The True Love Quilting Club (24 page)

“No distractions?”

“What do you mean?”

“You and Sam.”

Emma said, “I’ve always been focused on my career.”

“And that hasn’t changed?”

She thought of Sam and how much she loved him. Thought of how his mother had warned her off. Thought of all the issues that lay between them. Thought of how he truly did deserve a woman who could give him her all. She swallowed, pushed back the part of her that wanted so much to be that woman, and said softly, “Nothing’s changed.”

When Emma told Sam about Malcolm Talmadge, he wrapped her in a big bear hug and whispered, “This is it. Everything you’ve wanted is about to come true.”

Not everything.

She looked at him sadly. By following her dreams and achieving the one major thing she’d set out in life to do, she would be losing Sam. Her gut wrenched as her heart split in two.

“Hey,” he said, and chucked her lightly under the chin. “Why the glum face? This is cause for celebration.”

“I’m going to miss you,” she whispered.

“No you won’t. Once you get to Hollywood, start making friends, you’ll forget all about me.”

She squeezed him tightly. “I will never,
ever
forget about you, Sam Cheek.”

They savored the three weeks that followed, both
of them knowing this was their last hurrah. They treasured each moment they shared, acutely aware of how bittersweet and fragile it all was. They agreed that while they could handle the temporariness of their relationship, Charlie could not. So they limited his exposure to Emma. Each evening, after Sam put his son to bed, he would slip over to the Merry Cherub and spend his night making love to Emma, arising at dawn to slip back home to be at the breakfast table when his son awoke.

During the day, Emma kept her mind honed on the work, and never had she wrung from herself such a commanding performance. Twelve long years of toil and sacrifice were finally coming to fruition. The thought of it took her breath. At long last, success hovered just inches from her fingers. All she had to do was reach out and grab it.

She tried not to dwell on what she was going to lose, but instead, stayed focused on each precious second they shared, enjoying the beautiful fantasy of those soft autumn nights. She set about learning everything she could about Sam and committed it to memory. The way he brushed his hair down over his scar, his favorite foods, his easy way with animals and children. She admired his patience and calm demeanor, but also the way he stood up for the underdog, even if it meant letting go of some of that calm patience.

Save for not letting her get too close to Charlie, he let her into his world without reservation. He introduced her to his friends, of whom she was surprised to discover he had many. She’d thought he was too insular for that many intimate contacts. Then again, that was Twilight and he’d grown up here. Everyone
knew him, respected him, and came to him for pet care advice. He didn’t put expectations on people and he didn’t judge them. He let them be who they were meant to be. Sam was a live-and-let-live kind of guy, and everyone loved him for it.

With Emma, he was adventuresome in a way he wasn’t with others. In bed, he eagerly took to role playing with her and they had fun. More fun than she’d ever had. It went beyond sex into true intimacy. A physical bond forged between deep friends.

“We’ll always be friends,” he told her one evening just a few days before Thanksgiving. They were lying naked on her bed, snuggled beneath a beautiful wedding ring quilt. He reached out a hand to gently stroke her cheek, his eyes gleaming in the muted light from the pink angel lamp on the bedside table. “Even if we marry other people. No one can ever take that away from us.”

“I’ve opened up to you in a way I’ve never opened up to anyone,” she confessed.

“I know,” he said, and kissed the tip of her nose. “And thank you for that precious gift.”

“You’ll never be far from my heart.”

“Nor you from mine.”

Then he made love to her, slow and tender, all night long.

Thanksgiving Day turned out to be one of those not uncommon autumn days in North Texas where the temperature suddenly notched up to the high seventies. Kids shed their jackets in favor of short sleeves and abandoned the Macy’s parade on TV for sandlot baseball. Mothers raised kitchen windows to grab a bit of springlike weather while toiling over
the upcoming feasts. Fathers dug boxes from attics, getting a jumpstart on decorating their yards for Christmas.

After a restless night of going over and over her lines in her head, Emma woke to the smell of roasting turkey mingled with the scent of bacon. The sound of Christmas music wafted up the floor-boards. “Jingle Bells,” she recognized, and threw back the covers. The Merry Cherub was booked for the holiday weekend. Emma heard numerous footsteps outside her door as guests flocked downstairs for breakfast.

Emma did some yoga stretches, and then showered. The dining room was packed, and besides, she was too nervous for a sit-down meal. She greeted Jenny good morning, grabbed black coffee and a muffin, and went over to the Twilight Playhouse to get ready for the play. This was the event she’d been working toward for the past nine weeks.

She found several members of the True Love Quilting Club working with the stage crew to get the quilts strung up on battens and counterweighted ropes for use as backdrops. More grips were loading in other sets and props. The place pulsed with activity. The college students hired as extras frantically rehearsed lines. Nina prowled the control booth, going over final instructions with the sound and lighting technicians. The costume designer and her assistant sorted through costumes, while the prop man ticked off the items in his catalogue, making sure every prop needed for the play was present and accounted for.

Putting on the play was a team endeavor, and Emma was grateful for the behind-the-scenes crew who made
her look good. They were the unsung heroes of any successful stage production, and she took the opportunity to stop by and tell each one how much she appreciated his or her contribution.

Nina came down out of the control booth and waved Emma over. “Malcolm’s here. He wants to meet you.”

Oh gosh. Was she ready for this? Emma raised a hand to her hair. “I’m not in makeup, I haven’t done my hair—”

“Malcolm understands about all that. He just wants to meet the girl who had the balls—sorry for the pun—to stand up to Scott Miller.”

Nina turned and waved to a silver-haired man in the booth. “Come on.” She took Emma’s hand and led her up the steps to introduce her to her ex-husband.

“Malcolm, this is Emma Parks. Emma, this is Malcolm Talmadge, head of Shooting Star Studios.”

It hit her then. The importance of this moment. She was meeting one of the most influential men in Hollywood. And yet he looked so normal. Like he could be anyone’s grandfather. He had an affable smile, keen blue eyes, and a small paunch that slightly hung over the waistband of his jeans. If it wasn’t for the Vacheron Constantin at his wrist—that made Scott Miller’s Rolex look like a dime store trinket—no one would guess he was a billionaire accustomed to rubbing shoulders with royalty, celebrities, and VIPs. The way he gave her his complete attention made Emma feel like a VIP.

“I know you’re going to be very impressed with her performance, Malcolm,” Nina went on. “For the life of me I can’t figure out why Hollywood isn’t beating a path to her door.”

“Perhaps all that will be rectified today.” Malcolm smiled warmly. “It’s my great pleasure to meet you, Emma. If you’ve earned Nina’s seal of approval, I have no doubt I’m in for a treat. She has high standards. And…” He flicked a gaze to Nina. “I can’t tell you both how impressed I am with your tribute to our soldiers overseas. The quilts are visually stunning and I…” Malcolm paused and swallowed visibly as if struggling to control some intense emotions.

“Malcolm’s son was in Afghanistan,” Nina murmured.

“There was no reason for him to enlist,” Malcolm said. “He was my son. He had all the privileges that money could buy, but he insisted the war effort needed people from all walks of life. He wanted to do his part, and I was so proud of him.” A dark look of heavy sadness crossed Malcolm’s face, and Emma remembered what Nina had told her about his son.

“My son, Brian couldn’t deal with what he saw over there, what he was forced to do. He was always a sensitive boy, and he came home a shattered shell of a man. I tried to help him but I was ill-equipped in spite of all my money…” Malcolm shook his head. “He ended up…I lost him.” His voice cracked, fractured into a sharp sound of grief.

“Oh sir, I’m so sorry.” Emma’s heart wrenched. “I can’t imagine what you went through.”

He forced a smile, and she could see him purposefully putting his emotions on the shelf. “Please,” he said, “you must call me Malcolm.”

“Malcolm.” She nodded.

“My son’s death was the worst thing that ever happened to me, but because of it I got involved in the war effort. It’s become the driving focus in my life for
the last few years, and I like to think I’ve helped a few people along the way.”

Nina touched a hand to his shoulder. “Malcolm is being modest. He spearheaded an entire campaign that’s resulted in a change in military policy about treating post-traumatic stress disorder. So many of the young men and women returning from the Middle East weren’t getting the help they needed to deal with what they experienced over there. Their families can’t understand what they’re going through and they feel isolated, cut off. Malcolm is determined to change all that. He’s got a film in production dealing with just that.”

Sympathy fisted inside Emma. So many people had been touched by the war. Far more people than she’d expected. When she’d first come to Twilight, her main motivations had been self-interest—money and a desperate last chance to redeem her career. But somewhere between rehearsing the play and making the quilts and listening to the stories of women who lived in Twilight and dating Sam and getting to know Charlie, all that had changed. The only thing that concerned her now was giving a performance that was truly worthy of the men and women in uniform who had sacrificed so much for their country.

“But enough of sad talk.” Malcolm waved his hand. “Today is a day of honoring, recognizing, and celebrating those who have fought to keep our country free.”

“I want you to meet our leading man, Beau Trainer,” Nina said, linking her arm through Malcolm’s. “He was in Iraq and had an ugly case of PTSD himself. He made some bad choices, did some regrettable things, but this play is
his
chance at redemption.”

Malcolm’s face looked animated. “I
would
like to meet him.”

Nina looked around at the busy theater, and then glanced back at Emma. “Have you seen Beau?”

“Not since yesterday’s rehearsal.”

“I’m just going to go into my office and give him a call. Proceed with what you were doing, Emma.”

“It was nice meeting you,” Malcolm said.

“It was an honor for me, sir.”

Nina escorted Malcolm in the direction of her office, leaving Emma to prep for the biggest role of her life. She still couldn’t believe that a Hollywood movie executive was going to be watching her performance. It was every dream she’d ever dreamed come true.

And yet it didn’t bring the instant joy she’d always anticipated. Maybe she’d learned to take the emotional roller coaster in stride. Or maybe it was because she’d begun to have a life that wasn’t based solely on her identity as an actress. She was a quilter now and she’d formed bonds with influential women in the community. She’d learned to drive a car and herd sheep. And she’d gotten a mute boy to speak when no one else could.

She had accomplished a lot in a short amount of time, and it had changed her. What had once seemed like the ultimate human endeavor was simply just another career, glamorous maybe, but it didn’t define who you were deep inside. Once upon a time, she’d felt that if she wasn’t an actress, she wasn’t anything. Now, she knew that wasn’t true. She was so much more than just a performer. She was no longer defined solely by her work.

“Ready for your stage face?” asked the makeup
artist, who stood with a soft-bristled brush in her hand and a pot of powdered rouge.

“Yes.”

Emma followed her backstage, and while the woman applied her makeup, she mentally went over the lines she knew by heart. After the makeup came the hair-styling, and then she donned the Rebekka Nash costume. When she looked into the mirror, she
was
the plucky pioneer woman who believed so deeply in the man she loved that she spurned all other suitors.

The bustle of the theater had reached fever pitch. The grips were tripping over one another in their hurry. The young acting students were looking a little green around the gills as stage fright kicked in. With her script and blocking book in her hand, Nina went over last-minute details.

The performance started at noon. It was just before eleven, but people had already started lining up outside the ticket office.

Nina rushed over. “Where is Beau?”

“I thought you were going to call him.”

Nina bit down on her bottom lip. “I did. He didn’t answer. I’ve left a dozen messages. I put the True Love quilters on his tail. Terri was going around to his apartment and I sent Patsy up to his parents’ house. Raylene’s gone down to see if he’s sousing it up at the Horny Toad. All I’ve got to say is that he better be lying dead in a ditch because if he stands me up after I went out on a limb for him…” She left her threat unfinished, but wadded up her fist.

Immediately, Emma understood her anxiety and frustration. Here they were putting on a tribute to the soldiers of Twilight, and one of those soldiers who’d
been given the male lead in the play hadn’t shown up. Then there was Malcolm Talmadge and the crew from
Entertainment Tonight
. Emma realized Nina had as much stake in the outcome of this play as she did.

“Where’s Malcolm?” she asked.

“He went to meet with the crew from
Entertainment Tonight
. They just got into town.”

“Does he know Beau is AWOL?”

“Not yet. We need a contingency plan.”

“In case he doesn’t show.”

She nodded curtly. “We have that young understudy from Tarleton, but honestly, he’s dreadful. I was so sure Beau would come through for me, and having a soldier in the role was the angle Malcolm used to lure the media here. That and your appeal as the plucky young woman who put Scott Miller in his place.”

“I’m still here. Still gossip-worthy.”

Nina managed a small smile. “Thanks for trying to cheer me up. I guess as unappealing as it is, we’ll just have to go with the understudy.”