Page 14 of Every Step She Takes
At the gate, I’m settling into a seat when I look up into the face of Colt Gordon, and every cell in my body freezes.
It’s not actually Colt, of course. It’s just his face – five times life-size, staring at me from an electronic movie poster.
This isn’t the first time I’ve been confronted by his image. Colt is a Hollywood icon, and being male, his star didn’t plummet once he hit middle age. At fifty-five, he’s still an action hero though his love interests remarkably don’t age at all.
On this poster, though, the second figure isn’t a woman half his age. It’s a young man who could have been Colt himself thirty years ago.
“Jamie,” I murmur.
Chapter Eight
The Hamptons, 2005
A month later, I was outside with the kids, giving them a music lesson. We were on the strip of land between the house and the beach, all sand and tall grasses. We’d pulled chairs out there to work in the morning sunshine, enjoying the sea breeze and ignoring the cacophonous percussion of the seagulls.
When footfalls thumped over the sand, I didn’t even need to turn to see who it was. Sure enough, Colt appeared, dressed only in his shorts, a sheaf of papers in his hand.
“Where’s your mom?” he asked Tiana.
“Internet sucks this morning. She went into town to send some emails.”
Irritation flashed over his face. Then he spun on me and waved the papers. “You’ve done screenwriting, right?”
“Uh, a little, but–”
He shoved the script at me. “It’s a fight scene, and I’m supposed to grab the guy like…” He finger-waved at Jamison. “I need an assistant.”
Jamison shook his head and focused on adjusting his tuning pegs. “No, thank you.”
Colt strode over and took the violin sharply enough that I cringed. He set it down and put a hand on Jamison’s shoulder. “Come and help your old man out.”
“I will,” Tiana said, hopping to her feet.
“It’s a fight scene,” Colt said. “Jamie’s my man for this. Aren’t you, kiddo?”
“I would rather not,” Jamison said in that quiet, formal way of his. “Tiana can.”
“I’m not going to hurt you,” Colt said with an eye roll.
“I know. I just don’t like doing that.”
“Don’t like what? Helping your old man? It’s afightscene. It’s fun.”
“Not to me.”
Silence. I opened my mouth to say something, but before I could, Jamison rose and said, “I’m not feeling very good. I’m going inside.”
He took one step, and then Colt grabbed him in a headlock. Jamison yelped, and Colt laughed, flipping his son over and mock-pinning him to the ground. And I… I stood there feeling sick and doing nothing. Colt was goofing around, not hurting Jamison, and I couldn’t see Jamison’s face. I glanced at Tiana, who cast me an uncomfortable look, paired with a nervous laugh, and then joined in, pushing at her dad and pretending to play fight him, and somewhere in the melee, Jamison ran for the house while his dad and sister roughhoused.
I slipped off after Jamison. I could hear him in his room, and I paced for a few minutes, hoping Isabella would return. I was just the music tutor, and I shouldn’t interfere, but Jamison was upset, and I needed to do something.
If his bedroom door had been closed, I’d have retreated. It was cracked open, though, and from inside came the sound of crumpling paper. I tapped on the door, and it swung open, and there was Jamison, his face taut with rage as he ripped pages from a book, balling them up and whipping them at the wall.
Then he saw me and froze, and from the look on his face, you’d think I’d walked in to find him torturing a small animal. He quickly hid the book behind his back and stammered something unintelligible.
“May I come in?” I asked.
When he hesitated, I began to retreat. Then he said, “Yes,” and I walked in and shut the door.
