Page 43 of Players Like Us (Reunion Gap #7)

“It’s not the end of the world, you know. It’s only eight days.”—Christian Wheyton

They were leaving tomorrow. Scraped away from her like a D&C without anesthetic.

Even after all these years, she still dreaded it—the suitcases, tagged and waiting at the front door, the early morning trip to the airport, the luggage checks, the lines of travelers snaking past. Each process pulled Audra Valentine Wheyton’s husband and daughter away, minds and bodies beginning the two-thousand-mile trek before they reached the first escalator.

Kara had a new suitcase this time, pink and green canvas with wheels to replace the daisy vinyl she’d used the past six trips.

Christian thought Audra should stay home and forgo the airport ritual, but she needed to watch her daughter’s blonde head disappear among the mesh of travelers and gain comfort from her husband’s tanned hand raised in one last good-bye.

He no longer asked her to go with them, but his pale blue eyes shone with hope each time he packed his suitcase and looked at her with a quiet longing that begged, Come with us.

Settle the past. Show them it doesn’t matter anymore .

But it did matter. It would always matter.

Christian thought the past would never catch up with her and if it did, no one would recognize it as hers anyway.

He discounted the one person who might piece together the truth and recognize her deceit.

Nine years and nine states separated them, but she feared him most.

“I saw the show today.” The softness in Christian’s voice cocooned her and she snuggled closer. “I like where you’re going with it.”

“You didn’t think it was too revealing?” Writing a story was one thing but watching the scripted words morph onto the screen and slip through someone else’s mouth? Especially words tied to a past only three people in the entire state of California knew about? That was close to torture.

“Give yourself a little credit, Audra. Soap Secrets wouldn’t call you a masterful storyteller if it weren’t true.”

Of course Christian supported her but what did a man entranced by the Renaissance period know about hype and wordplay? She sighed and said, “I’m not a masterful storyteller.”

He was not going to be denied his opinion. “What about People’ s blurb last month? Bland doesn’t make People , unless it’s a new diet or health food craze.”

Her husband, the optimist. “You don’t think it has to do with the public’s insane quest to unearth the identity of the show’s head writer?”

“Maybe.” He stroked her back, played with the ends of her shoulder-length hair in that familiar way he did when he was thinking, as though he were turning the pages of a well-worn document.

“It has everything to do with morbid curiosity. Howard’s got the press wrapped up in the mystery and he’s going to play it as long as he can.

” By the time her identity squeaked out, and it would eventually, she’d be months, maybe even a year past the current storyline, and it wouldn’t matter.

It only mattered now, when the critical aspects of the story might be recognized for what they were—a duplication of her own life.

From the moment she walked on the set thirteen months ago, the staff knew her only as Rhetta Hardt, a clever name born of Howard Krozer’s imagination and obsession with all things German.

The rest of the staff believed they were protecting “Rhetta’s” identity, forming a camaraderie of sorts to band against overzealous fans and too-curious reporters, and it was this desire to be part of the informed group that led them to trust blindly.

Many whispered their own suspicions about the dark-haired woman who rarely smiled.

One said she’d defected from Germany to flee the stigma of parents convicted of spying.

Another maintained Rhetta was in witness protection for turning state’s evidence on a kingpin boyfriend who had been engaged in drug or arms dealing.

Only a few believed Howard Krozer’s fabricated story.

And once they met Christian, who had been introduced sans last name, he became part of the wondering.

Perhaps a good part of the fantasizing as well.

The costume designer with the double knee replacements invited Christian to coffee every time she saw him, even brought raspberry streusel when she knew he’d be on the set.

And soap star Sophia Pregganio pumped extra purr into her love scenes when she spotted him.

Even Roland Gergi offered up a wink and a promise to ditch his partner, Julio, if Christian would only look his way.

It was all spoken in fun with the half-seriousness of those who aren’t quite joking.

And all the while, Howard smiled and popped handfuls of Chiclets in his mouth, another obsession of the sixty-something soap guru.

People don’t care about the truth , he’d told Audra.

They only care about supporting what they believe is the truth, which is rarely even close.

He was right about that. The truth was nowhere close.

“So—” Christian heaved a sigh and pulled her from her thoughts “—are we going to talk about tomorrow?”

And there it was, the segue to the beginning of eight days of longing and loneliness.

“Audra?”

“I’m sorry. Just distracted, I guess.”

Christian kissed the top of her head. “It’s not the end of the world, you know. It’s only eight days.”

His presence calmed her as it had so many times before—during the scandalous death of her mother, the loss of her beloved grandmother, the horrific labor pains, and emergency C-section.

“I know,” she murmured, relaxing despite the dreaded separation.

“This is just not a good time. Kara’s really excited about her gymnastics classes and Peter promised to take her to the set next week and…

” Who was she kidding? It would never be a good time.

“I’ll miss you.”

When she didn’t answer, he loosened his hold and tipped her chin up so he could see her face. “Italy was twenty days.”

“Italy was work. And besides, it’s a world away from San Diego.”

“So is Holly Springs.”

“Very funny.” She envied Christian’s light-hearted view of the world.

With him there was always a solution, often tinged with a glint of humor that made the worst scenarios seem not so bad, especially when delivered with a wide smile and flash of dimple.

“I’m going to miss you and Kara, whether it’s three days away or thirteen. ”

“I know.” And then with the tiniest glimmer of hope, he said, “You could go with us.”

“You know I can’t.”

He didn’t respond, just held her while she breathed in his comforting scent.

From the moment they’d exchanged vows nine years ago, he’d promised to be there for her and he had, with the exception of the annual research projects that took him to abroad.

History professors researched and traveled so when they returned home they could write and lecture with purpose and familiarity.

It was the biannual trips to Holly Springs, New York, that left her queasy and unsettled. Every trip. Every year. Every time.

“How about I fix my favorite girl a piece of cinnamon toast, just the way she likes it?”

A smile slipped grudgingly from Audra’s lips. “Only if it has gobs of butter and your special cinnamon sugar mix.”

“Absolutely.” He kissed her softly on the mouth. “Then we’ll head to bed. Morning will come soon enough.”