Maeve's Symphony Page 8

  Care wrapped its way around every word Kassidy spoke. That care caused large cracks in the dam surrounding Maeve’s heart. “I’m just really confused. And you nailed it when you observe I’m on fire.”

  “No wonder.”

  “No wonder what?”

  “No wonder it looked like you were about to keel over when he drove away.”

  Maeve leaned back on her hands, which were presently balled tight; she cringed. “Who else saw? Is anyone else aware?”

  Kassidy covered Maeve’s hand with hers. “Relax, honey. Just me. This isn’t a gang-up. We wouldn’t do that to you. But I’ll be honest. All of us are wondering what’s going on with you and Josh.”

  The past bubbled and boiled, rising to the surface. Maeve pressed her lips together, studied Kassidy’s eyes intently. “I fumbled, KC. I let him go, yet still, I love him. And still I yearn for him. That’s the fire you sense.”

  Additional revelations pushed and pressed. No one would understand her fall like Kassidy, but the words couldn’t make their way past the secured vault of Maeve’s emotions.

  So she looked away, casting her focus toward heaven, toward a darkening sky where stars popped to life in pinpoints that twinkled. Lost to the roll of her emotions, Maeve closed her eyes, forced herself to release just a bit of her dilemma into Kassidy’s care.

  “I feel such an overwhelming pull toward him, KC. Today reminded me of all the reasons I fell in love with Josh in the first place. He was so amazing with the kids, with our friends and family. In spite of fame and fortune, he’s still such an incredible man.”

  “Then why are you fighting it so hard? He’s available. He’s beyond interested. So are you. What’s the issue? What happened that’s left you so closed off about a man you swore you were going to marry one day? To me, it’s like God is stepping into your life and doing a happy dance.”

  Nothing to Hide.

  Maeve shoved her way through vines of terror and a sudden clog of emotion that tightened her throat. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—answer that question. To do so would be devastating.

  “All I can say for now is we’re trying to figure it out, KC.”

  Maeve’s reply wasn’t a lie, it was a sidestep, and the maneuver became increasingly difficult to execute. Her eyes swam with tears, causing Kassidy’s image to grow blurry, indistinct. She was so close to everything for which her heart most longed…yet leagues away from the happiness she sought.

  5

  The moment Maeve’s heels ticked against the pavement in New York City, the instant she took in the familiar lines of towering buildings framed by bricks, steel and glass, life accelerated to super-speed.

  Production meetings kicked off matters for the Goal to Go Gala. Song choices were finalized and approved. Maeve and the girls reunited with Drew to map staging and plot choreography. Promotional efforts ramped up as well, sending Josh and the Sisters to appearances across the tri-state area. They also participated in a number of satellite visits with affiliate television stations around the country, because on top of it all, meetings with label execs at Zion’s Peak set in place a fresh recording contract for Sisters in Spirit as well as a new North American tour followed by a brief jaunt through Europe that would conclude in Ireland. The developments were beyond her wildest expectations.

  Though Josh followed them along the promo circuit, though they met and mingled almost every day, his focus remained zeroed in on rehab efforts that took him to Long Island four days a week with lighter training sessions taking place the other two days at a private health club in Manhattan. Sundays remained his day of rest.

  In a dizzying rush, one week blended fast and furious into the start of week two. By that point, Maeve joined the performance team in exile, at the type of rehearsal space that sang of Broadway. The facility featured a floor to ceiling vantage point from three floors above. The other three walls of the room were mirrored, one of them lined by ballet barres.

  Elizabeth Portier ran choreography in her typical drill sergeant style. Demanding and brusque, the dance legend commanded respect and affection because when the girls least expected it, Elizabeth would drop a sweet compliment, or bestow a nod or radiant smile.

  “We’re such a warped group of individuals.” Kassidy scowled, wisps of dark brown hair tacked against her damp neck and cheeks. “Why do we let her affect us so much?”

  “If you ask me, it goes back to grade school.” Like Kassidy, Aileen kept her voice low while she flitted behind Siobhan, who launched into a leap right before Kassidy and Maeve moved center stage in perfect time to the beat of the song “Amazing Grace.” “We’re conditioned to crave and earn the praise of our teachers and mentors.”

  The purpose of today’s exercise wasn’t to sing, but to focus solely on stage presence and perfecting their moves. An added perk, Maeve thought with no small degree of cynicism, was that the CD Elizabeth utilized could be stopped and rewound to specific sections over and over—and over—again.

  Like now. She squelched a groan upon registering Elizabeth’s thunderous expression.

  “Calculation! Ladies, be calculating! Think magnetism, drawing in your viewers by addressing each specific camera location, by executing slow, broad arm motions, unison twirls that will ignite the gorgeous pastel colors of your gowns!”

  Maeve and the rest of her posse sucked in gulps of air while being coached. Springtime temps rose fast, adding punch to the muggy air.

  Elizabeth gestured stridently, pacing the floorboards along the front of the room. “This is an entirely different form of performance than you’ve experienced in the past. Lincoln Center is a mammoth venue. You’ll need to be aware of the cameras as well as audience in the theater. Again—from the beginning!”

  Elizabeth powered the CD back into play mode.

  As one, Sisters launched into a smooth execution of the moves that accompanied the music and lyrics. Their instructor might be a task master, but Maeve relied on the mirror to be her harshest critic. She focused, pushing, each effort masked by grace and intuitive motions meant to appear effortless and spontaneous—even during the interludes when each of them stepped forward into a solo.

  Ninety minutes later, Maeve wilted beneath the blessedly powerful spray of a hot shower furnished within the facilities of the dance studio. Muscles screamed, but gradually eased beneath the spray.

  “Chaundra Cinnamon.” From a few stalls away, Kassidy’s voice traveled across steam curls and the sound of pounding water. “WKJG-FM. We ready girls?”

  “Fifteen minutes at the end of morning drive time.” Aileen’s chipper voice came next, accompanied by water splashes and humming from Siobhan. “It’ll be awesome.”

  Maeve’s internal clock rebelled. Oh, how she hated mornings. It was just after eight AM, and news talk radio had blasted her out of bed at just after five o’clock. In less than an hour, they would meet Josh at the broadcast home of WKJG for a radio interview. Maeve wanted nothing more than to pound her head against the ceramic tile of the stall. She yearned to collapse into bed and nap, or indulge in an hour or so of silence, perhaps a long, restful coffee break somewhere…

  Then again? No. She wouldn’t trade these moments for anything.

  And a sudden giggle exploded from her chest. “Chaundra Cinnamon. My first question to her, seriously, is going to be whether or not that name is for real.”

  A chorus of giggles met that sassy bit of snark.

  ****

  The radio interview proceeded pretty much as Maeve expected. DJ Chaundra Cinnamon lobbed questions about Goal to Go, Josh’s return to the playing field and the Lincoln Center event. Next, she focused on the explosive rise in popularity of Sisters in Spirit. Maeve relaxed into the fifteen minute segment that would conclude with a pair of songs from their album.

  “What intrigues me most about your group, ladies, and Josh, your connection to it, is the history involved. You all grew up together, correct?”

  “Yes, we did. In Westerville, New York.”

&nb
sp; Chaundra nodded at Kassidy. “So this is kind of like a reunion.”

  “Exactly,” Aileen and Josh replied in unison.

  “For some more than others, perhaps?”

  OK, that leading comment paired with Chaundra’s impish smile deviated from the expected line of questioning. An ominous tingle went to work beneath Maeve’s skin. A somewhat shaky silence built.

  “I’m not sure I follow?” Maeve kept a smile in her voice but visually tagged her friends who appeared lost as well.

  “Oh, I think maybe you do follow, Maeve, you’re just being shy. Understandably modest.” Chaundra inched forward in her chair, speaking directly into her microphone. “Folks, I did a bit of behind-the-scenes research and discovered Maeve and Josh were actually high school sweethearts. How cool is that? During their days in Westerville they were known as the songstress and the quarterback. How impossibly romantic! It’s the stuff of movies. How has it felt to reunite? Had you kept in touch over the years?”

  Maeve’s chest tightened in perfect time to the plummeting of her stomach. When silence built, Chaundra stepped into the void. “You’re among friends here—and you’re an absolutely gorgeous couple. Sweet as can be. I’m sure we’d love to hear details—my goodness, the rumor mill would go crazy!”

  “Only if the rumor mill is prompted to go crazy.”

  Josh’s tone was light—teasing in a way—but Maeve recognized a subtle undercurrent of warning. In an instant, she donned her acting persona, presenting a kind, unperturbed mask. “And lest you be tempted to push toward personal turf, let’s agree to not stray too far off point. Goal to Go needs to remain the emphasis. What we’re going to accomplish for this charity will be huge, and so beneficial, to thousands of kids in need.”

  She sprinkled ease and a sparkling-eyed glance over any gossip Chaundra might want to exploit. No way would this DJ on a quest for gossip get the better of them.

  Josh took over. “Those statements are on the money, Maeve. Thanks for that shout-out to the kids. The only thing I’ll say in addition is that working with these ladies, as well as the talented individuals from back stage to the front of house, has been amazing.”

  Aileen fingered her headset, leaning toward the mic positioned between her and Siobhan. “I agree, Josh. The entire experience so far has been such a treat, and Chaundra, we’re very excited that you’re going to share a couple of our songs.”

  Aileen’s artful segue led to a musical bridge during which Maeve caught Aileen’s gaze and mouthed the words: You are totally awesome, which earned a loving wink.

  Afterward, Maeve gravitated toward the girls, who convened in the front lobby of the station, waiting for their scheduled ride back to the Warwick Hotel. Staff members gathered to wish them well, snag a few pictures and autographs. Cognizant of watchful eyes—especially from the reporting staff—Maeve worked free of Josh deliberately, but distance was the last thing she truly wanted.

  He stood at the front desk, chatting with the receptionist while he jotted something on a piece of paper the star-struck lady had surrendered. Probably an autograph, or—

  “Maeve…Maeve, did you hear me?”

  “I’m sorry, Siobhan—what? I’m afraid I’m already debriefing the interview in my mind.”

  Siobhan’s gaze went straight to Josh. “Yeah. I can see that.”

  Maeve scowled, which didn’t scare Siobhan at all. Instead, the little minx just grinned. “Like I was saying, our rehearsal is scheduled for ten o’clock instead of eight o’clock tomorrow morning. Elizabeth just texted me to say it’ll include everyone—backups, chorus members…everyone who needs to be mixed into place on stage and …”

  Siobhan’s words drifted to a decrescendo all over again when Maeve felt motion from behind, then the soft brush stroke of fingertips against her hand. She started, capturing Josh’s gaze briefly as he passed and pushed a note into her palm. She wanted to curve her fingertips, to catch him, to hold…

  But once Maeve took custody of the paper, he moved away, chatting with Chaundra, who gushed, and repeatedly reached forward, brushing her fingertips against his arm. Maeve experienced a very un-Christian-like urge to snarl at the blatant display but popped that bubble.

  Instead, she nipped her lower lip, unfolding the paper he’d delivered.

  Can you meet me at Randolph’s? Drinks, munchies. 6:30?

  Blushing furiously, trying to rebuke that increasingly familiar tummy dance, those tingly sparks of expectation, Maeve’s gaze pinged to Josh, who looked at her over the top of Chaundra’s head, waiting on a reaction. Enticing her despite all better judgment.

  Feeling like the school girl she had once been, Maeve delivered a private nod.

  “…and then, I strolled into the middle of Times Square and rode a unicorn.”

  Siobhan’s audacious comment jarred Maeve back to the present; she had zoned out again. Yikes. A trio of knowing smirks met Maeve’s gaze.

  ****

  Soft music—the current selection a gently flowing piano rendition of Moon River—piped through the air at Randolph’s. Josh took a second to enjoy the melody and the tasteful, living room style ambiance of the gathering spot before striding to an empty couch angled into a cozy nook complete with lamp and coffee table for placement of beverages and food. Perfect setting.

  Josh pushed back the sleeve of a navy suit coat, checking the face of his watch. He was a couple of minutes early. He sat, brushed a wrinkle or two from tan slacks, leaned back and double checked the time. He hadn’t felt this nervous and eager about meeting a woman since—ever. He faced the entrance, trying to relax by watching people. A waitress approached, and Josh was about to request menus when he caught sight of Maeve and watched her cross the threshold. He stood automatically, instantly drawn, instantly captivated.

  She paused at the door and adjusted a thin purse strap against her shoulder while she searched the crowd. In the instant before Maeve spotted him, Josh took her in and savored. She wore a simple short-sleeved black silk dress that was nipped at the waist. His gaze tracked to long, slender legs and leather pumps. She smoothed her fingertips against a pearl necklace; was she a bit nervous? The maître d approached her. When she greeted him and smoothed back the fall of that vivid tumble of red hair, she spotted Josh. The unguarded pleasure that lit her eyes struck him hard and fast, sweeping him directly into her current.

  She murmured to the maître d and moved toward Josh. The grace of her motions, the curve of her lips, the sparkle in her eyes left him forever grateful that she was here…for him.

  His smile of welcome stretched wide; he offered his hand, which she accepted easily—readily. A small but significant victory. Progress.

  “You certainly do know how to own a room and make an entrance, Maeve. You’re stunning.” He drew her in for a hug and kissed her cheek, lingering just a tad over the connection. Jasmine. Satiny skin. Warmth.

  Retreating from his embrace, Maeve smiled and gave his suit coat lapels a gentle tug. “Well aren’t you the kind one.”

  “I’m honest. Kindness is simply a byproduct.”

  The words ignited a tinge of pink against her cheeks as she joined him on the couch. “You could have texted me, you know.”

  “Handwritten notes are much better. I’m old school like that.”

  She bumped her shoulder against his. “I’m glad. I loved it.”

  They faced a perfect view of Avenue of the Americas and the people-push, the frenetic hustle of Midtown, yet their space felt intimate. The waitress stopped by once again. After placing orders for ginger ale, they spent a few moments discussing appetizer options.

  “Do you still like calamari in marinara sauce?” Maeve peeked at him over the top of her menu.

  “Absolutely. I know you’ve already had a light, working dinner with the team from Zion, but order something more if you’d like.”

  “No, this is perfect. I’d rather stay right here and just relax together rather than do a formal table and dinner. This is a wonderful spot.” />
  “You hadn’t checked out Randolph’s yet?”

  “Shameful, I know, since it’s on the ground floor of the hotel, but”—Maeve shrugged—”No time. It’s been a whirlwind.” Drinks arrived and they tapped glasses before taking a unison sip. “So, Doug tells me he’s coming to town for a visit.”

  “Yep, I’m going to treat him to some pain and gain at Quantum Leap this weekend. I have a session Saturday then I’m going to Covington Outreach in Brooklyn to meet with some of the kids.”

  “That’s one of the centers you support, right?” Maeve leaned forward to set her glass on the coffee table then settled gracefully against the back of the couch. Josh’s mouth went dry. Thankfully, she didn’t comment about his smitten perusal.

  “It is.” Inspiration struck. “I’d love it if you could come along. The kids would really enjoy it.”

  “Are you sure you want to tempt fate?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Aren’t you worried about rumor mongers and having contact with me outside the parameters of the Lincoln Center event?”

  “Doesn’t bother me in the least.” They watched each other and an impasse ensued. “And since you opened the gate, I’m walking through. How did you feel about the questions Chaundra asked?”

  She blinked. Then, moving slow, she retrieved her soda and took a drink. Stalling, he knew.

  “I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised. It’s no secret we dated, and the media just loves to uncover nuggets of intrigue. I’m fine with it. No harm, no foul, right?”

  Such a polished reply; so poised, and so wrong.

  In emphasis, Josh kept quiet and studied her. “OK, now answer me as though you weren’t in front of a judging panel, or an audience.”