Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 72945 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72945 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
I chew on my lip, too emotional to respond.
I know she’s right. I don’t have to go in, and there’s a very loud voice screaming in the back of my head, telling me to turn around and go home, that this is the wrong decision, because if I let myself see him again, I know I’m going to forgive him. I’m angry, so fucking angry, and he doesn’t deserve my forgiveness—and yet I want to forgive him anyway.
Because I miss him so much.
But that’s only a voice. My body, my heart, they’re telling me something different.
I feel like I’m being pulled toward the theater, like there’s a magnet wrapped around my middle yanking me ceaselessly toward him. No matter how far we get apart, no matter how distant I think we’ve become, I still want to go find him. I still want to hear his voice, his laugh, his amused grunts. I want to feel his hands on my skin and his lips against my throat.
I hate him for leaving me. I’m so mad at him for walking away. And I still want him.
That’s the worst part, I still want him.
“I need to go,” I say, getting control of myself.
Marie nods and smiles sadly. “I know you do, I just wanted to give you one last chance to turn back. You’re making the right decision, but I feel for you, girl. This can’t be easy.”
“It’s really, really not.”
“Want me to come?”
“No, I have to do it alone.”
“Okay.” She takes a deep breath and lets it out. “Well, there’s a Greek place right over there I want to try, so come find me inside. Hopefully, they serve wine.”
“Don’t get too drunk. I think I’m going to be crying too hard to drive. But seriously, thanks for bringing me and for being such a good friend.”
She hugs me tight and we get out. I watch her walk off, heart racing, sweat beading under my arms. I’m so nervous I could scream, but I slowly walk over toward the theater, and a strange feeling washes over me.
I stop across the street and stare.
It takes a minute for the new sign to sink into my brain. I thought this place was called the Keswick Theater, but that’s not what it says outside, not anymore. Instead, I’m greeted with a new name, a familiar name.
The Webb Theater.
“What the hell?” I say at a whisper, shaking my head. I force myself to cross the street, going slowly, trying to picture what it must’ve been like growing up here with his parents, going to all the shows, hanging around town afterward to meet the musicians and the comedians.
It must’ve been incredible. A way better childhood than I ever had. And that’s true—Baptist never said anything bad about growing up with his parents. All the bad stuff came later, as they got older and they sold this place.
It seems like the secret to their joy was the theater.
I reach the front door and hesitate. He’s in there. I can feel him. Who else would name this place after me? I smile ruefully—people are going to assume it’s named after my father.
But screw him. I push inside and step into an entry lobby. Ahead on the left is a concession stand. It smells like wood glue and sawdust, like this place has seen some serious work. Everything looks new, like the stand was completely redone, all the sign work repainted, all the details refinished. I drift in deeper and look to the right at all the chairs, at the huge walls and the absurdly high ceiling, and it takes my breath away.
It’s beautiful. It’s absolutely fucking gorgeous. He must’ve done some serious work because it all looks like it’s brand new, like it was picked up from the day it was built in the twenties and deposited right here, a hundred years later. I can barely believe it, and suddenly that sign outside, the sign with my name on it, it feels like too much.
“You came.”
His voice hits me in the chest. It’s him, really him. He’s standing in the shadows of the stage and the acoustics in the place make everything he’s saying drift out like he’s looming right next to me, whispering in my ear. I shiver and bite down on my cheek hard, trying to get myself under control. I step forward, into the center aisle, and walk toward him.
The lights come on. They snap into existence and I blink a few times, steadying myself on a chair. He comes out from the wings and stands on the stage, looking at me with haunted eyes. His clothes are dirty, stained with paint and dusty from work, and his hair is pushed back haphazardly. He looks exhausted, but good, with the beginnings of a beard on his masculine jaw. There are ladders leaning against the walls and building material stacked all over, but I get the sense this is a project nearing completion.