Page 18 of Close Match
Simon and I exchange glances. “Both of our contracts say a ‘reasonable bereavement period,’” Simon begins.
“Two weeks isn’t reasonable,” Bristol snaps. I agree, but I need to point something out to my distraught sister.
“Bris, I might be able to get away with that, but Simon won’t be able to. He may love Mom like his own, but our contracts state ‘immediate family.’” I knock on wood. “Unless it were Marco, he wouldn’t be able to remain out of the show indefinitely.”
“What a load of crap.” Bristol begins pacing back and forth.
“If Simon goes back, I should as well. We need to show a unified front. Besides—” My voice breaks. “It’s what Mom would want.”
Bristol stops in place, facing me. Tears fill her eyes. “Yeah, she would.”
“I don’t think you should go back to the firm until after your doctor’s appointment next week though,” I argue vehemently. I’m so concerned about the added stress my mother’s death has put on my sister’s pregnancy.
“I promise, I won’t,” she assures me.
Turning to Simon, I hesitantly ask, “So, should we say the matinee on Saturday? If it goes well, we’ll stay for Saturday night?”
He gives me a tight nod. While we’d both love nothing more than to walk away and not look back, we know we’d essentially be causing the shutdown ofMiss Me.
Saturday it is.
* * *
The standing ovationat Sunday night’s performance leaves me feeling empty. As I lower myself into a curtsy for the third time, the applause thunders through the theater, but it’s muffled as if I’m standing in a sound booth. Was the stage supposed to restart the emotions that have been trickling away every moment since Mom died?
Simon gently tugs at my hand. We’re both feeling this. Since the first time since he met my sister, he forgot his tradition of dousing his breath with something heinous. Then again, his lips also landed somewhere in the vicinity of one of my dimples. With the way my body was bent, no one could tell but us. It just was another glaring reminder of how off our game we were.
We didn’t deserve these ovations; truth be told we didn’t deserve to be on the stage. With an aching heart, I make my way back to my dressing room and close the door so I can change and go home. Tomorrow, I’ll try to dance away the heartbreak in my soul.
If that’s even possible.
Ten
Evangeline
June
I’m about to slip out the door when my cell rings. “What’s up, Bris?”
“You need to come over to Mom’s.” Her voice is subdued.
I take a deep breath and let it out in a shudder. I haven’t been to my mother’s in weeks, not since the first few days after her death when Bristol and I picked out her outfit for her viewing. Bristol’s been back a few times alone to mark the items we decided we wanted to keep before the auctioneers come through. Although the proceeds of Mom’s penthouse will be donated to charity, there are still family items which need to be removed.
“I’ll be right there.” Quickly, I disconnect. Figuring whatever it is won’t take too long, I snatch up my dance bag and stride out the door. While I won’t make it to the first class, I should be able to get in a decent workout today.
And bury my feelings of grief for a little while longer.
Stepping inside the elevator, I press “2” instead of “L.” Mom’s building is connected to mine through the fitness facility floor. Pulling out my access pass, I use it to buzz in before striding over to the elevator bank that will lead me directly to her penthouse. I key in the code and use the dongle on my keys to gain access to the elevator that will open directly into her much more modern setup.
I brace myself for the essence of her that hasn’t left the space. As I enter, I reach out to touch the cashmere coat handing on a coat tree. She was wearing it the day she had lunch with Bristol and me at Wolf’s shortly before her death. Tears gather in my eyes as I remember Lance and his mother backstage. They were so gracious.
Bristol and Simon are waiting on the couch. There’s a box sitting on Mom’s glass coffee table. “Mom’s gonna freak if she sees that on her…” And the realization Mom won’t ever see that coffee box is like a shaft of cold steel in my chest. I blink rapidly to keep the tears at bay.
My sister stands, her face pale, and steps around Simon to hold out her hands. “Mom wouldn’t care if the box was on her table knowing we found what was in it, Linnie.”
Shit. A shiver runs through me. “Why do I just feel like someone danced on my grave?” I bravely try to joke.
“It’s not your grave—or should I say ashes—that should be shaking. It’s your mother’s,” Simon says brutally.
