Nana Bett had opted to stay in the shop and keep an eye on things while Gunther took Lunk back home and Misty, Bill, and Fiona headed to the Lady Bird.
“I used to run the till for a soda shop when I was a teen. It can’t have changed that much,” Nana said.
Misty was surprised to find she was right. Bill used an ancient cash register, which sat on the counter like a relic from a bygone age. He must have a device somewhere for taking credit cards. The idea of manually accepting money and making change seemed archaic. Didn’t he realize that payments could be done electronically now? She hadn’t set foot in her bank in a decade, and that was just fine by her. “Better to live through technology” was Misty’s motto.
With Nana installed behind the counter wearing a paper Chocolate Heaven hat, her head barely showing over the dinosaur of a cash register, they started for the hotel. Fiona stayed close to Bill, sucking on her red lollipop. Vivian met them in front, Tinka cradled in her arms.
“Of course the dog is incorrigible,” Vivian said, as if they arrived smack-dab in the middle of some sort of diatribe. “Look at the owner.”
Misty figured a direct approach was best. “Where’s Jellybean?”
Vivian’s eyes narrowed, cheeks framed by tendrils of hair that frizzed out from her braid. “Tinka’s been lethargic, so I thought some fresh air might help. I was walking her on the trail that borders the field where the film is shooting. It wasn’t because I wanted to see Lawrence or anyone else, of course. That’s just our route.”
“But where’s…” Misty started again.
“I’m not going to change things because of some celebrity visitors, even the high-and-mighty Lawrence Tucker.” She stroked the dog, running her fingers through her silky hair. “He might as well live in a castle now, but I’ll always know he’s just a foster kid from Fresno, and he can’t pretend that away as much as he tries.” Tinka licked her owner’s chin, and Vivian cuddled her close. “Acting is lying for a living, and Lawrence can’t recognize the truth anymore.”
“Vivian!” Misty said so loudly that the woman jumped. “Where’s Jellybean?”
She blinked. “As I said, I was walking along the field, and that horrible dog ran up, leash trailing. I shooed him away, even shouted at him, but he would not leave us alone. What choice did I have really?” She shook her head. “Lawrence never gave me choices. It was love me or don’t, but he was never the one who had to sacrifice.”
Misty opened her mouth to vent the frustration building in her belly when Bill stopped her with a hand on her forearm. She couldn’t fully interpret his expression, but she’d seen it before, and she knew it probably meant “Stop talking.” So she did.
Bill smiled at Vivian. “Lawrence is a piece of work, for sure. So Jellybean wouldn’t leave you and Tinka alone? So you did what with him exactly?”
“Took him to Lawrence’s trailer. I banged on that door for ten minutes. Lawrence shouted that he wasn’t coming out, that he needed time to center himself or some such drivel. I hollered loud enough to wake the dead. I told him to put on his big-boy, real-world pants and come get his disgusting dog, but he refused to open the door. Can you believe that?”
Misty could. Who wouldn’t want to stay in a nice, quiet trailer when a lady was hollering just outside the door?
“And you brought Jellybean back here,” Bill prompted.
“No.”
Misty could feel all her life juices turning to steam. Again, Bill squeezed her forearm.
“Then where’s the dog, Vivian?” he said.
“I tied him to the door of Lawrence’s trailer. Then I came back and called you.”
Misty exhaled her tension in a big whoosh of air. Without another word, she about-faced to start the long walk back to Lawrence’s trailer.
“How about we take the golf cart?” Bill said when he caught up to her.
She thought about it. Riding next to him meant making small talk, an activity that pained her. Finally, after struggling during the course of her relationship with Jack, she’d learned that small talk was invented merely to pass the time, and letting the conversation drift from topic to topic without reaching a specific answer or conclusion was okay. She’d always be grateful to Jack for helping her reach that epiphany. Still, she wasn’t good at it, and it was even harder when a handsome man was involved. “Um…I should walk. Good exercise.”
“You’ve had enough exercise. Let me drive you.” He gave her a wink. “I’ll just chitchat, and you don’t have to chime in. How about that?”
She started. How did he know? The wink would indicate a joke, but what if he really meant he would do all the talking and she could just listen? What would it be like simply to stay quiet and listen to the talk of the man with the electric eyes and boyish grin?
“Actually, this isn’t a hard decision. Come on.” He took Fiona’s hand again, and they walked back to the shop. Gunther had returned, and he and Nana Bett were chatting, so Bill filled them in before he guided Fiona and Misty into the golf cart.
Bill did indeed shoulder the whole conversation back to the field, she was delighted to discover.
“Vivian and Lawrence sure have some kind of prickly past,” he said in between giggles from Fiona as they hit a pothole that Misty suspected he had intentionally aimed for. He nodded conspiratorially at Misty. “Giggles are the only sound she makes, so I like to hear them.”
To hear them and, she suspected, to savor the sounds as if they were precious notes strung together. She remembered the first time her father had spoken after the tubes were finally removed, the frightening machines rolled away. The light of recognition in his eyes funneled into the one joyful syllable: “Here.”
I’m here. God brought me back. I love you. She’d heard it all in that single precious sound.
“Wonder what happened between Lawrence and Vivian.” Bill shot her a glance. “I know, not my concern. My mom tells me I should mind my own business, but being curious is the only way I’ve learned things in my life. Everything from how to reassemble an engine to the best way to chocolate dip a strawberry.” He laughed. “I guess curiosity is a good thing, to a degree.”
She concurred. Curiosity—that burning desire to know everything about the violin—had fallen on her like burning ash, lighting a passion inside that was still as bright as it was when she was eight years old. Misty Agnelli was not sure of many things in her life, but she knew without a doubt that God meant for her to love the violin.
Listening to Bill was akin to playing a light and airy melody. His words danced along like her bow on the strings, unfettered by her own awkward conversational contributions. How sweet just to listen without the tension of having to reply.
“You know,” he said, “no pressure, but if you have something to say, I’m all ears. I don’t mean to hog the conversation.”
“I like to listen to you talk.” Immediately after the words had left her mouth, her face grew fiery, and she wished she could reel her idiotic utterance back in.
But Bill just kept on driving, hitting every bump and pothole, collecting each giggle from Fiona. Misty held on and collected them too. She’d never noticed before how much human laughter could sound like music. She would write down the observation in her newest journal, the most recent addition to her pile of fifty-odd volumes crammed with her wonderings. Music and laughter—how similar, how precious.
They reached Lawrence’s trailer, and Misty’s stomach tightened. There was no dog tied anywhere that she could see. Perhaps Lawrence had relented and come to his senses. He and Jellybean must be hunkered down and centering themselves, whatever that meant, and the film shoot would resume. She could find another dog trainer or maybe an out-of-work musician who could play the violin all day to keep Jellybean in check. Hope sprang anew in her heart.
She knocked on the door. “Mr. Tucker? I mean, Lawrence? It’s Misty Agnelli. Are you and Jellybean okay?”
The inside of the trailer was still and quiet. They might be napping, but Jellybean could hear a potato chip drop at fifty paces, so he wouldn’t sleep through Misty’s assertive knocking.
Now her optimism began to waver, and worry took its place. She pulled the latch on the door and opened it a crack.
“Mr. Tucker?” she called into the gap.
Bill moved by her and pushed inside. “I’d better check.”
She followed him, and Fiona climbed in behind them. The trailer was empty. No sign of the actor or his dog.
“Where is he?” Misty said aloud.
Bill picked up a piece of paper from the table and frowned. “I’m not sure, but I think you’d better read this. It’s addressed to you.”
Bill watched as she snatched the paper and read it. Twice. “I know the words, but I don’t get what he’s trying to say.”
“Read it aloud. Maybe I can pick up the gist.”
“My dear Misty,” she read. “My heart is heavy, burdened. How I admire you for being able to lose yourself in your music, to cast off your worries and sink yourself deep. I am disturbed of soul and spirit, and I must depart for a while to find my center, to”—she squinted at the handwriting—“reconnect myself with my essence.” She quirked a brow at Bill.
“He’s taking a break,” he translated.
“All that to say he needs a vacation?”
“Actors.”
She read the last part. “I will return when I have done so. I commit him into your tender care until my return.” She stared at Bill. “What does he mean ‘commit him into my tender care’?”
Like a perfectly cued line from a film, at that moment Larry nudged open the door with his foot. He sported an oven mitt on each hand, and clasped between them was a snarling Jellybean.
Larry held the dog as if he were an unexploded mortar. “He was tied to my door with a note that said I should watch him until you got here. Uh-uh. I don’t get paid enough for that. Here.”
He thrust the dog at Misty, and Jellybean set about happily licking her chin.
“But—” she started.
“Forget it.” Larry slammed out the door. “I’m outta here.”
Misty stared at the dog, who kept winding up in her arms in spite of her best efforts. “How long does it take someone to reconnect with their essence?”
Bill searched for something helpful to offer. “Good question. I’ve never really known anyone to do that. Most people I know take a weekend trip and come back refreshed.”
“But Lawrence Tucker is not most people.”
“You’re right about that.”
She stared at the dog and sank into the kitchen chair. Jellybean continued his licking, his nose quivering at the sight of Fiona. “I just can’t get rid of this creature.” It came out as a whimper, and she bit her lip. “And I want to go home.”
Bill settled into the chair opposite, his nosiness getting the better of him. “May I ask, if it’s not too personal, why you’re so miserable here? I mean, they’re paying you to stay in a beach town on a movie set. Most people would jump at the chance.”
“I guess I’m like Lawrence Tucker. Neither of us are like most people.”
He sat quietly, studying her.
The quiet appeared to tease an admission out of her. “I don’t like change. It…scares me. I want things to be normal and routine.”
“Your grandmother said you, er, became a bit more tentative after your father’s accident.”
She blushed. “Yes, my natural reclusive tendencies went out of control when my father was hit by a car while he was walking the dog. They didn’t think he would live.” She expelled a slow breath. “We lived in a really small town outside San Bernardino, and this parade of people, literally dozens of them, would arrive every day at home or at the hospital, and I heard them whisper all the things the doctors said. Broken neck, possible infection, ruptured spleen. I wanted them all to leave.” The words seemed to explode from her. “If they would just leave us alone, I knew Dad would get better.”
Bill nodded, waiting for the rest.
“I sort of stopped wanting to be around people. I would hide under my dad’s bed and refuse to go to school. If I could just stay with him and be quiet and keep the people away, I knew he would be okay.”
“And he healed?”
“Yes. God brought my father back to us. He recovered almost completely, but…I guess I didn’t. I never got over that feeling of wanting to stay under the bed and be invisible.” Jellybean sniffed the knee of her jeans. “I stick to my regular routine and I’m okay.”
“Does your routine include other people?” Again, a nosy question.
She started. “Of course. I see Nana regularly and my family. I have five siblings.”
“When you see them, is it in person or on Skype?”
“Both,” she mumbled. “I know what you’re thinking. Lawrence gave me a talk about letting my light shine too, but I’ve learned I can shine my light just fine using Skype and writing notes to people, or by the occasional phone call.”
“Those are good things, but rubbing elbows with people is pretty good too.”
“God would not have made me so prone to social disaster if He wanted me to rub elbows.”
Bill chuckled. “I’ve had my own share of public disasters, for sure. So…no boyfriend in your life? Whoops, sorry. Not my business.”
“I dated a man while I was earning my master’s in music. Jack was a part-time saxophonist and a business major. I used to go out more. With him. We went to museums and flea markets and coffee shops, and I got better at that rubbing elbows thing, but he’s gone now.”
He saw a flicker of pain cross her face.
“He loves someone else.” Jellybean licked her cheeks, and she buried her face in his silky coat.
“Oh. I’m sorry. Believe me, I know how that feels.”
“It’s perfectly logical,” Misty babbled. “His fiancée is extremely pretty, and she’s a party planner. Her name is Jill, so it’s funny—Jack and Jill. She’s so confident. It’s as if she owns the room wherever she goes. I’ve never felt that way.”
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “My girlfriend in high school was like that. She had a million-dollar smile that lit up my soul. We dated for three years, and I never could figure out why a girl like that went out with a guy like me.”
“Why didn’t you stay together?”
“I would have, but she found someone else too. Someone smarter.” The word sounded harsh, and he wished he could take it back.
Misty looked puzzled. “But you’re really smart, and everyone likes you.”
“Smart? No. That’s for people with schooling and degrees and such.”
“People don’t need degrees to be smart.”
“How many?”
“What?”
“How many degrees do you have?”
She stroked Jellybean’s wiry topknot. “Well, um, I have a BA and a master’s in music theory.”
“And?”
“Well, and…I’ve started on a PhD.”
“But if you didn’t have any of those things, would you still feel like you were smart?”
“I never really thought about it. My family is full of academic types. It was never a question about whether or not to get a degree, but rather which ones.”
“My family is the academic type too, but I’m not.” Don’t say another word, Bill, not another word.
“Nana doesn’t have a degree, and she’s the smartest person I know.”
Did she really believe that? Well-meaning people would often voice similar sentiments. You’re smart in a different way, Bill. Just not in the way that allowed a fellow to succeed, that paved the way for a man to earn dignity and respect enough to hold his head up.
How could a man feel smart when he couldn’t fill out a job application? When he had to order a hamburger at every restaurant he ever went to because he couldn’t decipher the menu? How would Misty look at him if she knew? He glanced away and cleared his throat. “Anyway, if you really need to get back home, I’ll take Jellybean for you.”
She gaped. “You would do that?”
“Sure. He can hang out in the chocolate shop until Lawrence comes back.”
Misty looked as though she’d won the lottery. She could go home. He shook off a touch of sadness.
“That would be really nice of you.”
He shrugged. “It’s okay. Come here, dog-o.”
Misty gathered him up to hand over to Bill. Jellybean began to whine.
“Fine way to treat a guy,” Bill said as he took the end of the leash.
Misty Agnelli looked as though the weight of the world had been lifted off her shoulders. She was free.