Within This Frame (22 page)

“Spend New Year’s with me and my dad,” he invited impulsively. Lance went still at his own words, wondering at what point his mouth decided to work without his brain. New Year’s was two months away. A lot could happen in two months. But as he saw her eyes light up, Lance knew he’d said the right thing.

“Are you sure?” Maggie asked, a small frown line between her eyebrows.

“Yes.” And when he said it, Lance believed it.

“Okay. And you’ll come to Christmas with me in Iowa—if you want.” The sun rose, blanketing Maggie’s face in shades of pink, purple, and orange.

Lance opened his mouth to say no, and found himself instead saying yes. He didn’t commit to things unless he initiated them. Giving that control to others was loathsome, except with Maggie, it didn’t feel like he was giving her power over him. It felt like he was trusting her to take care of his heart. It felt good, not bad.

“Enough lollygagging, children,” Denise said brusquely, breaking into their world. “Lance, stand against the rock. Maggie, stand in front him but look off to the side. Lance, get your hands on her hips and stare down at her like she’s everything and more to you. Perfect.”

He found it wasn’t hard to do.

MAGGIE—2010

H
ALF ASLEEP AND
fighting to keep her eyes open against the blinding light overhead, she entered the bathroom and directed her gaze to the mirror. Maggie’s brain registered what she thought was blood. A small, cutoff scream shot forth and she went still, blinking her eyes to get them to work properly. They wanted to cross with sleep and also figure out what she was looking at.

She stepped into the yellow and gray room and focused on the letters painted with red lipstick instead of what she’d thought was blood. She swallowed as she stared, unable to do anything else. The message was simple.

Every time you look in the mirror, tell yourself you’re strong.

Picturing Lance perfectly in her mind saying exactly that, Maggie smiled and whispered, “I’m strong.”

Doing what she went to the bathroom to do, Maggie washed and dried her hands and marched for Lance’s room. The murky dark blue that shone in from the window at the end of the hallway let her know it was really late, or really early, and that he was most likely in bed. The door was cracked open, and she took only a few steps inside before she tripped on something and fell face-first into the wooden bench at the foot of the bed. Maggie’s forehead smacked the corner and she groaned as she slid to the floor.

“What the hell?” a voice thick with sleep demanded.

“Why is the bed over here?” Maggie asked through clenched teeth. The place on her head she’d hit throbbed, faint but noticeable.

The lamp flipped on near the bed, and Lance was awarded a view of her sprawled out on the floor clothed in a tight blue shirt, minus a bra, and short pink shorts with hearts, clutching her head of snarled hair.

He slowly walked toward her, staring down at her. “Why? Are you trying to seduce me? If so, your aim is off. Although, you definitely get points for your outfit. Love the no-bra look on you.”

“That’s not where the bench or bed is supposed to be.”

“I know. I was making myself more accessible to you.” When her expression remained unchanged, Lance added, “The bed was too close to the wall behind it. It bothered me. If I’d known you were going to sneak in my room in the middle of the night, I would have told you.”

Maggie dropped her hand from her head and glared at him. Lance jerked, eyes widening with something that resembled horror, and fell to the floor beside her. She didn’t understand his inclination to be near her until she felt something wet and warm slide down the side of her face.

“You dented your forehead,” he said in bafflement.

“It’s fine. I’m fine.”

Lance yanked his shirt over his head and pressed it against her temple. “You’re bleeding. You’re not fine.”

His eyes met hers, hair rumpled and jaw unshaven. The warmth and smell of his skin lingered on the article of clothing and proceeded to make her dizzy. She looked down and swallowed. Lance removed the shirt and checked the wound.

“You have a perfect hole in your temple,” he mused, looking torn between humor and dismay.

“Is it done bleeding?”

“Yes. I don’t think stitches are required.” He smiled. “If I may ask, what were you doing?”

“You left a message in the bathroom for me.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. There also is not one on the mirror in the basement, in case you decide to exercise in the middle of the night or something. Fair warning.” His feigned innocence was ruined by the tipped up corners of his mouth.

Lance got to his feet, the view of his toned body making her throat parched, and left the room. He returned a minute later with a bandage.

“I just want to know, out of morbid curiosity more than anything, where you got the red lipstick? Or is that something you carry around for your nefarious dealings, like the bobby pins?”

Lance paused. “Nefarious dealings,” he repeated slowly. “I like that, but alas, I cannot take credit for the lipstick. It was in your medicine cabinet.”

She couldn’t recall the last time she’d applied makeup, and having no idea what she did or did not have for cosmetics, what he said was probably true. “You’re such a snoop.”

Meeting Maggie’s eyes as he crouched before her, he carefully brushed back her hair and placed it on her forehead. “There. All better.”

“I appreciate the note, but I’m not cleaning up the lipstick,” she told him, trying to sound firm but weakening when she looked at him. Those words were sweet, and needed.

Lance shrugged. “Okay. I just thought you could use a reminder. It’s not a big deal.”

They sat beside one another on the wood floor, the coolness of it seeping into her bare legs. The silence was unusually peaceful. Maggie had decorated the guest bedroom with softened masculinity in mind. The furniture was dark wood, the paintings on the walls those of forests and creeks. The bedding was chocolate brown and Lance’s scent was present—expensive cologne and soap. He’d overtaken the space, but she didn’t resent that, like she would have a few weeks ago.

Under the dim light of a bedside lamp, Maggie reached for his hand. She squeezed, liking the size and feel of his hand around hers, missing the touch of it over the span of countless days, months, and years.

“It is a big deal,” she insisted. “I did need a reminder. Honestly, I’ve needed about a lifetime of them. But I’m going to try not to forget it from now on. Thank you.” Maggie looked up, every good thing about her found in Lance’s eyes as he stared back at her. She could see the strength he saw in her.

“I did love her,” he murmured.

Her eyebrows lowered. “Who?”

“Olivia.”

She tried to pull her hand away, not wanting to hear about his ex-wife, and he tightened his grip.

“Lance, I don’t want—”

He lowered his gaze to their joined hands. “But it was different, not like how it was when I was with you. I’ve never felt that with anyone but you. I expected you to tell me to go when I showed up here. I knew it was a bad idea from the start. I was nervous about seeing you.” He shook his head. “I don’t get nervous, and I was nervous.”

“I’ve seen you nervous,” she whispered.

His smile was sad as he nodded. “Yeah. A time or two.” Lance took a deep breath. “I’ve never forgotten a single detail about you, Maggie, not one. When I saw you . . . nothing was going to make me leave.”

Tone dry, she said, “What about the police?”

“Maybe them.” His smile grew.

The sound of chirping birds commenced, and Lance got to his feet. He took his cell phone from the nightstand and silenced the alarm. Maggie’s eyes traveled along his broad back, flat stomach, and defined arms. He was more solid than she remembered, but then, she was softer. Instead of feeling bad about it, like she generally would, she accepted it with a wry smile. She was heavier than she used to be, but there wasn’t a person in the world that could tell her she wasn’t healthier. Maggie’s smile grew. She was finally getting it.
That
was the right frame of mind.

“What are you smiling about?” he wondered.

“I used to be a lot skinnier.”

Lance’s expression darkened.

“Let me finish,” she said, getting to her feet. “But I’m healthier now, regardless of how big or small I am. Three weeks to notice a change, you said. I thought that was only physically, but I understand now that it’s mentally as well.”

Eyes bright, Lance grinned. “Now you’re getting it.” He moved to the dresser and took out a charcoal-colored tee shirt. “You know what else you’re getting?”

“No?” she asked warily.

“A run. Be ready in fifteen.”

“It’s five in the morning! My alarm doesn’t go off for another hour.” Maggie didn’t think she’d be able to go back to sleep, but it was the principle of the thing.

“And yet here we are, awake and stuff. Might as well make the most of it, right?” Lance lowered his voice as he said, “Unless you have something else in mind with which to occupy ourselves until six? I admit, I would have to rush, but I think I could manage it.”

“An hour wouldn’t be enough for you, huh? Funny, I don’t recall it taking that long.” She crossed her arms, trying not to smile, and waited for his comeback.

“That’s because you don’t remember things accurately, with it being so long ago. The years have muddled your brain, faded unforgettable moments to allow the loss to be better accepted by you. I can remind you, if you like.” Fire and mirth danced inside his eyes.

“Hmm.” Doubt covered the sound like sugar on a doughnut.

“We could test it out, just to prove or disprove me.” Lance winked.

She laughed. “Maybe another time. I wouldn’t want to put too much pressure on you and have you fail to live up to your potential.”

“I like pressure,” he promised.

Maggie scowled at him, but when he lifted an eyebrow, she headed for her bedroom.

She met him in the kitchen twelve minutes later. Protein snack and water ingested, they set off for a 3-mile trail near the Port of Dubuque. It was a good mile or so to get there, the air brisk enough to make her nose cold. Maggie’s house was located in a cul-de-sac, each house separated by trees on either side to offer semi-privacy. With the sun down and barely a light on in a window or a vehicle moving on the streets, it was eerie and calm.

“Do you miss acting at all?”

Maggie glanced at Lance, his expression hidden with shadows. “Not really. I guess I miss . . . the power of it, the ability to change into another person, even if they aren’t real. Fictional characters, however complex they appear, are so much simpler than trying to figure out real life.”

It was a few minutes before Lance spoke again. “What made you decide you wanted to act?”

She shrugged, eyes forward as they walked. “Do you remember the movie ‘The Neverending Story’?”

“Yeah. Sure. Everyone our age should know about that movie.”

“It was that movie. Not a single actor, or character, but all of them. They made magic. If a bunch of kids could do that, I didn’t know why I couldn’t. I was eleven when I decided it was something I wanted to try. I fantasized about being in the movie, any movie, actually. I had most of the lines memorized and I would act in front of my mirror. It seemed like the perfect existence—being adored by millions of people, feeling like I belonged somewhere. I wanted to be someone else.”

“Let’s not forget the most important detail—you fantasized about me too.”

Maggie grinned. “You’re right, I did. You were so cute, all arrogant and vulnerable at the same time. You always played bad-ass characters, but there was sadness in your eyes. You nailed the heartthrob role.”

Lance puffed out his chest and nodded. “My biggest role, and it didn’t even have anything to do with actual talent. Everyone loves a pretty face.” The self-mockery was clear.

“You weren’t just a pretty face,” she told him, bumping her arm against his.

“I know, I had a luscious body too.”

“Luscious?” Maggie snorted.

Lance shrugged, grin in place. “Let’s move on. You were telling me about your acting dream.”

Maggie tightened her ponytail holder as they crossed a dimly lit street. “I begged my parents to let me take acting lessons. They didn’t understand why I suddenly had it in my head that that was what I wanted to do, but I wouldn’t drop it. I went months where it was all I talked about. I watched television nonstop, just paying attention to facial expressions and actions, the emotions the actors put in their words. I was obsessed. They finally agreed to the acting classes after I promised not to give up halfway through and that it wouldn’t affect my grades.”

“Then what?”

She glanced at him. “Are you really interested in this?”

“I really am.”

“After about a year of acting classes, my acting coach felt I was ready to try out for roles in school and community plays.”

“And?”

Maggie smiled at the memory of the joy and shock that made her giddy as she began to get leading roles, the purpose she felt when she got up on stage and transformed herself into another being. She was made to be an actress. She’d known that at the young age of twelve. Few realized such truths about themselves then, and some never did.

“And I blew them all away, Lance.” Her cheeks hurt with the force of her smile. “I got the leads in a lot of plays, won awards, and when my parents realized how serious I was about it, they got me a respectable agent. I was fourteen when I was flown to Virginia to try out for the role of Cecilia Monroe. You know the rest.”

“I know some of it, not all.” His expression was lined with seriousness.

“What do you want to know?” she asked softly, the start of their running trail up ahead.

“When did you become anorexic? Before or during the show?”

Even with the gentle way he asked it, the questions stole her breath and made her insides freeze.

“I don’t like talking about it,” she muttered.

“I know, Maggie. A lot of why we didn’t work falls on me. I know that, I accept that, but . . . I wasn’t the only one with things going on—seriously messed up things.”