Within This Frame (4 page)

“Thanks. I’ll say hello.”

She walked over to them, stopping near her father as he was closest.

“Hey, Dad,” she greeted, waving at her mom on the treadmill. Jennifer Smiley waved back and faced forward.

Gray-haired and sporting wire-rimmed glasses, at five feet six, Leon Smiley wasn’t much taller than Maggie. He picked up a set of free weights and did chest curls.

“Maggie, what brings you here? Did you decide to conform to your sister’s ways like the rest of us?” A smile trailed his words. Perspiration lined his craggy face and dampened his black shirt.

“That would make Nora much too happy.”

“I’m not sure anything could make her
too
happy,” he halfway joked, one bushy eyebrow lifted.

Maggie nodded, biting her lower lip to keep all news of Lance Denton from passing them. It was obvious her father and mother didn’t know, or they would have contacted her about it. They would ultimately keep their opinions to themselves, but Maggie wouldn’t have to hear them to know they wouldn’t be in Lance’s favor.

Cautious with the idea of Lance and Maggie dating as teenagers, they’d been friendly but somewhat reserved with Lance anytime they were around him. When everything fell apart, they were there to helplessly witness her shattered pieces lying among the debris of her heart. As much as they wanted to help her, they couldn’t.

No one could mend a broken heart—no one but the one who’d broken it.

Her mom walked over. “That color looks great on you. You should wear it more often.” She warmly squeezed Maggie’s bicep. Short and compact, the blue top and black shorts she wore molded to her trim figure in a flattering way. Jennifer Smiley had short brown hair laced with gray and an unlined face that allowed her to pass for being much younger in years than she was. She was routinely mistaken for Nora’s sister, much to Nora’s annoyance.

Maggie looked down at her rainbow shirt and blinked. “Which one?”

“What? Oh. All of them. It’s a happy shirt.” With a twinkle in her amber-colored eyes, Maggie’s mom turned away and drank from her water bottle.

She laughed. Her mother made sure to compliment her every time she saw her, whether it was valid or not. Maggie had self-esteem issues, and that was her way of trying to make her feel good. Maggie appreciated the effort.

“Bacon!”

The smile was wiped from her face and her shoulders stiffened. Her sister, on the other hand, seemed to enjoy her insecurities. She caught the chastising look her dad gave Nora as she turned to face her sister.

“Nora, don’t you think it’s time to come up with a new nickname? Something not quite so juvenile, possibly?” Jennifer said, lips pressed together to show her displeasure.

“Why?” Nora blinked. “I’ve always called her that. Maggie likes bacon. It fits. Besides, she knows I don’t mean anything by it.” In Nora’s mind, if she didn’t mean to offend someone, then they shouldn’t be, regardless of whether or not her words were actually offensive.

With strawberry blond hair that rested on her shoulders, large green eyes, and a smattering of freckles along the bridge of her nose and cheeks, Nora was slender with defined muscles and overflowing confidence. Not that Maggie ever wanted to be like her, but to have that self-assuredness would be nice.

If someone told Nora she couldn’t do something, she told them to watch her.

“Hi, Nora,” she said in a strained voice.

“You wanted to see me? How’s the personal trainer working out? I bet you were surprised, huh?” She smiled her straight smile, hands on hips. In the white t-back top and short shorts, her muscular physique was displayed to be readily admired.

“You hired a personal trainer?” Leon asked.

“When did this happen?” her mother added.

“Uh . . .” Maggie stared at her sister. “Just today, actually. We haven’t started yet.”

“Good for you.” Her dad set down the free weights and patted her arm. “I’m going to hit the elliptical machine. How about we get some coffee later this week, go for a walk along the river?”

“Sure, Dad. That sounds great,” Maggie said, tilting her head to the side to better allow him to press a chaste kiss to her temple.

“Maggie,” her mother said, touching her hand. Concern floated in the depths of her dark eyes. “It’s wonderful that you want to get in shape, but don’t overdo it, okay? It isn’t worth getting skinny if it’s harmful to you. Remember that. And . . . if you need to talk to someone, do you still have Dr. Morgan’s phone number?”

Her stomach clenched, but all she did was smile and nod. “I know, Mom, and yes, I do. Don’t worry. I’ll do it the right way.”

“But if you need someone to talk to . . .” Her mother gave her a pointed look.

“I’ll call him. I promise. I’ve talked to him off and on throughout the years. Everything is good, and it will remain that way.”

With a satisfied nod, she turned to her older daughter and waggled a finger at her. “Be nice.”

“Mom,” Nora whined. “I’m always nice.”

“Be nicer. See you later, girls.”

Nora rolled her eyes and turned to Maggie. “She acts like I’m the meanest sister ever.” She eyed Maggie. “I have, like, two minutes before my next class. What’s up?”

Maggie tucked a lock of hair behind her ears, watching her mother bend and stretch on a mat. “Why him?” When Nora didn’t say anything, Maggie focused on her sister. “Why Lance Denton? Out of anyone you could have sent, why was it him?”

Nora shifted uncomfortably. “All the other trainers are booked for months. And . . . he’s freelance, so he can work with anyone.”

“He isn’t the only trainer like that.”

“No. But he was the first one I thought of, the one I know—”

“And he doesn’t even live in Iowa!” Maggie interrupted, frustrated with her sister, and Lance, and herself. “He lives in, I don’t know, Florida, or Italy, or something. The whole thing makes no sense.”

“He lives in Ohio. He moved there after the divorce was finalized a few months ago.”

Maggie frowned. Lance let her think he didn’t have a home, or that the home was in Florida, or—he let her think all kinds of things. He wasn’t obligated to correct what she did or did not choose to believe. He didn’t owe her explanations.

“How do you know all this?”

Nora rolled her eyes. “Come on, Maggie. You’ve kept tabs on him. I guess I just kept better ones.”

Maggie studied Nora. There was more to the situation than what she was being told, but she decided to leave it alone for the time being.

“He flew in early this morning to see you.” She locked her eyes on Maggie. “You’re right, I could have asked someone else, but I know he’ll get you to work, if for no other reason than to prove to him you can. You don’t have the motivation to do this on your own.”

Maggie opened her mouth to argue that.

“You don’t, or you wouldn’t look like you do. You’re either too thin or overweight. There is no happy medium for you. Lance can help you find it.”

“Thanks a lot,” she mumbled, knowing it was true.

Nora shrugged. “He’ll get you in shape, and that’s what you want, right? So go get in shape—the right way. I have to start my next class. We’ll talk soon.” She spun on her heel and flounced away, hair bouncing as she moved.

Maggie waved to her parents with a weak smile on her face and headed out the door. It was a sunny day, the periodic breeze cool and nice. She walked to her car, not expecting to see Lance posed against the side of the Camry, relaxed and confident. With a glance at the building to see if her parents were aware of her visitor, she continued the steps it took to reach him. He’d changed into a shirt the same blue as his eyes, sleeves cut out to better show off his muscled arms, and loose gray shorts with neon yellow tennis shoes—the shoes especially were a cry for attention.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded. “And how did you know this was my car?”

“You know, after all this time, you still smell like oranges. How is that possible?” he said in a low voice. The expression on his face was closed, but the heat in his eyes was alive with unspoken emotions.

Mouth going dry, she swallowed, and swallowed again, tearing her eyes from his.

He reached out a hand, taking the car keys clutched inside her palm, and traced a finger over the faded glittery pink ‘M’ keychain. Her face burned, but Lance never said anything, the past vibrating around them like an undeniable heartbeat. Lance’s dark head didn’t raise until he slowly gave the keys back.

“I thought you got rid of everything.”

“I didn’t realize I still had this until after I moved back to Iowa.” And then she’d kept the keychain anyway.

A thoughtful look passed over his features, one she didn’t care to dissect. Lance smiled. “The license plate of this white Camry matches the one on the white Camry that was in your driveway this morning. It wasn’t that hard to figure out.”

“Oh.” Maggie looked down the street. Lane Gym was located in a strip mall four miles from her house, shoppers going in and out of the stores on either side of it at a nonstop pace. “And why are you here?”

“I have to talk to your sister about some things.” His tone said that was all he was going to say on the subject.

Maggie frowned. “How did you get here?”

He lifted his eyebrows and pointed to his shoes. “Most fascinating thing—I walked. You have that ability too, you know.”

Her frown turned into a scowl when Lance laughed.

“How did you get to my house this morning?” she asked suspiciously.

“Did you know Dubuque has a taxi service? Oddest thing.” Half of his mouth lifted mockingly.

“Well, I’m going now,” Maggie said lamely, waiting for him to move away from the car before getting inside.

“See you soon,” he taunted, waving with exaggerated cheerfulness.

She drove off, sure he was laughing at her when she glanced in the rearview mirror.

LANCE—1996

L
ANCE KNOCKED ON
the apartment door and waited for it to open, restless energy not letting him stand still. He knew she was home—he’d watched her walk inside the apartment about fifteen minutes ago from where he sat in the sand. He also knew Judith, her designated guardian while filming in Virginia Beach, was not.

He heard movement on the other side of the door, imagined her checking the peephole, and then the door slowly opened. Lance put on a fake smile, but when he focused on her, it became real. She looked nervous, cheeks red and eyes shifting to him and away. Reddish-brown hair waving around her face and shoulders, dressed in the white sundress as she was, Maggie looked sweet. Pretty.

“Hi, Maggie.”

“Hi.”

He’d been warned to stay away from her. By Judith, by Herman. By just about everyone who knew him and Maggie. That only made him want to be near her more.

She bit her lower lip, causing an embarrassing reaction in him, and asked, “What are you doing here, Lance?”

“I . . .” He swiped a hand through his hair, unsure why his pulse thrummed so fast. “I thought maybe we could hang out? Practice some lines for next week’s episode?” Lance held up the papers he’d brought along to make his visit seem authentic. He didn’t need to go over his lines. He’d had them memorized since the day they got them.

Maggie’s eyes flew to his face. “Why?”

It wasn’t a demand. She sounded like she genuinely wanted to know why he sought her out. He understood the basis of her question. They’d been working on the show for over a month and that was the first time he’d initiated interaction with her outside of the set. He wasn’t really sure why, but the more he was around her, the more interesting she became.

Lance shrugged and turned to face the beach. It was getting dark, the sky painted in tones of purple, red, and blue, but there were still people in the sand and water. Facing her, he said, “My dad is out of the state for the month, and Mitch, the guy I’m rooming with? He’s gone for the night. It’s . . . really quiet in the apartment.”

She heard something in his voice or words that caused her expression to soften. The door opened wider. “Come on in. I’ve actually been having trouble with some of my lines. Judith’s been trying to help me, but it might be better to hear your lines from your voice instead of hers.”

He caught her smile as he stepped inside, the sweet scent of oranges teasing his senses. Lance stopped beside her. She was looking at him, eyes alight with innocent warmth. He could kiss her. She’d let him. Maybe she’d let him, he corrected, continuing into the living room.

“How do you like staying here?” Lance looked around the room, noting the lack of electronics. He dropped the papers on an end table near a recliner.

The room was decorated in whites and grays with a wall of windows facing the beach. He had the same view, one floor up. The furniture was light gray, the carpet white. Maggie’s clean scent was faint, whereas Judith’s floral one was overpowering the space. He preferred Maggie’s.

“Here, or in Virginia Beach?” Maggie stood near the opening to the small kitchen area.

“Both.”

She shrugged, disappearing around the corner. “It’s different from Iowa. Faster-paced, warmer, obviously. The apartment’s . . . nice, but it isn’t home.”

“I noticed you have no television.”

Maggie peeked around the wall to wrinkle her nose at him. “Judith doesn’t like the looks of gadgets. That’s what she calls televisions and radios—gadgets. She thinks they mess up the natural calmness of environments.”

“If you ever want to watch television or listen to music, you can come to my apartment. Mitch has a sick entertainment center.”

“Oh. Thanks. I actually have a small television and radio in my room. Want something to drink? I’m making lemonade.”

A smile caught his lips and he walked up behind her, liking how she jumped and blushed at his nearness. The kitchen followed the white and gray theme. He suspected all of the apartment did. “Did you make cookies too?”

“No.” Maggie tucked a rebellious curl behind her ear, moving away. “I don’t eat cookies.”

Lance frowned. “What’s wrong with you? Everyone likes cookies.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t like them. I said I don’t eat them.” Maggie handed him a glass of lemonade.