Page 5 of No Angels

I grab a red onion and when I slice it, it’s not the only thing that brings tears to my eyes. “I couldn’t afford to let him get to me, Mom. Broadway was always my dream. We called each other every week at first, but when I moved into the apartment with Cheryl, we lost touch.”

Cheryl was an understudy in the trenches with me and when I broke up with my first real boyfriend Greg because I found him in bed with our next-door neighbor, she made me move in with her. She’s my best friend and the one that convinced me I needed a break to get my stride back. I’m in Willow Creek because of her.

“You two were inseparable growing up, so I bet today was awkward.”

I snort. “That’s one way to describe it.”

“Was he angry?” She quietly asks.

“Yeah. But I think it’s because I hurt him.”

“Are you going to be able to work with him on the pageant without your past getting in the way?”

“I don’t know, Mom. It’d be easier to just avoid him.”

“You can’t runaway from your history, Bee,” she admonishes as she tugs the end of my ponytail.

I bite my lip and remind myself she’s just trying to be helpful. “He made it crystal clear how much he resents me for leaving.”

“I’m sure it doesn’t help that he’s the town heartthrob.”

I shrug. “I hadn’t noticed.” I hope my flush is only under the skin.

“I can tell when my daughter is fibbing. Any woman with eyes can’t help noticing that tall drink of water.”

I playfully smack her arm. “Please don’t tell me when you notice things like that.”

She rolls her eyes and chuckles delightedly. “I’ll never be too old to notice those things, but I promise not to talk about themtoomuch.”

Once we’ve had our soup and she’s taken her medicine, I walk her to the bedroom on the main floor. It’s a lot harder for her to navigate the steep staircase to the second story, and this is our compromise. It makes sense because the downstairs bedroom has a bath right across the hall. Getting her to agree to even this small concession felt like I was negotiating the assault on Normandy.

When she’s burrowed beneath the mound of blankets, I drop a kiss on her forehead. “Sleep tight, Mom.”

“You too,” she murmurs. “And don’t let the bedbugs bite. If they do, take a shoe and hit them ‘til they’re black and blue.”

Her bedtime greeting takes me straight back to my childhood, when she and dad used to tuck me in. Before their divorce and all the uncertainty that followed.

“I’ll do that,” I tell her as I softly shut the door behind me.

I fall into my own bed, my thoughts racing. All the echoes of my childhood surround me. I’m lying on top of the same pink ruffled princess comforter and the walls are still plastered with pictures of my favorite emo bands. The owl finial Callihan gave me afterhe rescued me from the haunted house is resting on the white bookshelf in front of my battered copy of Anne of Green Gables.

I jump up and grab it, rubbing my thumb over the ears worn smooth by time. When I close my eyes I can still smell the crepe myrtle and feel the wet grass sliding over my ankles. I remember laughing up at him in the moonlight and the way the air was suddenly heavy between us. We were fourteen and it was the first time I realized I wanted to kiss him. I didn’t get my wish until it was too late to do a course correction that would’ve upended all my other dreams.

Mike Callihan always knew how to get under my skin and mash down my buttons. He has no right to question the decisions I’ve made about my career. Then or now.

I can’t believe Mom didn’t tell me he stayed in Willow Creek or that he’s the one who’s been helping her with everything. There’s a part of me that still feels guilty for leaving him behind. I didn’t even say goodbye because he might have convinced me that next to him was where I’d always belonged.

Which is why I didn’t say goodbye. I couldn’t take that chance.

The reasons I left don’t matter, because he’s not the reason I’m back. My career is a train wreck and my mom is stubborn about staying here. I need to figure out how I’m going to get back in the spotlight and convince her to move to New York. I’m subletting my apartment, but it’s a temporary solution.

Tonight is the first big rehearsal and I’m kicking myself for agreeing to do this. Mom is on the town council and she begged me to produce and direct the town’s Christmas pageant this year. When she told me I’d help stageThe Best Christmas Pageant Ever, I couldn’t turn her down. When I left Willow Creek, I was cast as the villain of the story, even though I was nothing like Imogene Herdman. You won’t catch me smoking cigars in the bathroom, but I feel an affinity with her.

The aggressive knock on my office door startles me. The theatre is usually quiet until the kids start trickling in for evening practice around four.

“Come in,” I call.

The burly ginger guy my mom pointed out as the new town sheriff pushes the door open.

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