Angels Everywhere - Debbie Macomber [182]
“As I recall, when you left Custer you went with a solitary suitcase. You came to the Big Apple without a job, with little money, and with only your dreams to feed you.”
“True,” she admitted reluctantly, not wanting Trey to continue comparing her with her great-grandfather. Not when she fell so far short.
Trey placed his hand on her shoulder. “It hasn’t been easy for you, has it?” he asked gently.
He didn’t know the half of it. Jenny turned her face into the wind and let the breeze off the Hudson River buffet against her. The thickness in her throat tightened to painful proportions, and she knew she dared not try to talk. Trey had tried to paint her as some kind of heroine, seeking her way in a new world. In retrospect, Jenny wasn’t sure she’d done the right thing to leave Montana. She wasn’t sure she was cut out for life in the city. In three years she’d never managed to feel at home in New York.
Jenny didn’t see herself as any modern-day champion.
“Jenny?”
Trey’s face had knit into a worried frown.
“I’m doing great,” she told him quickly, perhaps too quickly, because she felt his close scrutiny. Smiling, just then, would have been impossible.
Trey moved closer to her by the railing. The wind hit against him. His arm came loosely around her shoulder, and, needing him, she pressed her head against his solid strength.
“There’s something you should know,” she said after dragging a deep breath through her lungs. She closed her eyes, unwilling to continue the pretense any longer. “I’m not what you think.”
“Jenny—”
“No, please, let me finish.” This was so much more difficult than she’d thought it would be. Trey had come all this way from Montana thinking she was a Broadway star. Either she told him herself or he’d learn it on his own.
A dozen times since his arrival she’d been tempted to blurt out the truth. It had held her prisoner, tortured her, and she couldn’t stand the pressure any longer.
“I’m not starring in an Off Broadway production of South Pacific. I’m a waitress, a singing waitress. I lied, and I want you to know how very sorry I am.” Her voice pitched and heaved with emotion as she hurried to get all the words out at once for fear she’d break down and weep.
The pressure of his arm around her increased slightly. “I realized that right away.”
He knew and hadn’t said anything.
“The first place I headed when I arrived in New York was the theater. I wanted to see you perform.”
Jenny’s throat constricted. “I’m so ashamed to have lied, but I had to tell my family something. It’s been so long, and . . . you’ve got to believe I gave it my best shot, and now, well, now it seems I’m buried neck deep in the lie. Mom and Dad are so proud of me, and they’ve told everyone, and—”
“Come home, Jenny.”
“No.” Her response was automatic and sharp.
The brightness in Trey’s eyes dimmed, and she turned away, unable to meet his gaze. It sounded as if he were eager to hear she’d failed. Glad of it. Well, she wasn’t through yet. She was close, so close she could taste it. If John Peterman didn’t want her for this play, then there were other parts, other producers. She wouldn’t give up. She refused to turn her back when she was this close. Not even Trey could convince her to do that.
“I may not be the star I led everyone to believe,” she told him stiffly, “but I’m an actress, and a damn talented one. I realize I’ve probably disappointed you, and I’m sorry for that, but I’m not willing to throw in the towel yet.”
Trey didn’t answer her, and the air between them was strained and tight.
“I shouldn’t have asked it of you,” he said as the boat neared Ellis Island.
It was as close to an apology as she was likely to get from Trey. She stepped away from him, letting the breeze whip against her face while she mulled over his words.
Trey stepped back, and she noticed the attention he generated with his tall, lean good looks. He was obviously out of place with his scuffed snakeskin boots and weather-beaten Stetson,