Eric stayed away from her for the rest of the read-through, which was definitely for the best, because Casey wasn’t sure she’d be able to hold it together if he so much as looked at her. It was also good because Casey was afraid Leila would break into a snarl and bite her if she went anywhere close to Eric. She’d have to ask him what Leila’s deal was, although it seemed obvious the poor girl had a hot and heavy crush on him.
Somehow they stumbled through the rest of the play, stopping only once to get Holly a painkiller from the theater’s first aid kit—Oh, the stress! My head is bursting!—until they reached the end and Becca sent them on a short break. Casey fled outside, where she paced the sidewalk, taking deep breaths and gritting her teeth. She didn’t know if she would be able to go through with it.
If only Reuben were there.
And I, most jocund, apt, and willingly,
To do you rest, a thousand deaths would die.
She stopped, staring blankly at the building across the street. Oh, Reuben. He’d been so dashing up on the stage. He could make people laugh one minute, and cry the next. A true actor. As good as Eric. It was as a result of his passion that she’d ended up in theater at all. If it hadn’t been for him, she never would’ve thought of taking her hapkido skills in that direction. She laughed to herself, remembering the first time she’d tried choreographing a stage fight. The poor man playing Long John Silver had thought she was going to actually kill him. She’d probably come closer than anyone liked to think about.
After that Reuben had thought it best she get a little actual theater training. She’d done that, taking a few stage combat workshops and working for a summer Shakespeare company. She was surprised how much she’d enjoyed it. She hadn’t expected to. Hapkido gave so much more physical satisfaction. But the thrill of the stage and the response of the audience had called to her…
Footsteps sounded behind her, and she turned, expecting Eric. Her greeting died on her lips.
“You did a good job in there.” Todd, the good-looking but lethargic banker, lounged against the side of the bench. “Done much acting?”
“Thank you. Some.” She stopped pacing. “And you?”
“Just here.” He gave a lazy smile, tipping his head back toward the theater. “Whenever they need a respectable-looking, non-teenager kind of guy they call me.”
“Sure.”
He pulled a water bottle from his jacket pocket and held it out to her. “Drink?”
“Oh. Thanks.” She twisted open the top and took several swallows, thirstier than she’d realized.
Todd opened a second one and took a few genteel sips. “You here because of Eric?”
“Eric? Oh. Well, sort of.” It was true. If it hadn’t been for him, she most likely wouldn’t have agreed to do the part. In fact, she would’ve left the theater the night before after hearing the others perform, and Thomas wouldn’t have discovered her at the back of the room.
“I hear you’re a fighter.”
She glanced up.
“Aaron and Jack. They told me about last night’s rehearsal.”
“Oh, that.” She shrugged. “I’ve done some stage combat choreography.”
He took another swallow, eying her over his bottle. Casey averted her gaze, squeezing her drink in her fist.
“So where did Eric find you? Or are you one of his theater buddies from the good ol’ days in Louisville?”
She looked back at him, wondering if she dared ask what those good old days consisted of. But Todd’s expression was shuttered.
“I stopped in at Home Sweet Home.”
“The charity supper? You were there?” His face went hard, and he drained his bottle before tossing it into the trashcan beside the bench.
Casey itched to pluck the bottle out of the barrel and find the nearest recycling bin, but knew that wouldn’t make her any friends at the moment. “Is that a problem?”
“No. Of course not. Why would it be? It’s a good place. A good thing.”
The door opened and Becca stuck her head out. “Ready to get started again?”
Todd took a quick breath through his nose and held out a hand toward the theater, his eyes focused somewhere just beyond Casey’s shoulder. “After you.”
Casey screwed the lid back on her water bottle and walked past him, wondering why the mention of Home Sweet Home had made him break out into such a sweat that a bead of it was rolling down the side of his face.
Chapter Thirteen
“So you survived.”
Casey shook her head and swung her leg over her bike, ready to head back to The Nesting Place, since rehearsal was over. “Barely. And you didn’t help.”
“Me?” Eric placed his hands over his chest, his eyes wide with innocence. “What did I do?”
Casey gave him a light punch to the shoulder. “Telling Holly she was beginning to get the hang of it was hardly beneficial.”
He grinned. “What? You suggest I give her criticism? You think she would listen?”
“No. I guess not.”
“Besides, Thomas would kill me.”
“He’s that protective?”
“Of his position as director. Not of Holly.”
Casey looked back toward the theater, not wanting to be overheard. “You sure about that? He was looking at her pretty possessively. Although I did notice he was wearing a wedding ring.”
Eric snorted. “Like that matters to him.”
Casey crossed her arms over her chest, her feet flat on the ground, balancing the bike under her. “Okay. Spill. You have to tell me what the deal is with you and Thomas.”
“Oh. I have to, do I?”
A quick glance showed Casey he wasn’t angry. But he suddenly looked tired.
“Come on,” she said. “I’ll walk you back to your car.”
“Eric!” Leila came skipping out of the theater. “You said we could go out for a drink, remember?”
“Not tonight, Leila, okay? Another time.”
Leila looked at Casey, her feelings evident on her face. “Fine. Another time.”
With a huff she swung her hair off of her shoulders and stomped to the green VW Bug across the street. Eric didn’t say anything as she snatched her keys from the driver’s seat, revved the engine, and screeched away, her taillights shining brightly in the night.
“Well…” Casey said.
“Come on,” Eric said. “Let’s go.”
He began walking and Casey followed on the opposite side of the bike.
Eric held up a hand, then dropped it. “Like I said, Thomas’ family and mine go way back. Our fathers went to school together.”
“Here in Clymer?”
“No. I wasn’t from here, originally. I moved here when I was eight, when my father got a job. Thomas and his family came shortly after, for the same reason.”
“Jobs with HomeMaker?”
“Yes. Anyway, Thomas was just a year ahead of me in school. I know he looks older, but I think it’s the beard. He cultivated that to appear more sophisticated.”
Casey gave a short laugh, and Eric grinned. “I know. I didn’t say it worked. But he does his best.”
They walked for a few more paces in silence.
“Were you friends?” Casey finally asked.
“No.” It came out as an exclamation. “We never were. I’m not sure why, exactly. Our dads were together all the time, and our moms… But he always seemed to think we were in some competition. Girls, grades, basketball. You name it, we were against each other. I didn’t even like basketball.”
“Or girls?”
He laughed. “Oh, I liked them fine. At least, after about seventh grade. But they always seemed to like Thomas better.”
Casey glanced at him. “Seriously?”
“Sure. He had that brooding, artistic thing going.”
“What? And you don’t? You’ve got more artistic sense than he’ll ever have.”
He smiled. “Well, thanks. But that took a while to come about. I had no interest in theater at all during school. My mother forced me to sing in the choir, but that was as far as my artistic endeavors went. Back then, I was just…all I tried to do was fade into the background.”