That seemed straightforward enough, and she picked up the Mason jar. Yep, there was some cloudy grayish liquid floating at the top. Humming the obvious song fromLittle Shop of Horrors, she took off the top of the jar and carefully poured the ick down the sink.
What remained was something that looked like waffle batter—sort of—and the only reason she knew exactly what waffle batter looked like was because she’d had to pour her own at a Hampton Inn once when she stayed overnight and ate their free breakfast in the morning and had to make her own waffles in the idiot-proof waffle maker thing.
“Where’s the flour?” she stage-whispered to him while he was tapping away on his laptop, and he gestured vaguely again toward what turned out to be a pantry.
She managed to find the flour and follow the rest of his directions, and therefore successfully fed Carmella.
Then she popped over and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek—he was still distracted by looking at some complicated images on the screen, his glasses forgotten—and slipped outside.
Perfect—she didn’t have to tell him she was going to the theater and worry the poor guy.
It was going to be a hot day—perfect for the tourism industry in Wicks Hollow, but a little less exciting for someone who had labor-intensive work in a building that had non-functioning air conditioning. Still, Vivien had work to do if she was going to open the show on time, and she couldn’t allow herself to be waylaid or distracted by ghosts or vandals.
She arrived at the theater and, with some trepidation, let herself in.
“All right, everyone just keep calm,” she called out, feeling a little foolish but determined nonetheless. “I’m here, I know you want me to figure out what’s going on, and I’m going to go down into the pit in a few minutes and try to do so, all right? So just…don’t get all worked up.”
To her relief, nothing happened except that she felt the air all around her move, sort of shudder, as if the building was taking in a deep breath and then exhaling it.
The scaffolding was still on the stage, but it was at the very edge where it had obviously somehow stopped before going over to the floor after the ghost shoved it at her and Iva yesterday. The only illumination was the lights she was turning on—some in the house, many more in the backstage area. The dented Nutcracker headpiece sat, ugly as usual, where Jake had put it yesterday, casting an eerie shadow. But at least she knew what caused it this time.
Nothing seemed out of place, and there was no indication that someone had broken in and set up any other surprises for her. Maybe whoever it was had decided it wasn’t worth the trouble, since Vivien was clearly not about to be chased away from her business.
Or maybe…
She smiled to herself as she pushed the scaffolding back upstage. Maybe the Nutcracker-loving ghost had scared the bejeezus out of whoever it was and chased them off.
“I’ll bet that’s what happened,” she said, walking across toward the right wings.
She stopped in the wide-open center of the stage and looked out over the empty seats. Tried to imagine what it would be like to face rows and rows of people again, eyes trained on her, expectant…
Liv brushed her arm in a supportive caress, and Vivien felt a glimmer ofmaybe.
Maybe someday.
“But not today,” she said, and then, surprising even herself, she did a little soft shoe from a barely remembered routine. She didn’t even know what show it was from, but it felt…good.
Ending with a flourish, Vivien bowed to the invisible audience of her theater’s phantoms and stood there, panting a little, as she looked around.
Maybe.
Maybe someday.
In his perceptive, thoughtful way, Jake had given her something to think about last night.
She shivered with pleasure. What a guy. What an amazing man. Even after more than ten years apart, he understood her in a way that even Helga couldn’t.
A song dropped into her head just then, along with its snappy, happy rhythm. And because, dammit, shewashappy right now—and because she’d had an amazing night and Jake was back in her lifedespiteher trying to keep him away—she couldn’t hold it back.
She sang about a boy who’d made her helpless, improvising her own dance routine because she couldn’t ever try to emulate the brilliance of theHamiltoncast.
And when she was done, her voice echoing to the far corners of the theater, out of breath and exuberant, she bowed once more to the ghosts who watched her and thought…
Maybe.
* * *
Vivien finally gotdown to the orchestra pit. Jake had texted wondering where she’d gone, and she told him she’d be back by noon and would make lunch.
