energized teens filling the lobby. Coach Jeffreys toasted Vivien silently with a bottle of water as if to reiterate his invitation, then turned to speak to his team.
“It was so nice of you to bring all this food, Orbra,” Vivien said, her eyes stinging with tears. “I wasn’t expecting it—I thought I might order pizza and salad for everyone—but you were ahead of me. Thank you so much. I’m happy to pay for the food.”
The older lady shrugged. “It’s a donation to the volunteers. Community service deserves support from the community. And don’t you worry, the Downtown Business Association contributed toward the cost of the supplies—Trib made sure of it. Wouldn’t have happened when Aaron Underwood was here. He was a real tight-a—er, skinflint.”
“I wouldn’t worry about them,” Ricky said, scratching his flat, broad nose. “I can guarantee they’ve heard worse walking through the halls at school.”
Orbra sighed. “Probably. But I don’t want to contribute to their delinquency.” She braced her hands on her hips and looked over at Jake, who’d just wandered into the lobby from who knew where.
“You going to bring me some more of that bread, there, young man?” She pitched her voice toward him. “Went through two loaves in less than thirty minutes. I made it a lunch special—your asiago tomato bread with a gazpacho soup and a small salad, with a pot of tea of their choice. Sold out almost immediately and had to change the specials sign because people kept asking about it.”
Vivien looked back and forth between Jake and Orbra—he was making bread? wasn’t he busy being a doctor?—but before she could ask or even decide if she should—after all, the less Jake in her life, the better—someone called her over to the restroom in the front of the theater.
After that, she was so busy that she didn’t get back to the lobby till much later, as the last of the volunteers were leaving.
“Thank you so much, again,” she said as they gathered up their things. “Coach Jeffreys, I really appreciate you getting your team out here.”
“They can always use different workouts,” Coach Jeffreys said. “And you gave them one hell of a workout today. Don’t forget to come check out our practice someday. Starting the week of August 15. It always ends by eight, and by then I’m ready for something to eat and a cold one.”
“I’ll do that,” she replied…pretty certain he’d just asked her out after a practice. And pretty certain she’d take him up on it.
“And by the way—it’s Drew, just like when we were back in school. I save ‘coach’ for the team and their parents.” His eyes twinkled.
And now she was definitely certain of his motives. “Have a good practice, then, Drew.”
She looked at the time as she waved goodbye and saw that it was nearly three o’clock. Four hours of work with nearly sixty people—with only a few short breaks—had made a huge dent in the demo and cleanup work. She thought she’d been being wildly optimistic ordering two fifty-yard dumpsters, but she’d have to have both of them hauled away and replaced tomorrow. They were already full.
She closed the doors to the outside and went back into the house. Everything was quiet in there too, and it was then she noticed that the catwalk was no longer hanging from above and heaved a sigh of exasperation. Jake’s doing, she was certain. So much for him listening—which was typical of him. The man was sweet, charming, said the right words—then did whatever the hell he wanted.
When she saw the large piece of broken catwalk leaning against the wall in the back, she had to at least be grateful it was somewhere safe—and that she hadn’t had to deal with it herself.
Now that everyone was gone and there was no possibility that a piece of heavy wood was going to fall down on her, she was able to walk through the building and take stock.
Although little swirls of dust remained from today’s activities and the gentle scents of must and cleaning supplies filled the air, the space was silent and still. Vivien was exhausted but exhilarated. So much more had been accomplished than she’d hoped.
The tattered red velvet curtains were gone—as were the others that hung in the wings—and it was a strange experience to stand on a stage that was so naked and open.
Normally, the performance area was cloaked with rows of curtains, scenery, and backdrops. Now the space—usually swollen with make-believe and illusion—seemed so spare