Talk of the Town

by Lisa Wingate

  All of a sudden, I felt like one of my own kids was moving clear across the country. I was going to miss her and all the excitement American Megastar brought to town. “You come back and visit, y’hear? Whenever things get too busy there in the big city, you just hop on a plane and head this way. Don’t feel like you have to call ahead, even. I got lots of guest rooms and not near enough guests.”

  She seemed kind of surprised by the invitation at first, then her face brightened, like she was thinking she’d really come back. “I might just take you up on that.”

  “I’d enjoy the company.” A meddlesome part of me figured that if she came back, maybe we could find a way to bring Carter here at the same time. Brother Harve said Carter was helping with some part of the wiring for the new Caney Creek Church building. Maybe Brother Harve could give him a call and tell him there was a problem back in Daily he needed to look at. It wouldn’t really be a fib. Not exactly …

  Amanda-Lee started taking down some kind of lights that looked like what Jack used to keep out in his shop. I moved around to help her. “On second thought, though, you might want to call before you come, just to make sure.” If she gave some notice, we’d have a better chance of getting Carter here at the same time. “I’m thinking of taking one of those cruises like you saw on the internet. I figured I’d get my boys to help me find one. They’re a whiz with computers.”

  She stopped halfway through folding up the light stand, smiled at me, and nodded. “Good for you. I bet you’ll have a great time.”

  “It’ll be different from anything I ever did before, that’s for sure.” A queasy feeling stirred in the pit of my stomach. Telling Amanda-Lee I was going to take the cruise made it really seem like a commitment. “But I just got to thinking, life’s like that plate of fancy French nibblets the literary ladies brought tonight. There’s lots of things on there that look a little strange, but you’ll never know if they’re good or not if you don’t try something new. No telling what I missed out on because I let myself be afraid. You helped me figure that out, Amanda-Lee. You and the Lightning Snake.”

  Amanda-Lee looked at me for a long minute. I had a feeling she was thinking about that night at the fair when she and Carter rode the Lightning Snake together and she asked me to be part of her plan to make Amber’s show the best.

  “I want to thank you for doing right by Amber,” I said. “She was sure upset when she thought you were mad at her.”

  Amanda-Lee went back to folding up the light holder. “I’m not mad at Amber. I already apologized for losing it with her.”

  “You seem kind of down-in-themouth tonight, though,” I went on, trying to act like I was just making chit-chat.

  She untied the cord and retied it. “It doesn’t have anything to do with Amber. She was great tonight. The show will be great.”

  “She’ll be glad to hear that.” I was hoping the conversation would slip around to what’d happened with Carter, but so far, Amanda-Lee was being careful not to drift that direction. “Amber admires you a bunch. She really wants to make you happy.”

  “It’ll be a good show,” she said, but there wasn’t much feeling in the words. She looked as blue as any little girl I’d ever seen. “That’s all that matters.”

  “I suppose so.” I tried to look casual by moving into the choir loft and picking up some empty water bottles. “Guess it was meant to be, the show turning out just right and all, especially after so much unexpected excitement. Amber was sure worried you’d quit her after she spilled the beans about Carter.” I glanced over at Amanda-Lee, and she stiffened like a board the minute I mentioned his name.

  Since the topic had come up, I grabbed it and dove on in. “You know, it’s a funny thing. Amber told me she’d been trying to call J. C. Woods about his music company all weekend, and he wouldn’t pick up his phone. Seems like if he was really here to steal her over to his company, he would have answered his phone … unless something’d happened to make him change his mind about meeting up with Amber.” I moved on around the choir loft, stacking up music books and letting the idea sink into Amanda-Lee’s head for a minute. From the corner of my eye, I saw her stop what she was doing and slowly turn toward me.

  She didn’t answer at first. I guessed I’d gone too far and made her mad. “It doesn’t matter now,” she said finally. “After this hometown segment, Amber will have a good chance to make it to the Final Showdown, and if she does, the decision about where to eventually go with her recording career will be up to her. She can make her own choices.”

  “Oh, I know that.” I hovered there for a minute with the trash in my hands. Leave it be, Imagene. You’re pushing your nose in where it doesn’t belong again. But of course I couldn’t help myself. I really did like Amanda-Lee, and it was a shame for her to be so sad, and for her and Carter to be at odds, being as they had so much in common. “I just meant that sometimes things aren’t what they look like. I don’t think Amber or Carter Woods really meant to do anything … well … anything underhanded. Seems like Carter was a lot more interested in other things than he was in Amber … if you ask me.” Which she didn’t, Imagene. Butt out.

  I slipped out the choir loft door to go dump the bottles into the trashcan behind the sanctuary. When I came back in, Amanda-Lee was standing stock-still on the matted-down spot of carpet where the pulpit would normally be. She was watching someone walk up the stairs outside the front door. His face was hidden in the shadows, but I could tell by the cowboy hat and the Hawaiian shirt who it was.

  My hopes rose up like Lazarus, and I looked up at the ceiling, sending out a silent Praise the Lord and amen. Then I slipped out the back and left things in bigger hands than mine.

  Chapter 27

  Mandalay Florentino

  Air caught in my throat, the room seemed to shrink around me, and my heartbeat slowed. The moment stretched like a cartoon imprinted on Silly Putty. For an instant, I had the thought that maybe something was wrong with me physically. I’d produced news reports about overstressed young professionals who experienced sudden heart arrhythmias, strokes, and anxiety attacks. The brain, lacking oxygen, chemically imbalanced, misfired in its internal connections, and convinced the eyes to see things that didn’t exist.

  I blinked, focused on the stained-glass window high in the peak overhead, then looked back at the entrance. He was still there. Not coming or going, just standing in the darkened doorway, his face hidden in the shadow of his cowboy hat.

  Maybe it wasn’t him… .

  Every grain of my existence wanted it to be him. I didn’t know how to feel about that. All afternoon, I’d been fighting to push away the thought of Carter, trying to focus on work, to do the job that needed to be done, to make my business life a success even if my personal life was a wreck. I’d built up a defensive wall, brick by brick, hoped it would protect me tonight when things were quiet, when I was alone and some random image of my time with Carter, some flash of memory ignited a yearning that could only end in self-recrimination. You sure know how to pick ’em, Mandalay Florentino, I’d tell myself then. You made a monumental fool of yourself. You’re just lucky Butch clued you in… .

  Even that was humiliating—the fact that fresh-off-the-turniptruck Butch had discerned Carter’s identity and cracked Ursula’s secret code before I had. I was the Hollywood-savvy news producer, after all. Once upon a time, I could look in the mirror and see a woman who was accomplished, sharp, competent, nobody’s fool. Today’s revelations had rocked me to the core, left me feeling broken and uncertain of everything, including my own judgment.

  My only salvation was the whisper-thin belief that, from the beginning, the unexpected trip to Daily, Texas, had knocked me slightly off center. I’d been preoccupied with the rapidly escalating Amber crisis and the collapse of my relationship with David. I’d been looking for any port in a storm. Otherwise I would have pegged Carter as a fraud from the very beginning. Once I got home, I would feel more like my old self, my real self. Amid the humiliating buzz of
canceling wedding plans and getting back the belongings I’d stored at David’s apartment, these few days in Daily would be just a distant memory, a tiny little sound I couldn’t hear. Carter would be nothing but a silly vacation romance, a folly, a mistake. I would morph into Mandalay Florentino, defender of the little guy, too consumed with fighting evil Ursula and her Dysterco death ray to have a broken heart.

  Beneath all the postulating, there was a nagging question. Why did I feel Carter’s betrayal so deeply? Why did it seem as if something important, someone important had suddenly dropped out of my life? Why was I desperately hoping that the shadowy figure outside the door was Carter, not someone else in a cowboy hat and Hawaiian shirt?

  My heart fluttered into my throat, inconveniently exhilarated by the idea that he’d come back. To see me? To talk things out? To try to sign Amber for Higher Ground? If it was really him, why was he here?

  My mind rushed to assimilate Imagene’s revelations. Amber told me she’d been trying to call J. C. Woods about his music company all weekend and he wouldn’t pick up his phone. Was that true? I’d heard Carter’s cell ring several times. I’d seen him check the number and tuck the phone back into his pocket. Seems like if he was really here to steal her over to his company, he would have answered his phone … unless something had happened to make him change his mind… .

  Had something happened? Was I foolish to think so, to hope for it, to believe that he was here now to talk to me rather than to promote some scheme that would advance his recording interests? Was I setting myself up for another fall? Only a few days ago, I’d been telling myself that David and I didn’t have any secrets from each other. I’d been convinced that the separate-but-together life he offered was what I wanted. I’d told myself I could fit happily into the mold, be his shipmate, roommate, walk down the street together looking like the perfect power couple. Even now, in spite of everything I’d learned about David, a part of me liked the picture. A part of me desperately wanted to be half of a whole, a partner, a soul mate.

  Was I trying to paint a new picture, hastily writing a fresh duet because the future I’d imagined with David had been shattered?

  I looked hard at the doorway, tried to decide, tried to see the picture. But with Carter there was no picture. I couldn’t imagine, couldn’t presuppose what it would be like with him. There was no mold for me to squeeze into. Nothing about him fit the artificial scenarios I’d envisioned. Carter was an enigma, a mystery yet to be solved, but the details seemed insignificant. There was only the way I felt when I was with him, the way he made me laugh, his willingness to watch cheesy westerns late into the night, his lack of unrealistic expectations and demands. Carter made me feel like it was good enough, more than good enough just to be myself, just to spend time together. He made me feel … perfect.

  Had I ever experienced that kind of peace, that sense of rightness before? With David? With anyone?

  I could feel him watching me from the doorway. Ducking his head, he pushed his hands into his pockets, and something in the motion let me know for certain it was him. He was waiting there in the darkness, giving me time to consider his presence here, allowing me to make the first move if I wanted to.

  Before I heard it in my thoughts, I felt the glimmer of an answered prayer, a tiny grain of faith, a holdover from childhood or the years of Episcopal school, or perhaps something new, sprinkled there by Daily folks, Amber Anderson, or some magical combination of everything. Perhaps some things were meant to be and the only chain keeping me prisoner was the fear I’d allowed myself to build. If this wasn’t real, if it wasn’t meant to be, how could I possibly feel it so deeply?

  I started up the aisle, a few steps at first, then faster, until I was just inside the door and he was outside. Only the threshold separated us.

  I hesitated, unable to cross. A stubborn, wounded part of me felt the need to slow the situation down, to control it, to yield beneath the burden of the heavy chain of questions, of worry and trepidation. A whisper of apprehension told me that as much as I wanted the shadow man to be Carter, he was really J. C. Woods, someone I didn’t know at all. Be careful, a voice in my head warned. Don’t put yourself out there too far. What if you’re wrong? What if there is no grand plan? What if it’s all just wishful thinking? Remember what happened with David… .

  I hovered on the threshold, teetering between a chasm of fear and a bridge of faith.

  Crossing his arms over his chest, Carter leaned against the railing and rolled a stone beneath his boot, waiting for me to say something. I had the sense that he would wait there all night. However long it took. As always, he was patient, like the boy in his song “Drifting on Faith,” aware that the river, not he, was in control of the boat.

  Finally, I couldn’t bear the silence. “You could come in.” I wanted to see his face, to look into his eyes and know, once and for all, who he was. When I saw him, really saw him, would I know?

  He turned toward me, but his expression was hidden. “I wasn’t sure it was safe.” I could picture him smiling just a little—a soft, fond smile, as if this were all just a misunderstanding and we would solve it soon enough.

  “It could be.”

  He chuckled under his breath. I loved his laugh. “I didn’t want to leave things the way they were.” There was no laughter in those words, only a tenderness that seemed heartfelt, that pulled and tugged deep in my chest.

  I don’t want to leave things this way, either. I don’t. Hope swelled inside me, as fragile as a soap bubble. I stood uncertain of whether to cradle it protectively or pop it before it grew any larger.

  Could I withstand one more shattering of trust?

  Did I have the courage to take the risk, to throw off the chains and cross over?

  “No telling what I missed out on because I let myself be afraid… .” Imagene’s words repeated in my head. Why was it so easy for me to tell her to set her concerns aside, to jump on a boat and sail out to sea? Why couldn’t I find the backbone to do the same thing? What if I never did? What if I played it safe today, tomorrow, forever? Would I become the woman hiding in my house alone while life passed by outside the window?

  Crossing the threshold, I stood in the darkness, saw Carter’s face in the moon glow. “I’d like to know the truth. Carter … J.C… . Which is it, anyway?” There was an edge of bitterness I couldn’t banish, a remnant of the wall I’d worked so hard to build. It was easy to cling to it, to hide behind it—so hard to let go, to stand in the open, vulnerable.

  “Carter to friends and family, J.C. for business.”

  “Which one am I?”

  “The first, I hope.” His fingers drummed against the railing, his chest rising and falling. His eyes were deep blue in the moonlight. “Manda, what you and I … I wasn’t using you to try to get to Amber. I’ll admit that at first, I was a little—” he paused to search for the right word—“curious. I wanted to see what kind of situation I was dealing with. No offense, but your show’s got a reputation for chewing up bright-eyed kids and spitting them out. I figured there wasn’t much chance that a country girl singing faith music and southern gospel was really going to get the million-dollar recording contract. Truthfully, I figured Amber was just being used for publicity—the butt of a highly profitable joke, more or less. The entertainment business is rough, even where I’ve been, and reality TV is a whole new level of dog-eat-dog. So yes, I was interested in talking to Amber about Higher Ground. But I met you first, and you weren’t what I’d expected. It didn’t take me long to discern that Amber was in good hands, so I left the situation alone. I let you do your job. You’re good at it. I figured I’d call Amber next week and tell her to stick where she’s at for now—that Higher Ground would be there later, if American Megastar didn’t work out.”

  My instant reaction was to be self-righteous, to defend my territory, to defend the show. In the wake of that impulse, an inky black guilt slid over me. The truth was that he was right. Everything he’d said, all his fears about Amer
ican Megastar and the show’s intentions for Amber were spot on. “American Megastar wasn’t going to work out for Amber.” In spite of everything, it hurt to voice the truth. “While I was here trying to put together a good hometown segment, my boss was in bed with the maker of the tabulation software, planning to have Amber voted off next week.”

  Carter didn’t seem surprised. Clearly, he knew more about the underbelly of the entertainment business than he’d let on. Shaking his head, he sighed. “And?”

  “And I think I have it under control for now. Of course, when the season’s over, I’ll be out of a job. If not before.” The reality sent a queasy feeling through me. I had an apartment to pay for, a car, bills. There was the issue of medical insurance. I wouldn’t be getting married and adding my name to David’s policy. I was a single girl. I had to support myself. “It’s worth it, though.” I wasn’t sure if I was trying to convince myself or him. “It feels good to do the right thing for once, you know? I hope I’ll still feel the same way when I’m standing in the unemployment line.”

  I forced a halfhearted laugh, but a touch of self-pity prickled in my throat like a sand bur. What had I done to deserve this? My whole career, I’d tried to do the right thing, to be someone my family and I and even God could be proud of in a business that didn’t always value integrity. All I wanted was a job in which principles and hard work counted for something, a relationship in which I could be myself, be loved, be protected, trust and be trusted. Why couldn’t I find those things? Other people did. My sisters were all happily married with fulfilling careers—why not me? “I got into broadcasting because I wanted my work to count for something. I used to feel like it did, but lately …” I knew I was rambling, trying to prop myself up, talking about work so I could avoid the real question, the one I still needed to answer. Was this thing between Carter and me more than just a chance meeting, more than just a sudden and powerful attraction? If so, where did we go from here? He lived in Texas and I lived on the west coast. The truth was that we barely knew each other.