Second Time Around (33 page)

“You only get so many chances, Lane. What do I repeatedly tell you kids?”

“‘Always audition. There’s everything to gain.’”

He rocked in his chair. “Hollywood casting directors don’t come this far that often. You had nothing to lose.”

She could barely get out the words. “I know.”

“As for our little production? It’s cast, Lane. I had to go with the best of the kids who tried out.”

“Melissa.”

He shrugged.

“I’m too late.”

“‘For though we sleep or wake, or roam, or ride, ay fleeth the time, it nil no man abide.’”

“Huh?”

“Chaucer.
Canterbury Tales.
Time waits for no man. Or woman.”

“Don’t I know it.”

“You know it now.”

Now that it was too late.

He sat forward. “Why? Why didn’t—?” He sat back. “No. Don’t tell me. Because there are always a thousand reasons not to do anything. It all comes down to your passion. Do you want it enough to step over the obstacles, move through them? Obviously you didn’t.”

She pushed her hands on her eyes, trying to keep the tears in. “I don’t know what I want. I thought I did, but—”

The bell rang, ending lunch. Ending further discussion.

Ending so many things.

Though Lane certainly knew two wrongs didn’t make a right, after her discussion with Mr. Dobbins about how she’d messed up by not trying out for the movie or the school production, there was no way she could go to any classes.

She walked home. If she got in trouble, she’d deal with it—one of the advantages of being a good girl was having adults cut her a bit of slack once in a while. Today she needed all the slack she could get.

She was glad both her parents worked. The house was empty—except for Grandma. But that was okay. Sure, Grandma would give her a hard time and slip some advice into the mix. But whatever it was would be better than her own messed-up thoughts.

Lane didn’t even try to be quiet, afraid of scaring Grandma by slipping in unannounced. She closed the door with a solid
click.
“Grandma?”

She came out of the kitchen, a bottle of mustard in her hand. “’Lantic Ocean, child. What are you doing home? You sick?”

Lane pointed to the mustard. “Whatcha making?”

“Bologna sandwiches. Want one?”

“Two would be good.”

Grandma raised an eyebrow. “Since when does the bird eat two sandwiches?”

“Messing up my life makes me hungry.”

“Then two it is.”

Lane helped make sandwiches, peel bananas, and pour milk. Grandma didn’t ask any questions until they sat down and took a bite.

“There. Fuel in. Now information out. What’s going on?”

Lane told her all about Brandy’s fight with Melissa and the talk with Mr. Dobbins. “I blew it. I gave up two auditions for nothing.”

“Not for nothing. For that good-for-nothing boyfriend of yours.”

Oh no. Grandma didn’t know about the engagement.

“Uh-oh. Your face looks guilty as a politician on the news.” The old woman pointed a banana at her. “Spill it. What’s Toby done now?”

The words came out in a rush. “He asked me to marry him. His grandpa has some land south of town, and it has trees and a great view and Toby says we can have it, and he’ll build me a house and we’ll live—”

“He bribed you with land?”

“No!”
Kinda. Sorta.

Grandma shook her head. “What is it with women and land? First Scarlett O’Hara messes up her life for Tara, then I marry your granddad for a cracker box on the edge of town, now you.”

Lane hadn’t heard this story. “What cracker box? You lived in a nice house.”

“Yeah, well… it took me sixteen years to get from the cracker box to the house you knew—a decent house. But it served me right for marrying the wrong man for the wrong reasons.”

Lane wasn’t sure she wanted to hear this. “Didn’t you love Granddad?”

“Eventually. Sure. Enough, I suppose.”

“What’s enough?”

“Enough to get by.” She put the uneaten banana on her plate. “Don’t settle, child. Not with marriage, not with your dreams, not with your life. If you do, you’ll end up like me.”

Lane didn’t know what to say. “Aren’t you happy?”

She shrugged and ran a finger along the curve of the banana. “A person learns to make do, find their happiness where it’s sitting.” She looked up at Lane. “But that doesn’t mean it’s the happiness that could’ve been. ‘Course, we’ll never know that for sure. Not unless somebody comes up with a way to go back and try things a second time. And I’m not holding my breath for that one.”

Lane pushed her plate away. “The trouble is, I really love Toby. And I know he loves me. He’s a wonderful guy.”

“I know.”

It was Lane’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “You know? You act like you hate him.”

“Hate’s a strong word, better left for the Hitlers of the world. Toby
is
a good guy. As for him loving you and you him? No way for a third party like me to judge such a thing. Love’s a bigger gamble than cards.”

“Then why don’t you like him?”

“Because he’s making you waver like a centerline painted over a bump. If you don’t know what you want to do with your life, you can’t get hooked up with someone else who doesn’t know either. Both halves of a couple need to be strong and look out for each other’s best interests. If they don’t, then you’ll live life like a chicken with its head cut off, bouncing around, getting nowhere, ’til you fall down from exhaustion, ready to die.”

Lane laughed nervously. “That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think?”

“Hey. Life can be pretty dramatic—and not in a good way either.”

Lane tore the edge off a piece of bologna that had strayed past the bread. “So what do I do?”

“About the engagement or your talent?”

“Both.”

“Be engaged. I don’t care. Just take it slow and don’t be rushed into any plans until you’re ready. As for your talent? I’d like to be all sympathetic, comforting and tell you not to worry, there’s always another audition; but that isn’t true. Some doors are opened only once.”

“That’s depressing.”

She shrugged. “I can’t make gold from brass no matter how hard I try. Let it go. Move on.” She flicked the tip of Lane’s nose. “And don’t miss another chance.”

“I won’t.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

“Good. Now eat your bologna, child.”

The doorbell rang and Lane knew who it would be.

As soon as the door opened, Brandy stormed in. Toby was right behind her. “What happened? Why did you leave school?”

In light of Brandy’s brawl with Melissa it seemed a dumb question, but Lane led them up to her room to answer it. Once Brandy was settled on the bed and Toby in the rocker by the window, she stood between them and told them about Mr. Dobbins.

“So he won’t let you have the part of Juliet?” Brandy asked. “Because everyone knows you’re the best.”

“You are,” Toby said. “I may pretend otherwise, but you are.”

Suddenly all the tears she’d held in while with her teacher and Grandma Nellie burst out. “You guys are super. I’m this mixed-up mess, yet you stick by me.”

Brandy let out a breath. “Oh dear.”

“What?”

She rolled her eyes. “I feel a group hug coming up.”

Brandy was right.

Brandy went home, and Toby and Lane stood on the porch, saying their good-byes. But after a dozen kisses, Lane’s mother drove in the driveway, home from work, and Lane pushed away from Toby’s embrace.

He pulled her back. “Surely we can kiss in front of your mom. We’re engaged.”

Lane heard her mother go in the kitchen door. “I’d better go inside.”

Toby stared at her. “You haven’t told them, have you?”

“I…” There was no way out. “No. Not yet.”

He backed away from her. “I tell everyone at school, I tell my parents, I’m ready to yell it from the rooftops… Who
have
you told?”

She was going to say Brandy, but even that wasn’t true. Then she remembered. “Grandma knows.”

The air left him. “I’m sure she’s thrilled.”

Lane sidled up next to him, taking his hand. “She said it was fine to be engaged but suggested we take it slow. Not rush into anything.”

“Don’t you want a summer wedding?”

Not this summer.
“We’ll see.”

“My mom was going to call your mom because she wants to help with the planning.”

Lane placed her palm against his. “That can still happen. Let’s just let
us
get used to the idea first.”

He pulled his hand away. “Get used to it? I’ve wanted to marry you for months. I thought you felt the same.”

“I… I do.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets and walked down the steps. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Toby…”

She watched him drive away.

Bangor—1958

It was quitting time and David had gotten little accomplished. He’d been consumed with thoughts of Millie—anger at Millie. Why was she being so difficult? He’d tried to think of some incident, some starting point that might have spurred her to change from loving and cooperative into this argumentative, difficult woman, but he could not. It seemed to have come on one snide comment at a time, gaining strength as she put into practice this absurd assertiveness. She was slipping out of his control. Out of his world.