Within This Frame (33 page)

“Most people would love to look like me.”

“Yeah, well, not me. I’m good.” Donovan turned as a cheer erupted. A girl was in the process of removing her bra and panties, dancing close to the edge of the pool.

“Shit. I really don’t want to make her stop, but if she takes off her bra and underwear, then the next move is to jump in the pool.” He looked at Lance. “My dad said no one is to use the pool—he doesn’t want anyone to get hurt, adding that he is out of town and knows nothing of this party, should it get out of hand. I said what good is his profession to me if it can’t even make a few tickets disappear? He didn’t find that funny.”

Lance grinned. “I can’t imagine why.”

The sound of a body hitting water followed his words, and with a groan, Donovan took off, waving his arms and yelling that the next person to get in the pool was going to get kicked out. Someone stepped forward and shoved him into the water, laughter and shouts drowning out Donovan’s curses. The naked girl wrapped her arms around his neck and he quieted, allowing her to kiss him.

Lance shook his head and strode for the bar. He needed a beer.

Hands covered his eyes, and for one stunning moment, he thought it was Maggie. The perfume reached him, and then the voice, and the tiny hope died.

“Guess who.”

“Tabitha.” Lance heard the disappointment in his voice. He took a deep drink of the sweet and bitter beer and faced her.

Her hair was up in a high ponytail, a cutoff purple shirt showcasing her slim waist, and tight blue jeans accentuated the long limbs they covered. She shrugged. “Happy Birthday.”

He nodded, finishing the beer in two long swallows. “Best birthday ever,” he lied.

“I haven’t seen you much since the yacht party. How are things with you and Maggie?” she questioned, leaning her back against the railing.

“Why?” he growled, getting another beer.

Tabitha’s thin eyebrows lifted. “I take it things are not going well.”

“Again, why?”

She looked at her fingernails. “Just making conversation. Isn’t that what friends do?”

Lance swung around to put his face next to hers. He stared into her blue eyes. “We are not friends.”

Her face scrunched up and she stomped to the bar. Drink in hand, Tabitha spun on her heel and glared at him.

“How did you get invited to this anyway?” he asked, watching her with hooded eyes.

Tabitha didn’t answer until the beer was gone. Making a face, she got a second. “I hate the taste of beer.”

“Then why are you drinking it?”

“Because I want to,” she snapped, emptying the beer and going for another. “Donovan’s dad knows my mom. They dated in high school or something. I was a pity invite.”

“Don’t you think you should slow down?”

Tabitha chugged the beer, swaying on her feet as she lowered it. “Don’t you think you should catch up?”

The challenge was clear, and after a second of consideration, Lance accepted.

“My boyfriend dumped me yesterday,” Tabitha slurred some time later. They were on a bench tucked away in a corner, the party alive around them.

“I don’t think I have a girlfriend anymore.” Lance dropped his head back and stared at the starry sky.

“How can you not know that?”

He slowly turned his head and found Tabitha staring at him.

“He cheated on me.” She blinked her eyes and the momentary sadness he’d seen in them was gone. “They always cheat on me. What’s wrong with me?”

“You’re a bitch,” Lance told her, and then went still. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

Tabitha’s scowl turned into a smile and she laughed, facing forward. “That I am.”

“Ready for another?” Lance straightened on the seat and tried to stand, his legs uncooperative. “I think my legs are drunk.”

Giggling, she put an arm around his waist. “I think that means it’s time to stop drinking, which means you should keep drinking. Come on, birthday boy, tonight is not the night to make good decisions.”

“It isn’t?” Lance asked, swaying on his feet.

Tabitha didn’t answer, holding him up as he tried to hold her up. They staggered toward the party, both getting another drink. Lance could barely stand, arms resting along the railing so he didn’t fall on his face. Tabitha wasn’t much better, her feet moving forward and back of their own accord. She laughed, and even though Lance had no idea what she was laughing at, he laughed as well.

The rest of the night became a blur of alcohol, Tabitha, and darkness.

MAGGIE—2010

A
S SOON AS
she stepped into the kitchen, she was awarded a stunning smile. Hair unkempt, clothed in a worn shirt and shorts, Lance couldn’t have looked better if he was in a suit. Maggie swallowed thickly, feeling the smile in her heart. She was going to miss his smiles.

“Good morning, Maggie,” he greeted.

“Good morning, Lance.”

“You look nice.”

Face reddening, Maggie nodded in thanks. Deciding to wear a legitimate outfit instead of workout clothes, she’d dressed in a pale pink sundress and kept her hair down.

“You don’t,” she joked weakly.

Lance laughed. “I had a late start this morning. I didn’t sleep the greatest last night.”

“Oh?” She strove for a casual tone, but the way she intently stared at him ruined it. “Why is that?” Had he spent the night fearing the upcoming day, like she had?

“When you date someone, and things start to go bad, you can feel the end coming. You can fight it, pretend it isn’t happening. You can even delay it, for a while.” Lance’s smile turned sad. “Not so much with us. The end is abysmally clear. It’s our last day together. What would you like to do?”

Her throat tightened and she hid her expression as she turned from where Lance sat on a barstool at the counter. Maggie slowly poured herself a mug of coffee, staring at the dark brown liquid as it flowed into the cup. Her nerves were out of sorts and emotions threatened to turn her into an incoherent mess.

“When does your flight leave?” she asked with her back to Lance.

“I have to be at the airport by six.”

Maggie’s eyes flew to the clock on the stove. They had less than ten hours left. She blinked as tears slammed to the surface. Taking a deep breath, she turned to face him. He’d moved to stand nearer to her, yet stayed out of reach. His blue eyes were dark, his naturally full mouth a thin line. She looked at Lance, unable to picture her life without him once more.

“This isn’t goodbye,” he said softly. “We can visit each other. You can come to Ohio or I can come to Iowa. We’re friends now, right?”

They both knew when Lance left, it would be the second, and final, end for them. His tone said he didn’t believe the words he said. Maggie’s expression said the same. It would be too hard to remain friends, however distantly. Friendship with Lance would never be enough for her.

“And I’ll see you next month, at the fundraiser,” he continued, his voice getting thicker the more he talked. “You’re my date.” He offered a weak smile.

“This feels like we’re breaking up all over again,” she told him, trying to tease and failing. Her tone was too serious, too truthful.

“It feels twenty times worse.” Lance opened his arms. “Come here.”

Maggie went to him without hesitation, wrapping her arms around his torso as she tightly pressed her face against his collarbone. Lance’s chin rested on her forehead, his arms banded over her back. She closed her eyes and reveled in him, wanting to hug him right into her soul.

“Thank you for forgiving me. I know I was here to help you, but you helped me too. I needed this time with you.”

“I needed it too,” she confessed, gripping him harder. Needed him, still needed him. Always would.

She’d let go of regret, hurt, and anger. Maggie accepted herself. None of it would have happened without Lance. Nora was right—Lance was the guy. Her sister had meant it romantically, but it was more than that. He’d opened Maggie’s eyes to how he viewed her, and she’d been able to see herself in a different, better, imperfectly perfect way.

He pressed a hard kiss to her forehead and dropped his arms. “What should we do then, on our last day together?”

Maggie shrugged, desolation making her shoulders heavy. A thought came to her and she brightened, looking at Lance. “I know what we can do.”

“What?” he asked warily.

“Have a horror movie marathon, starting with ‘Snakes on A Plane’. That’ll get you ready for your flight.”

“Thanks. Thanks a lot.”

Maggie held up her hands. “Just trying to help out.”

“Do you even have any scary movies?”

Maggie rolled her eyes and headed for the den. “Do I have any scary movies?” she scoffed. “Wait until you see them all. Think of your collection at the age of sixteen, and then add fourteen or fifteen years to that.”

“Must be impressive,” he replied, following her.

“And after that, we’ll make you some soap.”

“Soap,” Lance mused, plopping down on the couch in the den.

“Yes. Soap. The stuff that makes it so you don’t smell. You wanted to make some. This is sort of your last chance.”

He studied her features. “I don’t like last chances. It implies an end.”

“Everything has to end.”

Lance sat up. Head lowered, he looked at his hands. “I don’t like ends either.”

Maggie put in a movie and moved to sit beside him. “It doesn’t matter if you like it or not, that’s just the way it is.” She grabbed his arm and plopped it over her shoulders, smiling at him when he looked down at her.

“Not always,” was his cryptic response.

They watched two movies, Lance with his arm around her and Maggie resting her head on his chest. Then they went to the kitchen and made flourless peanut butter cookies, standing beside each other at the counter as they ate them. It was bittersweet, and ridiculous, and Maggie mourned the upcoming hours. She laughed, and smiled, and teased, and she pretended she was happy when she was really sad.

In the basement workroom a few hours later, Maggie stared at the dozens of essential oils with Lance next to her. Maggie had changed into a stained blue shirt and purple leggings, and Lance hadn’t changed out of his grubby clothes from earlier. The cool temperature faded away as she focused on his nearness to her.

“This is my favorite part,” she said, glancing at him.

“What, staring at the bottles?”

“Deciding what scents to use.”

He studied her face, the ghost of a smile on his face. “Why is that?”

“It’s fun to try out new scents, combine different oils and see what happens.”

“As long as they don’t smell horrid.”

“True.”

Her fingers itched to touch him and Maggie spontaneously reached up and brushed hair from his forehead. Lance clapped his fingers around her wrist and slowly lowered her hand, gazing into her eyes. She opened her mouth, but words failed her. Lance looked at her in a way that made her pulse react maddeningly. Unspoken truths passed from his eyes to hers, and back again to his.

“What do you recommend?” he murmured, releasing her hand.

“Uh . . . um . . .” Maggie inhaled deeply, trying to think of a response to a question she didn’t remember. Shaking her head, she grabbed two random bottles and slapped them into Lance’s hand.

He read the labels, looking up with a frown on his face. “Peppermint and lemon?”

Maggie snorted. “No. That won’t work. Pick one of those and I’ll put the other back.”

“Lemon.”

“Okay. Good choice.” She nodded and leaned forward, tapping her fingers along the bottle caps as she thought. “Let’s be daring, shall we?” Maggie chose a bottle.

“Vanilla.” He sounded skeptical.

“What’s wrong with vanilla?”

“Nothing. It just . . . doesn’t sound all that daring. How about . . . orange?”

“You want lemon and orange scented soap?”

Lance tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “I do.”

She shrugged and moved away to catch her breath. “All right.”

Maggie grabbed equipment from a shelf and slapped it into Lance’s hands. “First step—gloves, goggles, and masks.”

“What the hell? I thought we were making soap, not performing some science experiment.”

“Soap making
is
a science experiment. We’re going to be working with lye. It can burn you, or worse, cause an explosion.”

“Explosion?”

“It would be unlikely that that would happen.” Maggie gathered necessary tools and set them up on the table in the middle of the room.

“Explosion?”

“It would be a minor one.”

Lance grabbed her arm and firmly turned her around. “Explosion?”

Maggie looked at his troubled expression and grinned. “You wanted to be daring, right?”

“Yeah,” he said faintly.

“Who knew soap making could be dangerous?”

She went to the freezer and removed a container of goat milk. Maggie then flipped a switch on the wall and a vent turned on, working to keep fresh air circulating through the area. “Over there, near the shelf, are a bunch of tubs of labeled oils. Get out the palm, coconut, olive, and palm kernel.”

“You’re sexy when you’re bossy,” Lance said from across the room, eyes trained on her.

Maggie laughed and struck a pose.

Proper gear on, all the needed ingredients and utensils in place, they went to work.

“What happens if we get burned?”

“We put vinegar on the burns.”

“And what is the purpose of the lye?” he asked, stirring the pot on the stove as she measured, weighed, and added.

“It acts as a cleaning agent, attracts dirt and oil from the skin.”

When the base of goat milk and lye and the combined oils were each between eighty and ninety degrees, they were mixed together. Lance stirred the components until the blend became somewhat thick, and then Maggie added crushed almonds and oatmeal to it once it was removed from heat.

“We have to work fast now. Do you have the molds picked out that you want to use?”

Lance motioned to the table. Not surprisingly, he’d chosen the alien heads.

Smile stretching her face, Maggie began to fill them. “These have to set up in the molds for one to two days, and then it takes four to six weeks for them to cure. I’ll bring them to the fundraiser, if that’s all right? They should be ready in time.”