered her last trip to the park. It had been only a few days ago, but it seemed like forever. Maybe because then she’d been lonely, and now she had Landon with her.

  He took her hand, making her feel anchored—in a good way.

  “Did I tell you Ginny and I are going to self-publish a book?” She read the surprise in his expression. “I know what you’re going to say, and I agree with you.”

  A scowl settled between his eyebrows. “What did you think I was going to say?”

  “Well, you probably think that self-publishing is sending
readers through the book swamp and that wading through the churning literary waters is getting harder and harder…”

  “I don’t think that at all. I’ve read and loved a lot of self-published books.”

  “You have?”

  “You haven’t? I would think as a bookstore owner, you’d constantly be reading.”

  “Oh, I am. I just won’t read self-published books.”

  He nodded like he understood, but his expression said otherwise.

  “Does that make me prideful?”

  “No. I get it. There’s a ton of good books out there. Why waste your time on slogging through the literary swamp?”

  “Exactly!”

  “Except you might be missing out.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “There are a lot of brilliant writers who chose to self-publish because it better suited their lifestyle and personality.”

  Addison bit her lip, considering his words. She had never thought of that. Not everyone would want to attend book signings, or conferences and workshops. Some, like herself, would probably rather stay at home and read than have to go out and hawk books.

  They reached the park. Children swarmed the playground. Dogs chased balls across the wide lawn. Mothers and babies sat on brightly colored quilts. Addison froze when she spotted LeAnn and two golden-haired children that looked like carbon copies of Paul.

  “I didn’t mean to offend you,” Landon said.

  “No! You didn’t offend me.” She tried to step through the gate, but she couldn’t do it. “Do you mind if we don’t cut through the park?”

  “I thought you said it was faster.” He glanced down at the dog.

  Addison scooped Mitzi up into her arms. “I would rather carry her than get grass stains on my shoes.”

  Landon’s gaze went to her sneakers.

  “They’re white. Or at least they are when they’ve been washed.”

  He looked at her as if she were a puzzle he hadn’t figured out.

  “Would you like to stop at the bakery?”

  “Hmm, sure.”

  “Have you been to Betty’s Bakery? No? It’s the best.” She walked past the large iron gates guarding the park, grateful when he followed.

  #

  Moving books made Addison sneeze. And it made her back, shoulders, arms, and legs ache. After days of taking everything in the store to the basement, Addison, Ginny, and Addison’s brother-in-law Nick stood in the now-empty space. It seemed smaller now. Dust particles danced in the shafts of light streaming through the windows. The air smelled of Windex and wood polish. The dusty odor of books had been completely washed away.

  “It’s hard to believe that in a few days this will be The Urgent Massage,” Ginny said.

  “How long was this bookstore in business?” Nick asked.

  “My grandmother opened it in 1962,” Addison said.

  Nick whistled. “Well, this will be good. People can head over to your new space for something to read while they’re getting a massage.”

  Addison closed her eyes, imagining her grandma sitting on the old green sofa reading Horton Hears a Who to a group of children. If she listened closely, she could hear her mom calling, letting her know when a new shipment of books had arrived.

  “The new space is going to be fabulous!” Ginny said, sensing Addison’s mood. “Those plans from Margaret are breathtaking.”

  Addison thought so, too, and yet… Fighting sadness was exhausting. She’d lost her husband, her mom, and now the store that had been in her family for nearly sixty years. And she could potentially lose a buttload of money on this garage-to-bookstore endeavor. She didn’t know how much more she could lose before she lost herself.

  Reading Rita helped, but—even though she hated to admit it—Ginny was right. It did need a happy ending.

  ****

  Applause thundered through the hall and Rita swept into a deep bow. The lights flickered as she made her departure, heading for the sanctuary of her dressing room.

  “Brilliant show tonight, Miss Ryan,” called a boy carrying a food tray as they passed in the dimly lit hall.

  “Thank you, Charlie. Can you be a love and bring me a pot of tea?”

  “Sure thing, miss. Sad this being your last show and all. I know everyone will miss you.”

  Rita flashed her smile and fought back a wave of fatigue and loneliness. “And I will miss all of you,” she said, knowing there was one she missed more than all the others.

  She blinked back the tears to which she had grown so accustomed; they returned every time she thought of Christian. She ached, wishing that Christian could be as predictable and ever-present as her tears. This wasn’t how the story was supposed to end. She wasn’t supposed to go to Europe by herself.

  She wished their last words had been more loving. Because she did love him; she knew that now. And yet in cruel spite of his absence, her love for his memory seemed only to grow rather than diminish. She sighed and pushed into her dressing room.

  Her clothes lay scattered around the room, vying for a space in the large steamer trunk she would take to Paris. Flowers in vases crowded the dressing table and perfumed the air. She dropped her cape to the floor and slipped off her shoes.

  All her dreams had been realized. Yet she had learned weeks, if not months, earlier that dreams were hollow and meaningless without someone to share them. She would rather ride in a boxcar and sleep on loose straw with Christian than board a steamship and travel first class to Europe alone.

  Being alone, she realized, was easier than being with others who couldn’t hold her interest. It wasn’t that she hadn’t tried to connect with others. But Christian’s absence left a void that followed her on and off the stage. It slept beside her in the night time and dogged after during the days. She prayed in time the loss would ebb, but until then, she sang, she danced, and played a variety of happy roles on the stage. But it was all an act. And being that she was a consummate actress, she played it well.

  Being alone, she realized, was an art to be embraced and then perfected.

  Shell Falls

  Ginny sat at her kitchen table, the laptop open in front of her, and worried at a hangnail. “Are you ready?”

  “Are you?”

  Ginny shook her head. “I still think we should have changed the ending.”

  “It seems wrong to rewrite another’s story.”

  “If you can publish it, you should be able to rewrite it. Besides, it can’t be a romance if it doesn’t have a happy ending.”

  Addison placed one hand on the table, angling toward the computer. “But that’s just the point. Happy endings aren’t guaranteed! And we should do our part by letting everyone know that you can still have a great story without getting the love of your life. Otherwise, we’re just perpetuating the myth.”

  “The myth? People love the myth.” Ginny jerked a thumb at her chest. “I love the myth. I still believe in love.”

  “Love, yes. Of course. But it doesn’t have to be oohey-gooey romantic love.”

  “But that’s the best kind!”

  “That’s not what happened with you and Kevin.”

  Addison regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth. So what if it was the truth. It would still sting. And the stinging would be worse because it was true.

  “My parents, your parents, both of our grandparents, they all had long, happy marriages,” Ginny argued.

  “We don’t know that. Sure, we know they stayed married, but that doesn’t mean they were happy.”

  “I know no one can be happy always. I do get that. But I also truly believe that two people can be deeply committed to each other, no matter what.” Ginny twisted in her seat. “Shortly after Kevin left, I tried to convince myself that I had given him my very best and that’s why his leaving hurt so badly. I had given him all of me and yet he still chose someone else. The bastard. But you know what? There’s more than one way to leave a marriage, and if I’m honest with myself, I had probably left my marriage
long before Kevin.”

  “What are you talking about? You’re not the one who had an affair.”

  “Not with another man, but,” she sucked in a deep breath, “I was so into the orchestra.”

  “So what? He was just as committed to his job as you were to yours.”

  Ginny lifted her shoulder in a defeated shrug.

  “It’s not fair how things worked out.”

  Ginny glanced at her hand, the fingers knobby with arthritis. “I traveled a lot.”

  “So did he!”

  Ginny shook her head. “The truth is, life isn’t fair! Just like my Granddad Bruce used to say, fairs are for pigs and cows, and the biggest cow and the piggiest pig always win.”

  “There was a poem about that, right?”

  Ginny nodded. “I can’t remember it right now, but I’ll try to think of it.”

  “Are you calling LeAnn and Kevin the biggest cow and piggiest pig?”

  “No, I’m not and you shouldn’t either. We need to forgive them, forget them, and move on.”

  Addison sat down beside Ginny. “I don’t know how you can.”

  Ginny patted Addison’s hand, and, for just a small second, Addison’s glance lingered on Ginny’s twisted, crippled fingers. As if she noticed, Ginny drew her hand back as if it burned and tucked both into her pockets.

  “You need to press the button,” Ginny said. “I can’t do it. It’s your story, and you’re the one insisting on sending it out into the world with an unhappy ending.”

  “We don’t have time to rewrite the ending. You planned our book launch for next Saturday!” Addison’s finger hovered over the computer’s enter key. “We’ve invited everyone we know.”

  “True, but I’m still hoping you’ll change your mind. It wouldn’t take very much. Just a page or two. You could absolutely do it.” Ginny gave her an encouraging smile.

  Addison braced her shoulders. “Nope. I’m publishing it as it is.” She pressed the key. “This is real life. People die. Love dies. Learning to move on and be strong and self-sufficient is what real heroes do.”

  Later that night, before the book went live, the words of Granddad Bruce’s poem came back to Addison as she drifted to sleep.

  Life isn’t fair,