Page 72 of Sidelined By Love

“I got the lead in the play!”

Warmth fills me in a way that makes me forget the autumn chill, and a giggle escapes unheeded. “I’m not at all surprised and so, so proud of you. You’re so talented.”

Kenna doesn’t say anything for a long moment, but I can practically hear her smile through the phone. “Do you think maybe—I mean, if you’re not busy—maybe you could help me rehearse my lines? And maybe come to the show.”

I have absolutely nothing else to do. And even if I did, this sounds truly fun. “I can’t think of anything I’d rather do.”

She laughs and then says her friend’s mom is calling her for breakfast. She’ll see me soon.

I hope so.

Even though I have no idea how that’s going to work if her uncle wants nothing to do with me and probably never wants to see me again.

“So you’ve made his niece a success,” Nan says.

“No. I only helped her find her own skills. She’s already more talented than I was at that age.”

Lips pursing to the side, she drums her fingers on the glittering green Formica tabletop. “But your man didn’t show this morning.”

“He’s not mine.” I made sure of that.

“Spit it out, young lady. What did you do?”

Pressing my fingers to my forehead, I replay the scene again in my mind. “I told him everyone thinks I’m a production risk. And that I’m a risk to him too. And that I let things get carried away. And that I still want to be friends.”

Nan sits up a little straighter, squaring those narrow shoulders beneath the velour jacket of her set. “Excuse me?”

“I said it was all a waste, that I was sorry he wasted his time on me.”

Nan clucks her tongue. “Well, that’s a load of horse manure.”

“No. It’s not. It’s . . .”

Her eyebrows turn angry. “Well, it sure isn’t the truth.”

“Cyndi says the truth doesn’t matter anymore.”

Nan’s scowl could shrivel an olive. “Oh, my dear. The truth always matters.” She clamps her wrinkled and spotted hand over mine on the table. “It will set you free. Jesus said it, so it must be true.”

I remember that Bible verse. I first heard it back when Nan took me to Sunday School in New York. Back before my grandpa died, before I was mostly on my own.

I always liked the idea, but I’m not sure how it applies to my life right now. “So far, the truth is only hounding me and twisting my life into a mess. It was true that I was seeing my co-star. It was true that he’s married. It was true that his wife slapped me in the middle of a restaurant. I’m sure there are plenty of witnesses who would be happy to testify to that fact.”

“Yes, those are facts. But all of that was built on a lie. One that Joe lived. You’re not responsible for his deception. Only for living in the truth.” Her forehead wrinkles as her eyebrows pull together. “What do you know to be true right now?”

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I don’t know what’s true anymore. Or what lies I’ve fallen prey to. It’s too hard to sort them out.

“Well, let’s start with the good ones. You’re forgiven. Completely and wholly by the only One who matters. You are loved by a good God and a cranky grandma. And you are worthy to be loved.” She gives my hand a little squeeze, which warms my chest.

Maybe it’s a Sunday School response, but that doesn’t make it any less true. And if that’s true, maybe I can begin to forgive myself too.

“Thank you, Nan.”

Her grin turns mischievous. “And once that’s settled—perhaps there’s something else you’d like to own up to. Something about a very handsome young man?”

I chuckle.

“If I were fifty years younger, I’d be giving you a run for your money, young lady. Grant Reddington is the most attractive man I’ve ever seen—except for your grandfather, of course.”

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