Eliza Starts a Rumor(52)
“We really need to deal with this,” Amanda softly berated her. “You’re not going to be able to pull off never leaving the house over Thanksgiving break.”
“Oh yeah, watch me,” her friend said, smiling confidently. “I thought about it, and last year we spent all of Wednesday cooking, Thursday having Thanksgiving, and most of the weekend eating leftovers and watching football.”
“You’re not going to see Pippa in the play? That will be suspect, don’t you think?”
Eliza became more serious. The thought of sitting in the high school auditorium again caused her hands to visibly shake. “It’s not what I want, Mandy.”
Amanda felt bad for pushing her there. “I know, I’m sorry. Maybe you should consider telling Luke and the kids over the holiday.”
“Absolutely not. I can’t send them back to school with that worry. If it doesn’t go away, I will tell them by Christmas.”
Amanda knew she was being tough on her, but coddling her as she had been didn’t seem to be doing any good.
“You need to help it go away. Like last time.”
“I’m still hopeful that it will just go away on its own. That looks great; wear that.”
Amanda wasn’t sure if Eliza was being her honest self or just wanted her to go back home and leave her alone. Either way she stuck with the outfit: jeans, a gray cashmere sweater, and low boots—pretty much her go-to.
She met Mr. Barr, Dean, at two o’clock in the afternoon. It was a low-traffic time for the bustling coffee shop, making it a great time to sit for an hour without any pressure to relinquish their table. Butterflies again danced in her belly upon seeing him, but the sensation was quickly doused by a particularly delicious muffin and the excitement of once again being part of a theatrical production. They talked about everything from set designs to soliloquies, and the first time that Amanda glanced at her watch she was shocked to see that two hours had gone by. She placed her hand on his arm to announce the time and her need to go and was again reminded of her old feelings for him. Until then she had been too caught up in the play to think about anything else. She was sure of one thing: He wasn’t looking at her like a kid anymore, but more like an equal than a conquest. That was fine with Amanda; feeling like someone’s equal in the theater satisfied an even greater fantasy.
Rehearsals filled Amanda with an excitement she hadn’t felt in ages. The kids really took to her, and Pippa didn’t even mind her being around. More than that, miracle upon miracle, she sensed that Pippa was proud of her. It was like a space out of time for both of them. An escape of sorts where their pain was replaced with creativity and make-believe.
Amanda loved watching Dean teach the kids—standing on stage doing his best Laurence Olivier. He had a youthful twinkle in his eye and a lightning-in-a-bottle type of energy. He was electrifying.
Unbeknownst to Amanda, Dean found her electrifying as well, though in a different way. Ever since their coffee meeting, he found he was pushing back feelings for her, internally arguing over the appropriateness of the inappropriate thoughts running through his mind: She’s not my student now. She’s married, but most definitely separated. She would never look at me that way. And the worst of all, God, she is so beautiful. All of his thoughts collided in his brain on a daily basis.
They both intentionally kept a physical distance from each other, but when they were alone in the close quarters of the costume closet or the wings of the stage, this was difficult to accomplish. He could list every time that they had brushed hands or caught eyes for too long and she could still feel his hand on the small of her back the one time he placed it there to guide her across the stage. If it weren’t for Pippa losing her phone, that encounter might have marked their closest intimacy.
Amanda was home cooking dinner when Pippa came down in a tizzy, looking for something. She had seen this look of panic on her face before and called her out on it right away.
“Pippa, did you lose your phone again?”
She’d been looking everywhere and was more than happy to come clean and get help from her mommy. “Yes, I’m sorry. Please help me, Mommy.”
As if on cue, her own cell rang. It was Dean Barr. Pippa had left her phone backstage at rehearsal. Whenever Pippa had left her phone somewhere safe in the past, Amanda had insisted she wait till the next day to retrieve it. It became a lesson to be more careful with one’s belongings. But this time she was out the door before Pippa could say “hypocrite.” Within seconds of driving away, the sky opened up.
Dean ran out to her car with his jacket propped over his head. He got in and slammed the door behind him.
“I can’t believe you went out in this. You’re such a good mom.”
“It wasn’t like this when I left.”
It was now teeming—the kind of rain that people pull off the highway to wait out.
“I’m just gonna sit here till it lets up,” she decided. Dean looked out the window toward his car.
“I’m gonna do the same, if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind.”
Amanda was barely aware of the awkwardness of being alone in a car together, she was so charged up about the play.
“You know, I’ve been thinking about something a little daring,” he said, a playful look on his face.
“Pray tell,” she said, with a Shakespearean vernacular.