Audrey stopped kicking and pondered that.
“When we left the theater, Opa talked to me about that line on the way home. He compared it to faith. I’ve never forgotten it.”
“Hmm.” Audrey smiled thoughtfully. “Objection withdrawn. That is a good one.”
“So The Santa Clause—at least Opa’s interpretation of it—has helped me to stay on the straight and narrow.”
“I’m glad.” Audrey wiggled her foot up and down. “Someone needs to.”
“My faith is also partly your fault, you know.”
“What does that mean?”
“Well, I can argue with lots of things, but I cannot doubt your faith.”
Audrey was startled. “That’s ridiculous.”
“No. It isn’t. There’s something different about you—always has been.”
She gazed directly into his eyes. “That’s kind of you to say, but faith has to be personal. My faith can’t get you into heaven.”
“I know that, Audrey.” He pulled her over and mussed her hair. “I’ve got faith of my own. I’m just saying you’ve helped me. Helped me—sometimes—not to give up.”
Audrey stood and offered her hand to Beecher. He took it. As he rose from the bench, he didn’t let go. “Want to take a little walk around the lake?”
“You’ve helped me, too, you know.” Audrey didn’t look at Beecher. Her eyes were on her feet.
“How?”
“By talking to me about all of the school stuff.”
“Oh, yeah.”
“I think I’ve come to a decision.”
“You’re going to tell your dad?”
“I think I am.”
Beecher nodded, pensive.
“Beecher?” Audrey stopped then and faced him.
He held on to her hand.
“Do you think I’m letting my heart rule my head?”
Beecher’s blue eyes were kind. “Maybe.”
She groaned and stuck out her tongue at him.
“But I didn’t say there’s anything wrong with that.”
Audrey started walking again. “You’d never do it.”
“I might.”
“When? How?”
“I guess if I knew it was right.”
* * * * *
Later that evening, while Audrey was in the shower, Beecher went out to pick up Chinese at a little place called Nanking in Greenwich Village. He thought she looked strange when he returned, but he didn’t say anything. She finished getting ready in her room while he showered. By the time he was dressed in pinstripes and a French blue shirt, she seemed her normal self. She was ravishing in a champagne silk skirt and matching jacket with a faux-jewel pull-through brooch. Her hair was gathered up. They stood at the bar in her kitchen and ate Moo Goo Gai Pan quickly as they were in a hurry to get to Broadway and The Lion King.
Beecher was surprised by how much he liked the musical. Being with Audrey released him to feel—and act—like a child again. He didn’t know if it was their shared history, or if it was just her. She was so innocent, even though she was wise enough to be a hundred years old.
Back at the apartment, Audrey went straight to bed because it was so late. Beecher was tired too, so he curled up in his place on the couch. Not long after he’d settled down, he heard a noise. It sounded like Audrey was crying. Beecher turned on the lamp so he could find his way down the hall and tapped at Audrey’s bedroom door.
There was no answer. The sound quieted.
“Audrey?”
Sniff.
He tapped on the door again.
“Come in.”
Beecher opened the door and saw Audrey sitting on the edge of her bed, facing away from the door and toward her one window. Her hair was sticking out in every direction, like streamers on the bow of a fancy gift. Light from the nearby buildings streamed in through her sheer curtains, illuminating her purple polka-dot pajamas. The bars on the window cast vertical stripes on Audrey’s silhouette.
“Are you all right?”
She leaned over, like the Tower of Pisa, and crashed down onto her pillow. She started to sob.
Beecher, on an impulse, jumped into her bed. The covers were wadded between them, and he pulled them up on Audrey’s side so she wouldn’t be cold. Then he lay down behind her, bending his elbow and propping his head up with his left hand. With his other hand, he stroked Audrey’s wet cheek.
“Audrey? Can you tell me what’s wrong?”
More sobbing.
He smoothed her hair as best he could. “Audrey? Are you okay?”
“It’s Atticus. He hates me.” Audrey’s hand found the tissues on her bed table, and she blew her nose.
“Not possible,” Beecher said to the back of her head.
“He was so disappointed. I could hear it in his voice.” Audrey blew her nose again.
“When did you call him?”
“Before the play.”
Her confession gave way to another round of sobbing. So that was why she seemed strange when he came in with the Chinese! “Why didn’t you tell me? We didn’t have to go—”
“Yez we did! I wasn’t going to have you biss The Lion King.”
Beecher laughed softly. As if. “Oh, Audrey, it will be okay. Atticus will come around.”
Without saying anything else, Audrey reached behind her back and found Beecher’s hand. She pulled it to her, wrapping his arm around her waist.
Beecher lay there still and staring, somewhat stunned.
After some time, he heard a slight whiffle noise. Audrey was snoring.
He could have tried to move his arm—to leave her—but Beecher decided against it. He laid his head down beside hers on the pillow, smelling her strawberry shampoo, and went to sleep.
Chapter Thirty-two
When Audrey woke the next morning, Beecher’s arm was in the same place she had put it around her waist, his strong, lean fingers laced through hers. His breathing was heavy. She could feel it—warm and wonderful—on the back of her neck. Why did he have to be leaving today?
Audrey closed her eyes. For a fleeting moment she worried what he might think when he awoke. Would it be awkward? Probably so. Maybe she should get up. Then again, maybe she should pretend to be asleep and let him awaken. Then he’d have to deal with the awkwardness. It might be fun. In fact, she could even tease him about taking advantage of her in her fragile state. He’d probably be embarrassed. But better him than her.
After all, she couldn’t believe she was lying in bed with Beecher. He had been so kind, so tender the night before. It was a side of him she’d never seen. Of course, she couldn’t remember another time when she’d been vulnerable to him like that. Sure, Beecher was her friend—the brother kind of friend who sticks up for you and even sticks with you. But not the kind of friend who holds you while you cry. Had it all been a dream?
Beecher stirred. Audrey was afraid to speak or move so she lay there, still. He gently untwined their fingers.
He’s getting up, she thought. He’s glad I’m still asleep so he doesn’t have to face the embarrassment. I wonder if he’ll pretend it didn’t happen—
Audrey’s mental dialogue was broken by the gentle sweep of Beecher’s fingertips across her back. He scratched her back, up and down and then across, over her purple polka-dot pajamas from her shoulders to her waist. All the while she could feel him breathing, though it was not as heavy as when he was asleep. Audrey was still afraid to move. It was as if they were under a spell that she feared might be broken.
Beecher nudged her over onto her belly, spreading her arms out to her sides. Then he sat up beside her, not saying a word. Starting with her neck, he massaged the taut cords on either side till they became putty. Next he worked his way down to her shoulder blades, concentrating on the knots that had formed underneath each one. It was as if his hands had sensors that were drawn to individual spots—heat sensors that located pain and eradicated it, made it fade into nothingness.
Audrey felt that something br
oken in her had been restored. “You know, you’re really good at that.”
Beecher patted her on the back and then made a circular motion with his hands.
She turned her face on the pillow and faced him. “Thanks.”
He looked at her for a long moment, as if he wanted to say something but thought better of it. Then his face broke into a mischievous smile. “Wait till I tell Ellie that you lured me into your bed.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Oh, yes, I would.”
“She won’t believe you.”
“Of course she will. I’m her blood.”
“You are also evil, and she knows it.” Audrey rose and whapped Beecher over the head with her pillow.
“First you take advantage of my innocence in the night, and then you assault me.” Beecher feigned offense.
Audrey reared her pillow again, but this time he caught it midair.
“Not so fast.”
Audrey struggled to free the pillow from his grasp.
“Is this how you repay my kindness?”
“What do you expect?” Audrey cocked her head to one side.
“I expect…” Beecher set down the pillow and got up from the bed. “I expect I need to brush my teeth.”
Audrey snorted. “You truly are crazy.”
While Beecher went to the bathroom, Audrey put on her glasses and made her bed. Then, as soon as he was out, she took her turn, though she didn’t brush her teeth. She didn’t see any sense in it before breakfast. She walked down the hall and into the kitchen where Beecher was preparing fruit. She popped three blueberries into her mouth, followed by a ripe strawberry. He had set out the yogurt and granola she picked up at the whole foods store before he arrived. The plan seemed to be parfaits.
“I can’t believe I’m leaving today.”
“Me neither.” She sat down on a barstool to watch.
“Thanks for having me. You’ve been the hostess with the mostest.”
“He says as he prepares his own breakfast.”
“And yours. I hope you like parfaits.”
“These are my ingredients after all.”
He handed her a spoon and a stemmed glass layered with vanilla yogurt, fruit, walnuts, and granola. It was quite pretty. She took a bite. Beecher stood across the bar from her assembling his own parfait in a mixing bowl.
“Why did you brush your teeth?” Audrey licked her spoon. Beecher stirred everything in his bowl together.
“I mean, if you were going to eat, why did you brush your teeth first?”
He looked up at her, then back down at his bowl. “I can’t answer that question.”
Audrey laughed. “Sure you can.”
“Nope. I decline to answer.” He took a bite.
“You’re so weird.”
Beecher grinned at her wickedly. “You’d really think I was weird if I told you why I wanted to brush my teeth.” He took another bite of his yogurt mess.
“I already do, so you have nothing to lose.”
“I’m not so sure about that.”
Audrey set down her glass and spoon. “You are the most exasperating man, Beecher Heinrichs.”
Beecher set down his bowl then. In a swift motion he came around the bar and whisked Audrey out of her chair. Carrying her over to the sliding glass door that led to the balcony, he said, “You should not have said that.” Then he slid the door open with his foot, maneuvering “the toe” around the handle.
* * * * *
“Ew.”
The morning was lovely. Sun glinted off the trees and buildings, and the city was bursting with life. A flag blew in the distance, rippling with color. The air was pleasantly cool, and the scent of jasmine floated on the breeze from an urban flower garden below.
“What are you going to do—throw me over?” Audrey beat her fist gently against his chest.
“No, I’m going to answer your question.”
“What question? About your teeth? Put me down before you hurt your back.”
Beecher gazed into Audrey’s eyes with a mixture of humor, longing, and tenderness. And then he did the last thing she ever expected him to do in a million years. Drawing her closer in his arms, he bent his head toward her face and kissed her on the lips.
Audrey’s ears burned. Her head was spinning. When the kiss was over, Beecher released her, and she stood, unsteadily, on her feet. He reached out to touch her arm, and they both laughed.
“Did you just kiss me?”
“Guilty as charged.”
“What on earth?”
Beecher squeezed his eyes shut, and then forced them open, looking straight at her. His voice came out like a bullfrog. “I’m in love with you, Audrey.”
Audrey crashed back into the ironwork chair she kept on her balcony, and it made a raking sound against the floor. Her glasses fell crooked on her nose. She sat looking up at him through one of the lenses.
“Beecher, you can’t be serious.”
A grin played around his lips. “I know.” His laugh was somewhat rueful. “And I’m sorry to put you in a bad position. But there it is. I can’t help it.” He shifted his bare feet.
Audrey looked out to the street below them, seeming to size up his words. It was as if the truth revealed itself to her very gradually. “You are serious, aren’t you?”
Beecher nodded, and she rose to her feet. Her hands were on her hips. Nobody spoke.
Then Audrey said, “All I can say is, it’s about time.” She lifted her arms and encircled his neck.
He put his hands around her waist, eyeing her intently. “What in the world do you mean by that?”
“I mean, I’ve been in love with you for as long as I can remember.”
They kissed again, more passionately this time. And they didn’t let up till a man hooted and hollered at them from a sidewalk across the way.
Chapter Thirty-three
Ellie’s plane touched down at La Guardia at approximately four o’clock on Saturday. After leaving Dot with her ears back at Will’s cabin, saying a tearful good-bye to Will at the Springfield airport, puddle-jumping to St. Louis, and then flying through a thunderstorm in the Northeast, the image of Audrey jumping up and down and waving as Ellie deboarded her plane was a sight for sore eyes. She ran into her friend’s arms, feeling provincial, shaky, and exhausted all at once. They walked the length of the long corridor arm in arm, able to avoid baggage claim because Ellie brought only a carry-on. Audrey, seasoned with experience, hailed them a taxi.
By the time they reached Audrey’s apartment in The Village, Audrey was brought up to speed on the particulars of Ellie’s association with Jackson Jenkins and the instructions she had for meeting his friend for the audition. For her part, Audrey told Ellie about her time with Beecher—what all they had done, the fun they had, how she thought Beecher was doing, etc.
Ellie loved Audrey’s apartment. The building, with its brick façade and quaint elevator—which Audrey said didn’t work half the time—fit neatly into her vision of a charming New York life. She also loved the efficiency of Audrey’s small space and the artistic irony of putting ultra-modern furnishings in an individual apartment, tucked within such a nonmodern, cozy building. It was imaginative and bold, like Audrey. And like she envisioned herself becoming as an actress in New York.
Audrey poured her a glass of water and told her to sit down. “I’m glad you like my apartment; I’m glad you’re finally here; I love everything you’re saying and how you get me and my place. But I have to tell you something. I’ve been dying to tell you since you got off the plane.”
Ellie sat down as Audrey instructed her, and they faced one another on the couch.
“Well, what is it? I’m in dire suspense.” “Ellie. You’re just going to die.”
Audrey’s eyes were dazzling with intensity. In that moment Ellie thought her friend was more beautiful than she had ever been before. What in the world could it be?
“Tell me! Spit it out!”
“I don’t kno
w where to start.”
“Audrey, I am going to kill you.”
Her friend leaned forward. Ellie noticed that her lily-white neck was broken out in red blotches. She finally squealed, “Beecher kissed me!”
Ellie’s eyes popped out as her jaw hit the floor. “Oh. My. Goodness.”
“He said he loves me—he’s in love with me—me, Ellie. Me!” Audrey bounced up and down.
Ellie’s eyes filled with tears till they brimmed over and ran down her face. She reached out for Audrey’s hands and squeezed them. “I don’t know what to say. Audrey—my Audrey! Tell me everything!”
* * * * *
Ellie and Audrey stayed in that whole evening talking about Beecher, Will, their families, law school, acting, and life. During their powwow, Ellie told Audrey more about her encounter with God in Branson and how He was healing the area of her heart that longed for a father. Audrey confessed that she had located a few Andrew McMurrays in New York, and they agreed to pray together about how to proceed.
Ellie and Audrey only moved to change into their pajamas and answer the door after the pizza delivery guy came. At about 1:00 a.m. they broke out the cheesecake Audrey had in her freezer. By one thirty it was sufficiently thawed to be devoured with two forks. They paired it with a second pot of Old-fashioned Country Turtle coffee, staying true to their tradition.
* * * * *
After sleeping half of Sunday, Ellie and Andrey managed to get dressed up for an early dinner at Ma Peche. Then they headed to Village Vanguard for some jazz, where saxophonist Ravi Coltrane was performing.
* * * * *
Monday morning after Audrey left for work, Ellie called the number Jackson had given her for Corbin Oliver, his friend who was directing on Broadway.
“Mr. Oliver?”
“That’s me.”
Love Finds You in Branson, Missouri Page 22
