by Zart, Lindy
WITHIN THIS FRAME
FROM USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR
Lindy Zart
Within This Frame
Lindy Zart
Published 2015 by Lindy Zart
Copyright 2015 Lindy Zart
ISBN-13: 978–1517572488
ISBN-10: 1517572487
Cover by:
Cover to Cover Designs
Cover Photography Credit:
Kelley C. Hanson
Formatted by:
Perfectly Publishable
Edited by:
Wendi Stitzer
This book is a work of fiction.
Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Table of Contents
Within This Frame
Dedication
Maggie—2010
Lance—1996
Maggie—2010
Lance—1996
Maggie—2010
Lance—1996
Maggie—2010
Lance—1996
Maggie—2010
Lance—1996
Maggie—2010
Lance—1996
Maggie—2010
Lance—1996
Maggie—2010
Lance—1997
Maggie—2010
Lance—1998
Maggie—2010
Lance—1998
Maggie—2010
Lance—1999
Maggie—2010
Lance—2000
Maggie—2010
Lance—2000
Maggie—2010
Lance—2013
Author’s Note
Acknowledgements
About the Author
To my grandmothers Betha and Mary—with love.
From Jamie, a reader:
I judge the way I look, the way I talk, how unorganized I am and how my anxiety issues make me boring or seem crazy. I could go on and on. I am 28 and I still struggle regularly, probably more than I did as a teen or young adult. I know what it is like to not like yourself and to constantly tear yourself down. I'm the queen of self-deprecation. Anyway I think everyone has issues with themselves to some degree, and I hope others out there realize that the only one who even cares enough to judge you as harshly as you think people do is you. Everyone else is in their own little world full of their own issues and too busy worrying about themselves to really care about the shortcomings we beat ourselves up over every day.
MAGGIE—2010
SHE DIDN'T UNDERSTAND how something so pretty could be lethal. The card was cream vellum with words tinged in gold abounding from it. Appealing to look at, deadly to read. Each word pulled her farther into despair the further she read. It was a joke. It had to be a joke.
It wasn't a joke.
Maggie realized she had the invitation crumpled between her fingers and let it fall from her limp hand to rest upon the kitchen table. Her eyes unseeingly grazed each surface of the spacious, cheery salmon and butter yellow room until they came back to the small piece of paper. She stared at it as though it was a venomous snake, poised to strike. Strangely enough, she'd already felt the piercing of it, right into her being.
She checked the date on the invitation. September 5th was roughly four months away. Maggie took a deep breath and crossed the room to get to the foyer. Once there, she stopped before the mirror to examine herself. Could she do it? A frown of displeasure was glued to her face.
A list of names swept through her mind: Benton Jamison. Tabitha Volden. Judith Fletcher. Steven Stephens.
Lance Denton.
That last one dug in like a blade to the heart and she swallowed around the painful pulse of it.
They weren't the only names that had ever held importance to her, but they were the ones she'd never forgotten. Each name elicited a mixture of determination and hopelessness. Could she face them all again? There was no doubt in her mind that most, if not all, of the aforementioned would be there.
She had varying reasons for not wanting to see them—some because she loathed them and others because she adored them.
With trepidation, Maggie opened the purple robe and cringed at the sight that met her reflection. She tried to avoid her image as much as she could because it depressed her. There were bulges where there shouldn't be, more hips than she cared to see, and flesh that sagged. Four months. How could she possibly shed the extra thirty pounds she’d gained over years in months?
There was one person Maggie knew could help her and she really didn't want to contact her. That would give Nora a reason to raise her perfectly arched eyebrows and smile her triumphant smile. Unease slithered down Maggie’s back like talons of dread. She retrieved her cell phone from the antique desk in the foyer and headed toward the back of the house. She opened the kitchen patio doors and stepped outside onto the sunlit deck.
Maggie took a deep breath and hit her sister’s number.
All her good intentions flew away as soon as Nora answered with, “Bacon! I haven't talked to you in months. Since Easter, yes? When you took a nosedive into the chocolate pudding pie.”
“Hello, Nora.” She ground her teeth together before she could stop herself.
Maggie glared at the copse of maple trees that shaded her from the sun, their branches reaching down like leafy arms. The longer she stared at the foliage surrounding her yard, the calmer she became. She sat down and focused on the therapeutic sound of trickling water from the manmade pond located directly beneath those bountiful trees. Agitation began to seep from her limbs.
“We should do lunch, play catch up. When and where? I’m pretty busy, but I can fit you in next Tuesday. You’re my sister, after all.”
Tension prickled her skin like angry gnat bites and she shifted uncomfortably on the wrought iron bench. “Actually, I wanted to ask you something.”
“Oh? What is it?”
She gnawed on the inside of her lower lip until she tasted blood. “Is there a personal trainer from your gym you would recommend to work with me?”
The pause on the other end of the line was profound, and nerve-wracking.
“For?” Nora finally asked.
“I have an event coming up and want to get in shape before it,” Maggie said in a rush.
Nora squealed and Maggie briefly pulled the cell phone away from her ear. “It's about time! You have no idea how happy hearing that makes me.” Some of her enthusiasm diminished when she continued. “We're short-staffed at the moment, but I could come over after seven every night to work with you.”
“No! I mean, I couldn't. That would be taking advantage of you and your business. Also, I thought . . . I thought I might listen better to a guy,” she lied. It was bad enough asking Nora for help, there was no way she would survive dealing with her on a daily basis.
“Oh.” Disappointment flooded the word and guilt washed over Maggie. “I’ll ask around. Like I said, we’re short-staffed right now, but we do work with private trainers once in a while. I’ll look through the list and set something up.
“How soon do you want to start? I recommend tomorrow, at least to talk to them anyway. You’ll also want them to make up a meal plan for you. I’d toss out the bacon you got stockpiled before they show up.” Nora laughed.
Maggie wanted to say she didn’t even eat bacon anymore, but that would be a lie.
“Yeah. Right. Thanks.”
“Do yo
u have a scale? If not, I know some good ones you can purchase. You need—”
“I have to go now. Cake in the oven,” she interrupted and ended the call to the sound of her sister’s gasp.
Maggie set down the phone and the itchy, irritated feeling faded once more. Warm wind rustled her shoulder length auburn waves. She shifted on the bench and squinted against the sunlight as it rayed her skin and heated up her scalp.
The more she thought about it, the more determined she became. She just needed a little push in the right direction, someone to help her make better food decisions and motivate her to exercise. Excitement stamped her face with a bright smile.
Realizing she hadn’t had lunch yet, Maggie made her way back inside and perused the refrigerator contents. Leftover pizza beckoned from the top shelf. It was topped with a rainbow of vegetables in the form of green and black olives, tomatoes, red onions, mushrooms, and green peppers. Fingers tight around the refrigerator door, she told herself it couldn’t be that unhealthy for her.
Move along.
There was expired yogurt, wilted lettuce, and crabmeat to choose from in place of the pizza.
She applauded herself on her show of willpower as she reached for the crabmeat instead of the pizza, but it soon left her as she melted butter for it.
“It’s healthy . . . ish,” Maggie muttered as she sat at the white table and popped a butter-laden morsel in her mouth.
LANCE—1996
SHE WAS LOOKING at him in that way again—the expression on her face one he couldn’t put into words, but to which he was simultaneously pulled and repelled. He’d been the recipient of similar looks since he was twelve. Lance offered a small smile from where he stood across the room and immediately looked away. Let her wonder if that smile was intended for her or someone else.
“All right, people!” Herman Lyle clapped his hands. His vocal volume was set for ‘headache inducing loud’ at all times. “It’s almost time to film the first scene of ‘Easier Said’. I’m so excited I could shit myself.”
Some laughter followed that, but there were more rolled eyes and humoring looks than anything. Herman Lyle was a schmuck. It was by pure chance that he’d been hired to direct ‘Easier Said’, and they’d soon enough find out if that was a good thing.
The show was primarily set in an oversized cottage with blue siding, a red door, and brown shingles. Lance liked the neutral tones found inside and the plain brown furniture. He’d pick it over the interior of his dad’s house any day. The central air was on, but with the dozen or so people cramped into the downstairs of the house, it didn’t feel like it.
“Let’s do one more read-through before initial filming begins! Derek, Cecilia, take your places.”
Herman’s bald head turned in a shiny circle as he searched for his main characters. He found Maggie, timid and silent, near Judith Fletcher, the actress hired to play her mom on the show. Judith offered Maggie one of her sparkly smiles and a pat on the head, like she was a pet. Herman pointed at Maggie and jerked his thumb back to where he wanted her.
“Derek! Get out here!” Herman bellowed as he dabbed a stained red handkerchief against the sweat dripping from his fleshy, overheated face.
“It’s Lance,” Lance said as he disengaged from the wall and moved toward the director.
“It’s Derek in about two seconds.”
Lance offered a smile, but it wasn’t a friendly one.
Maggie hesitantly made her way to him, hands clasped together and head tilted down. Lance usually liked skinny girls, but his body liked her curves well enough. Sixteen years old and recently initiated into the world of sex, he was eager to experiment with any and all kinds of the female population.
Stop thinking about sex before you embarrass yourself.
Her looks were unoriginal until she lifted those eyes, as she did then. He hated her eyes. They weren’t really brown—almost red in certain lighting, too big for her face, and framed with thick, long eyelashes that should be creepy but were instead pretty. Her eyes sank into him like they could see all of him. It made him uncomfortable.
Maggie offered a shy smile as she stopped beside him and he nodded before turning his gaze away. He caught the fall of her smile, felt guilty about it, and told himself to quit being a wimp.
“Where are you two supposed to be? Not where you are,” Herman answered himself, motioning for them to move. “Outside. Let’s take this outside.”
The first scene was to take place at Cecilia Monroe’s house. Due to his parents divorcing, Derek Ryan recently moved to the area and was her neighbor. In a twist on the customary guardianship placement, he lived with his dad instead of his mom. Used to being popular and well-known in a small town, he was relocated to a city where no one knew him.
Cecilia befriended him over the summer and Derek thought she was cool, until school started and he realized how uncool she was. The basis of the show was forged in an unlikely friendship that transformed into love as the years went on, if the show made it that long. Each episode had a conflict and resolution, most of them cheesy to Lance, but like the show writers cared about his opinion. Maggie Smiley also was not his first choice as love interest for the show—not even second or third.
He walked toward the front door and out it. Lance’s skin was instantly saturated with sweat, the humidity in the air making it hard to breathe. Virginia in the summer was unbearable at times. He squinted against the sun, wishing he had the day off. He’d be at the beach playing volleyball and hanging out with his friends, checking out chicks—what any normal teenage guy would be doing on a hot summer day. Any normal teenage guy that wasn’t an actor, he corrected.
“Makeup girl! You! Yes, you. Freshen up the kiddies. They have sweat. Remove the sweat,” the director hollered.
The faint scent of oranges reached him and Lance glanced over his shoulder. Maggie, dressed in a turquoise sundress, stood behind him. Her skin was as pale as snow, lips kissed with pink. She looked like a summer picture, nothing about her needing a touchup. Jackie Miller, in her early twenties and hot for him, blotted Maggie’s skin anyway.
With a coy smile, she did the same to him, but slower. Jackie winked at him when their gazes clashed. She wasn’t the first older woman to hit on him. He’d lost his virginity to a nineteen-year-old close to a year ago. Because of his body, muscle tone, and deep voice, people thought he was older than he was. And when they found out his real age, it didn’t make a difference.
“Stop fondling the minor, Jackie,” Herman said dryly. One thing could be said for Herman Lyle—he said what he wanted and didn’t care what anyone thought. That might have something to do with his two disorderly conduct misdemeanors and six-month stint on probation.
With a droop to her shoulders and a blush on her cheeks, Jackie hurried back toward the masses of people necessary to put a television show together. They were faces instead of people to Lance. A few of them stood out to him—like Jackie—but most of them did their jobs and held no interest for him, unless he directly had to interact with them.
“Positions!”
Maggie swept by him, close enough that her citrus scent messed with his senses for a second and a long strand of reddish-brown hair caressed his arm. His body tightened and he blew out a noisy breath, shaking his head. Lance avoided looking at her as he took his spot near the crew workers.
An excited buzz started, bringing with it a hum of tension, but when Herman shot his beady brown eyes at the ones conversing, it got quiet quick.
Herman knelt before Maggie, probably talking in what he thought was a quiet, reassuring voice that was actually loud and commanding. “Remember, Cecilia, this is a leisure day for you. Think peaceful. You’re happy it’s summer, you’re enjoying the sun. The book you’re reading is poetic and captivating. You’re not simpleminded, but you’re easily pleased. You see Lance and you want to extend that to him, especially with how troubled he looks. Got all that?”
He waited until she nodded before standing with a groan as
his back popped.
A hush fell, even traffic on the street seemed to pause, and with a frown, Lance lifted his head to gaze at Maggie. He went still and silent as well. It was aweing to watch the transformation take place. Maggie’s expression softened, her eyes widened, and a faint slackness of her mouth turned her small lips fuller, but also gave her a young, innocent look.
Looking at her was like looking at a picture out of focus. Surreal.
When Maggie lifted her head, she wasn’t Maggie Smiley anymore. She was Cecilia Monroe. He was enthralled by her talent, how she could change her whole demeanor with a few small changes to her facial expression and stance. In that moment, Lance fell a little in love with her.
Herman wordlessly motioned Lance forward when he forgot to move.
Derek Ryan was easy for Lance to portray because he was a lot like him, even down to living with his dad instead of his mom. Lance’s parents had never been married and his mom died from a drug overdose when he was two, but there were other similarities. Derek was popular and good at sports. So was Lance. Derek was cocky. Lance had been called that, and worse, a time or two. “Little shit” was usually added to the “cocky” part. Derek was good-looking. Lance winked at Maggie as he strode toward her. He’d never been called anything less.
Her eyes dipped to the pages of the book she held, but he saw her chest rise and fall faster than it had before the wink. Luckily no one else noticed or he’d get chewed out for messing with her before a final read-through. Judith Fletcher was especially protective of the Iowa native staying in Virginia.
“Hey.” He stopped by her feet, noting the peach shade of polish on her toenails.
Lost in the book, she didn’t respond.
Lance looked up and down the street before returning his gaze to her. Irritation lining his features, he repeated, “Hey!”
Maggie’s character was supposed to be surprised and she pulled it off beautifully when she jolted to her feet, dropping the book in the process. Her skin turned pink. Flustered, she reached down for the book and swooped it into her arms to hold against her chest like a talisman to ward off impure advances.
