“Father?” Cheryl swayed on her feet, eyeing Jacob. She waved her cigarette toward Frank who instantly took it from her fingers. He wrapped his arm around her waist to hold her upright. “Did you say my husband fathered…”
“He’s our father. Not your husband.” Jennifer appeared next to Jacob. She held her cellphone. To her twin, she said, “I’m calling the police.”
Cheryl’s eyes landed on Nicholas and she visibly stiffened.
“I think you should get your friend out of here, mister,” Jacob said to Frank. “I don’t know what kind of psychological issues she has going on, and I hope you get her help, but my parents have been happily married for twenty years.”
“I’ve known Glenn since we were five. This is his wife, Cheryl. I think it’s you who better go,” Frank answered.
“That young man looks just like Glenn.” Cheryl clutched Frank’s arm as she continued to stare at Nicholas.
“We’ll get this sorted, Cheryl,” said Frank. “I’m sure it’s not true.”
Lorna saw everyone staring at them. The conversation had become loud and they were being watched like reality television. Her friends and family looked on in pity and confusion. The strangers in their suits and fancy dresses watched with disdain, some shaking their heads as if she’d done something wrong.
Under her breath, Cheryl said to Frank, “I don’t care how many illegitimate bastards Glenn has, they’re not getting a dime of my money.”
“He’s my husband,” Lorna yelled. She’d had enough of this. “Mine!”
“Make them go away,” Cheryl demanded just as loudly, “Get them out of here!”
“He’s my…” A sharp pain erupted inside Lorna and she pressed her balled fist to her chest. At first she thought it was another wave of grief but, as she felt herself falling toward where Glenn’s body lay in the casket, the world spun into blackness. She didn’t try to fight it.
Chapter Two
Warrick Theater, Freewild Cove, North Carolina
Three years later…
Lorna watched the young ballerinas prance across the stage. This was only a rehearsal. What they lacked in talent they made up in pure enthusiasm. At six years old this is how dance should be—fun. Her only concern was whether one of the little tutu-wearing mice would bounce right off the edge.
She sat alone in the back of the theater. It was a small venue with only a hundred and four seats, and had been set up for both live performances and movies. The gold and burgundy sponge-painted walls, art deco light fixtures, and paneled ceiling had been that way since long before she’d taken over the management of the building. She’d petitioned the city for updates, but only managed to acquire a used set of spotlights. Three of the eleven were broken. Lorna was sure the council had only given her that much funding as a way of shutting up the new woman in town.
A plaque on the front of the building indicated the theater had been commissioned by local businesswoman and suspected witch Julia Warrick over a hundred years ago. The colorful description of the woman sounded more legend than fact. Apparently, she was part of the Spiritualist movement and had held séances in the theater to talk to the dead. People would travel hundreds of miles to go to one of her shows. Julia’s granddaughter, Heather Harrison, now owned the building and the old theater drew an entirely different kind of clientele.
Lorna didn’t do this job because it would make her rich. She enjoyed the theater and the arts, but she didn’t do this job for passion, either. She didn’t live in a small apartment upstairs because she liked minimalism and walking to work.
Lorna did this job because she recently turned forty-four and had reentered the workplace after an adult lifetime of raising children. Yes, she’d worked outside of the home over the years, but it wasn’t like corporate ladders were in abundant supply where she’d lived in a Vermont suburb.
One of the ballerinas’ mouse ears was askew. The little girl reminded Lorna of Jennifer. Her daughter had always been more tomboy than ballerina and dance lessons had not lasted long. At the time, she’d thought life was so hectic, but in truth everything had been so simple, so innocent back then.
Lorna found herself looking at her bare ring finger, rubbing the place the wedding band had been.
It had broken her heart to see her children’s faces at the funeral when they’d discovered the truth. They felt as if their entire lives were a lie. She couldn’t blame them for that. Nor could she be angry when they’d questioned how she didn’t know sooner.
How could she not know? That was what everyone asked.
How could you not know he was married to someone else when you married him?
She’d asked that same question of herself many times.
Why didn’t you leave him? How could you stay?
Marriage was forever. It was hard and took work. That was the lessons she’d grown up hearing and she had never seriously considered leaving him, even when she wasn’t happy.
For twenty years she’d been married to a stranger. Every I love you, every kiss, every sweet moment had been a lie. How could a woman get past that kind of betrayal?
“If I were you, I’d resurrect him just to kick him in the balls.”
Lorna glanced up in surprise, by not only the answer to her unspoken question but the fact someone talked to her. The parents usually ignored her when they came in to watch the ballerinas unless they wanted a snack from the concession stand. “Excuse me?”
The woman pinched her sunglasses between two fingers and gestured questioningly at the seat next to Lorna before sliding in uninvited. In a green A-line skirt and silk blouse, she wasn’t dressed like most of the mothers who’d come to drop off for rehearsal. Her dark brown eyes matched the color of her long wavy hair, and when she smiled it showed a row of perfectly straight white teeth.
Why was this runway model talking to her anyway?
Lorna suddenly felt underdressed in a pair of jeans and a blue flannel shirt. Though she had natural curves she’d managed to keep her weight under control through diet more than exercise. She tried to be inconspicuous as she smoothed back strands of her reddish-blonde hair and tucked the longer bangs behind her ears. The highlights were meant to frame her face, which was difficult when she kept pulling them back into a messy bun.
The woman’s steady gaze indicated she was serious about her suggestion. “Your husband.”
“I don’t understand.” Lorna frowned and reached to drop the wrench she held into the small toolbox by her foot. She shook the theater seat to make sure the bolt she’d tightened held firm. “I’m not married.”
“I read all about it. If half of what they reported is true…” The woman let loose a low whistle and shook her head. “Did he really marry three other women besides you?”
“No.” Lorna knew she should have been used to questions like this but talking about it still felt like a punch in the gut. She grabbed the tools, saying, “There were only two of us,” before walking the opposite direction through the row. The toolbox bumped against one of the seats, bouncing back into her knee. She grunted as pain radiated from her kneecap and bit her lip to keep from crying out. So much for a graceful exit.