Chapter 31

She pressed his number on her cell for the tenth time. Or maybe it was the twentieth. Again it went directly to voice mail. He’d turned it off. He never turned off his cell. Why would he turn off his cell? One of two reasons. He didn’t want to hear from her . . . or he was somewhere where he couldn’t have his cell on. Such as a hospital or a theater, a theater that was featuring a dance performance.

She hurried over to the wings of the stage and whispered to the stage manager. “Do you see any photographers out there?”

“Photographers? Seriously, Anne? There are like thirty photographers out there.”

“Yeah, but a really good-looking one? Just shy of six feet tall? Thick light brown hair? Gorgeous chocolate brown eyes?”

Marley shook her head and laughed. “Do you want me to go out there and check them all out?”

“Actually—”

“Sorry, I have my hands full back here. Show starts in ten.” Marley gave her a stern look. “And don’t get any ideas. You’re not going out there either!”

Anne felt Denny’s hand on her back. “It will be okay, honey. You’ll get a hold of him after the show.”

“It would be better if I heard his voice now. Before the performance.”

“You did much better in the dress rehearsal today.”

“Still not good enough.”

“Are you kidding? You were incredible. No one will know you’re in a deep depression.”

Her lower lip tucked under in a pout. “I’m not in a deep depression. I’m just . . . sad is all.”

He kissed her on the forehead. “Sorry, but I’ve never seen you this sad before.”

“Anne!” She heard her name being called from the backstage dressing room.

“What is it, Liz?”

“Delivery. For you.”

“Delivery?”

“Yeah, some flowers and something else.” She held it up. “A magazine.”

“A magazine?”

“Yeah, with your picture on the cover.”

Anne pushed past anyone who happened to be in her path until she reached her friend. She left her holding the gorgeous bouquet of white roses and lilacs and took the magazine from her hand. There on the cover was a picture of her, staring into his eyes, not even knowing he was there. Only she knew now.

“Wow, he really captured you, didn’t he?” Denny stood beside her, looking at the picture.

“Yeah, his timing is perfect.”

“Just like him?”

“Yeah, just like him.” She reached around Denny’s waist and held on. “What if I never see him again? What if he left? What if I chased him away?”

“Seriously, girl?” Denny pointed toward the bouquet. “You think he dropped these gifts off because he doesn’t ever want to see you again?”

“You think he still loves me? Do you think he loves me enough to put up with my lifestyle? With my bullshit? With me?”

Denny laughed and slipped an arm around her shoulders. “Come on, honey. We have a few minutes before we’re on. Let’s go see what he wrote.”

They sat together on the floor in the corridor outside the dressing room. Anne cautiously opened the magazine to Chris’s article. There must have been sixteen pictures of her, including the one with Sara’s arms wrapped around her waist.

Denny pointed to the one of him holding Anne over his head. “Looks like I made the cut. He must have liked my sexy muscles.”

Anne slapped him gently across the stomach with the back of her hand, even as she fought the tears that were threatening to wreak havoc with her stage makeup.

“Anne, Denny, on stage in five,” Marley’s voice rang out.

“Read fast,” Denny said.

“You.”

Denny nodded and scanned the article, reading aloud the most pertinent points. “’Some people are born to live and breathe their art. We call them artists. They tell stories with their bodies . . . move as if they’re flying . . . intoxicating . . . inspiring . . . exude power and control . . . express their deepest feelings and make us feel ours in the process . . . they expose their souls . . .transcend the ordinary . . . ” Denny sighed. “Wow, he understands dance, doesn’t he?”

Anne nudged him. “Keep reading.”

“’We need to respect them as the artists they are, and not try to control them or subdue them and not attempt to separate them from their art, because pursuing their art is their way of loving themselves.’”

Anne shivered and wondered if Chris had gone and talked to Arielle too.

“’If we try to control or stifle them, we risk destroying them and their spirit. And in doing that, we destroy what we love most about them . . . . We all benefit from their ability to love their art so deeply . . . . ’”

“On stage in one,” Marley’s voice again.

Anne reached over to close the magazine with one hand while she swiped at her tears with the other. But Denny stopped her.

“Wait. ‘The dancer who is featured in this article is a perfect example. She pours her heart and soul into her art. She was born to dance. She knows this about herself. And because she gives so much to her art and to those who are fortunate enough to see her dance, the world is a better place because she is in it.’”

He closed the magazine and reached for Anne’s hand and helped her up. “You okay, honey?”

She nodded. “Definitely okay.” She grabbed a towel from the rack in the corridor and dabbed her eyes. Then she looked up at her partner, a smile on her face. “He understands.”

“And he loves you.”

“Enough to stay.”

“Better?” she asked as she exited the stage to rapturous applause.

“I’d say you’ve outdone even yourself, sweetheart,” Denny told her. “Now go find him.”

She pressed his number into her cell phone but it went straight to voice mail.

“Didn’t you say he has a loft here in San Francisco?”

“Yes, but I don’t know the address.”

Denny pulled out his own cell. “Last name? Newell?”

“Right.”

They both searched but came up empty. “Now what?”

“Any other resources?”

Anne nodded and pressed her Cousin Sean’s number. After she hung up, Denny asked, “Who was that?”

“The family detective. He’ll get me the address by tomorrow.”

Now all she had to do was figure out how she was going to get through the night without hearing that gorgeous husky voice.

Sean called her first thing in the morning to give her the address of Chris’s loft. She was out the door in five minutes. It wasn’t far from Alex’s condo but had a more expansive view of the Bay. It also had a view of the Golden Gate Bridge. She could tell that from standing on the street. According to Sean, he had the top floor unit in the building. 

Her stomach tightened with each step she took. By the time she reached the fourth floor, she had run through and rejected several first words. Nothing seemed adequate. But after knocking on his door for five minutes, she realized it didn’t matter. He wasn’t there. It was not even seven o’clock in the morning, and he was not a country boy. Unlike her, he did not get up with the chickens. If he had spent the night there, he would still be there.

She sat outside his door for another ten minutes, knocked again, just in case he’d been in the shower, then gave up. She trotted back down the stairs, stopping at the mailboxes when she spotted a young woman collecting her newspaper.

Once the tall brunette had greeted her with a friendly smile, she felt brave enough to ask, “Uh, you don’t happen to know Christopher Newell, do you?”

“Chris? Of course.”

“Oh, well, do you know if he’s been home recently?”

The woman cocked her head to the side and studied her. If she wasn’t mistaken, this was Chris’s dancer. “Actually, he was here yesterday. Spent the night before last here, then left again last night.”

“Oh! Do you think he’ll be back today?”

“Doubtful. He asked me to pick up his mail for him.”

“Oh.” Anne’s shoulders sank along with her heart. “He didn’t happen to say where he was going, did he?”

“’Fraid not. Do you want me to give him a message when he comes back?”

“No, that’s okay. Thanks.”

By the time she reached her car, her brain was having a tug of war with itself. He’d come to the performance last night. Then he’d left. Or maybe he hadn’t come. Maybe he’d simply sent the flowers and the magazine. At least he’d been thinking of her. There was hope. Unless it was his way of saying good-bye. Or accepting her good-bye.

She pressed Skye’s number on her cell. According to her cousin, he hadn’t come back to Canden Valley. At least she hadn’t seen his car the night before when she’d closed the pub. She would walk over and check as soon as she was actually awake.

“You will call me if he shows up, right?”

“Right.”

“Promise?”

“Of course, I promise.” She paused. “Anne, I really am on your side here.”

“Are there sides?”

“Only yours.”

Anne smiled. Even when she had thought Skye was betraying her for which she’d given her plenty of grief, she’d actually been looking out for her best interest.

Next she called one of her dance instructors, Linda. She said she’d go by the dance studio in a little while and pull Sara’s card and get Shelly’s number for her.

By the time she was back at Alex’s condo, both Skye and Linda had texted her. Chris’s car was not parked outside his apartment. But he hadn’t moved out, at least according to their Uncle Palmer. 

She dialed Shelly’s number that Linda had sent over, cringing when she realized it was still only a little after seven. But she was too anxious to wait any longer.

“He was here a few days ago, but I haven’t seen him since.”

“Have you talked to him?”

“He called yesterday just to check in, but I wasn’t home. He talked to Sara.”

She almost asked if she could put Sara on the phone, but was she that desperate? Yes, actually.

As if reading her mind, Shelly said, “They just talked about Sara’s new gifts and how she’s been practicing with her barre and things like that.”

“That’s all?”

“Oh, and I guess Sara asked if he was going to come over on New Year’s day.”

“What did he say?”

“He said not this year. That he was out of town.”

“Did she ask where he was?”

Shelly smiled. Finally. The woman realized what she had in her big brother. “No, he just said that he was working.”

Anne hung up feeling desolate. He was gone and she couldn’t reach him. Was he doing it on purpose? To make her realize how much she’d miss him if he was out of her life? To show her what it would be like if he took her at her word and didn’t wait? If that was his intention, it was working.