For now, get some rest, reacclimate yourself to the town, and get settled in somewhere—maybe The Surrender Inn; they have free breakfast, and Prudence is a hoot—and you’ll be receiving the second letter soon.
* * *
Love, Beverly
* * *
Your adoptive grandma (from beyond the grave! Imagine me making spooky noises now oohhh arrrrghh)
* * *
Folding the letter, I place it in my lap, my eyes filling with a sudden, irrepressible heat.
I should have visited. Before she passed. I should have been here. I should have called or written, anything, to let her know how much she meant to me. But I didn’t. I shut myself away from the world, and everything in it, which included the one place I could be myself. All because I was scared.
Not anymore.
Well, that’s not true. I’m terrified. But I’m also . . . excited. Is this my purpose? Is this something I can have that Mother can’t touch or push her way into?
I read the letter again, absorbing her words and swallowing back the guilt of not being here, not making the time.
Beverly nurtured my love of movies with soft hands.
She didn’t squeeze me in her grip until I choked, like Mother.
I take a breath and stand, putting the grief aside. I can dwell on all my what-ifs later.
Spencer is in the other room, frowning at his computer screen.
I stand at his desk for a few seconds, waiting.
He doesn’t look up.
I clear my throat, and he startles.
“Sorry.”
“I guess we’re just scaring each other tonight.”
I smile. “When do I get the second letter?”
He leans back in his seat. “Tomorrow. Did you have any questions? I’ll answer what I can.”
“I’m not sure.” My brain is mush. This whole night has been a lot. I’m overwhelmed. Exhausted. I sink into the chair across from him. “Is the theater currently closed?”
“No, they’ve been running weekend shows when they can.”
“Who’s they?”
“Daphne Green and one of her brothers. They have some teenagers help with concessions too, occasionally. Daphne is managing what she can, but she has a few other jobs. I’ve been helping with some of the paperwork where I can, but it’s been rough. Not many people have been coming to shows, so I think Daphne’s been feeling a bit defeated. I think she’ll be really happy to meet you.”
“Why has it been slow?”
When I was younger, the theater was the cornerstone of the community. There were events constantly, Gatsby nights, Oscar nights, holiday-themed parties, and events. People would dress up and come out every weekend to a show. Plus as Beverly was the town’s informal matchmaker, she would constantly be rearranging seats, ushering people around. She was the direct cause of more than one marriage.
Sometimes people even got married at the theater because it was where they’d met.
Spencer rests his elbows on the desk. “I’m not sure. I think it’s been a gradual thing, over time. As Beverly got older, things got a bit harder.”
