283From Where You Are
Chapter 12: You Are Tired (I think)
AN: Final edits on an updated version of this story, slightly different than I originally published...
But I come with a dream in my eyes tonight,
And I knock with a rose at the hopeless gates of your heart –e.e cummings
Walter's personal assistant gave Anne a lanyard with a laminated pass and led her onto the set. He threw an apologetic look over his shoulder, saying that Walter had been held up in his trailer, which she understood to mean that Walter was taking a nap. She assured the assistant she was fine to wait for him, and he visibly relaxed. Anne pondered the stress of a job that entailed constant lies about the whereabouts and activities of one's boss, feeling pity for anyone who had to try to manage the whims of Walter Elliot.
While the assistant ran off to wake him up, Anne tried to stand as unobtrusively as possible as the crew milled about the set, preparing for the next scene. Carts full of equipment whizzed by her while lights were rearranged, marks set, and mics tested. She smoothed her hair, which was held half up with a simple clasp, and fiddled with the strand of her necklace. She hadn't gone all out in her appearance, as she had for the benefit, deciding instead that it was best to be her usual self—the Anne that Derick would recognize and relate to the most.
The dual reality of the set struck her today, just as it had on her few visits to her father's other movies. Behind her stood industrial warehouse walls with exposed pipes and metal vents, but in front of her was a small room that looked as though it came directly from the 1880s, with intricately patterned wallpaper, mahogany furniture, and silk covered chaises. An imposing grandfather clock stood in the corner of the room, and crew members were busy testing its gong-like chimes. The actors who were standing inside the room were dressed to fit the part.
Anne was the one who felt out of place in her slim black pants, ankle boots, and black cashmere sweater. But she could see the room had no ceiling. Instead, the room opened above to an elaborate camera rig and dozens of lights directed in specific spots. Crew members in t-shirts ruined the illusion as well, as they held microphones above the actors while they stood on their marks. As a child, Anne had thought movie sets were bizarre and disorienting, and the feeling still held.
Walter sauntered over to her side with the unmistakable look of someone who had just woken from sleep. His eyes were puffy, but he greeted her with a smile and then held a finger up to his mouth. "They've been doing this scene for the last hour. They started as soon as my scene wrapped. I thought you were going to come earlier. You missed it," he whispered, his mouth hardly moving. Anne opened her mouth, not knowing what to say to her father, but he continued. "They're doing Derick's scene now. Though from the looks of it, there's been some trouble. They were already supposed to be finished."
Anne looked forward with renewed interest. She hadn't realized Derick was in the scene. But there he was, in a gray suit with a waistcoat and a long, tailed jacket. A gold watch chain dangled from the pocket of his vest, and his hair was artfully slicked back and parted to the side.
"Can we move any closer?" she asked Walter, wanting to be able to hear the dialogue and see Derick's face clearer.
He nodded. "Just as long as we don't make any noise. They're about to start." She and Walter approached closer just as someone yelled "Quiet on the set!"
Anne could see and hear enough to take in the details now and to see just how pretty Derick's co-star was. She had impossibly long, red hair, creamy pale skin, and a face like a sculpture. Her hair was pinned in an elaborate and messy 'do, and the soft lighting made her skin look dewy and soft. Anne frowned at the thought of the types of scenes they had likely filmed together in this romantic drama. Maybe she should have worn more make-up to visit the set, she thought, suddenly doubting her minimal look and wondering how they'd even managed to get the actress's skin to look like that. Derick had moved from his mark to stand just outside the door. He was off camera and in shadow. Anne couldn't see what his expression looked like.
Someone yelled "Action!" and she watched Derick walk into the little room from off-camera. He was in character, she could tell. Everything about him—his voice, his posture, and even the way he moved—was subtly different than in real life. He was fascinating to watch. She never tired of seeing him perform, and no matter how many times she saw him do it, she remained amazed that he could chameleon himself into an entirely new persona at will. She hadn't been paying much attention to the words; instead, she watched the light and shadows play across his features and the swift changes in emotions that followed. Anne focused her attention, managing to catch a few of their lines. Derick's character was speaking to the redhead, and the scene was meant to be serious and intense. But even Anne could tell that his words were ringing flat; she didn't think it had been a very good take.
"Cut!" someone said harshly. "Derick…" Apparently the director had agreed with her.
She saw Derick heave a sigh, his hands on his waist as he looked off to the side. "No, I know. I know." He was frustrated; Anne could see it everywhere in his body language. The scene hadn't lasted long enough for Anne to get a real sense of what it was about, but Derick was pacing in agitation, moving from one corner of the room to the other. "I hate these lines. They don't feel right."
The director was nodding. "I can tell loud and clear that you don't agree with what he's saying, but we've got to get to something here. This is one of the critical scenes in the movie. You've got to do it like you mean it. This should be explosive! The culmination of everything."
Derick had set his jaw, visibly unhappy with how the scene was proceeding. "I know," he said again, with an edge to his voice.
"All right. We'll take a 20 minute break," the director said. "But we have to finish this today. You've gotta find the passion somewhere. Dig deep and get it together by the time we start rolling."
People began to disperse, pulling out plastic water bottles and resting tired feet and legs in their chairs. Walter moved forward to what appeared to be Derick's chair, and Anne followed mutely after him, heart suddenly pounding in agitation. Anne saw Derick see her, saw his eyes widen as shock shaped his features, and she felt her stomach drop unpleasantly; she had been hoping for a much pleasanter reaction from him.
"Look who showed up," Walter said with cheer as Derick sipped silently from a water bottle, his face serious and guarded, eyebrows drawn together as they approached. "I think you remember my daughter, Anne."
Derick nodded, but that was it. Already, this was not going to plan. Anne could see his frustration and anger from the outcome of the last take and the obvious confusion at her appearance on set. In her head, when she'd imagined this meeting, he'd always been delighted to see her, overjoyed at her presence—not generally pissed-off and mad at his director.
"These sets are really something else," she said, and her voice rang brightly with false cheer. Derick inclined his head a little but didn't say anything else, didn't help her along. "Walter invited me," she said quickly, waving her arm in her father's direction, though she had, in fact, invited herself. "I thought he'd be filming now." Another lie—but what did it matter.
Derick shook his head. "No, not until this evening." He looked at her intently, and there was a question written clearly across his face, though he didn't voice it. He was puzzled at her appearance, but not displeased, she thought. He held her gaze with a look that was carefully neutral, and his mouth was set in a straight line.
And all Anne had to do was say 'may I speak with you', tell him about the misunderstanding with Liam, and ask him if he still wanted to get dinner. But she had never been brave, especially not concerning him. He was busy, she told herself. He was working, and she would just be distracting him. He had less than 20 minutes before he had to go back to work, and who knew how long it was going to take her to say what she needed to say? And now that the moment was actually in front of her, she was terrified. She should have brought her bulleted list with her; her mind had gone blank, everything wiped clean as she looked at Derick's expectant expression.
Anne cleared her throat but then said nothing. Oh, why couldn't she be brave? She closed her eyes briefly, screwed up her courage, and tried again.
"What's this movie about?" was what came out of her mouth. She said it weakly, rocking once forward and back again on her feet. She was a mouse, she thought in defeat. She couldn't do it. Not yet. She needed a warm-up, needed Derick to smile, just once, just a little. And for all that Walter had said, he'd never mentioned the plot to her.
"Do you want Walter's story or mine?" Derick asked, sitting down heavily in his chair, legs splayed out in front of him. His outfit was totally incongruent with his unguarded posture, the plastic water bottle he held, and the tall, blank, industrial style walls behind him.
"Aren't they the same?"
He gave her a very brief, wry smile. "Technically, I guess they are. Our character is in love with a woman. Soulmate level love, really halcyon days when they first meet, you know the trope. They're going to run away together. She's supposed to meet him, it's all arranged, but all these…circumstances keep her from getting there in time. He thinks she backed out, and so he leaves without her. Sad and broken," Derick finished, saying each of the last words distinctly. There was no trace of a smile left about him now. He looked moody and brooding again, his eyes staring into the distance straight ahead as he fiddled absently with a button on his coat.
Anne had paled as soon as she understood where the story was going, the color draining from her cheeks. She couldn't look at him, her own gazed fixed somewhere around her shoes. She'd had no idea what the film was about when she forced her way onto set via her father, and she suddenly remembered what Derick had said in his interview about not wanting to do this movie. She wondered anew why he had ever signed on.
"Then 30 years later, Walter tells the story to his dying, adult son. Tells him about the great love of his life."
"Oh," Anne said quietly, feeling too conflicted to say more.
"They end up together. Don't forget that," Walter added, and Anne's head snapped toward her father in surprise. "Five years after she missed the train, right?" he asked, corroborating with Derick, who nodded slowly, looking up from his hands. "They work out all the differences and misunderstandings," Walter continued. "The story my character is telling is about the son's mother, but he doesn't know it until near the end. That's the big twist. Anyway, that's the scene they're filming right now: the big moment where the two lovers first try to make amends after the five years has passed."
They were interrupted as a make-up artist approached and began to prepare Derick to redo the scene. He sat up straight in the chair as she artfully rearranged his hair back into place.
Walter leaned toward Anne conspiratorially. "Originally, the story was very bitter. When the two lovers met again, she had forgotten him and moved on. Very European art-house vibes," he said with a superior look.
"No," Anne cried with animation and disapproval; the loud reaction burst out of her before she could control it. "I don't think it would have happened like that," she corrected, slightly quieter, but still with feeling.
Walter laughed. "That's what the producers thought, too, I guess. They had the script rewritten, and this was before the actors were even cast, so we didn't have any say in it. Me…I don't know. I like the other way better. I've known plenty of women like that, and it would have given the film more of a gut-wrenching feeling." He rubbed his stomach as he said it, grinning. "Would have driven the audience nuts. You know Americans only want happy endings."
Anne could see that Derick was watching them from her peripheral vision, listening to the conversation as she and Walter stood a few feet from his chair. The make-up artist had to keep moving his chin to face forward as his head gradually turned to the side in their direction. Feeling extremely self-conscious, Anne lifted her head up high and continued, choosing every word carefully. Her eyes were on her father, but all of it was for Derick.
"No, they were right to change it. And not just to make the audience happy," she said, giving her father a knowing look. "Because it wouldn't have happened that way. Not really. Five years wouldn't have been enough time for her to move on. Not from that kind of love. Especially if what got in the way wasn't her fault and she wanted to be with him. 40 years wouldn't take the ache away from that."
Anne took a ragged breath. "I'm sure both characters made mistakes…" She had to clear her throat before she could continue; the catch there was making it difficult for her to speak. "…they caused those misunderstandings, but she'd still be in love with him; I'm sure of it. Regret and love, that's how I would write it: love that wouldn't go away no matter how much time had passed. Not dimmed. Not forgotten. She'd be ready and—and hoping to get him back if she ever got the chance."
Walter looked at her thoughtfully for a moment, and then he shrugged. Anne didn't dare look at Derick, fearing how obvious she would be if she did. "That's what I imagine, anyway," she tacked on hastily afterwards, looking down at her feet, her voice quiet again.
"Well, Anne, I never knew you had such an imagination," Walter said, his eyebrows raised. "Maybe I'll introduce you to one of the producers. They do love to be told they're right."
She knew Derick would know whose feelings she was talking about. She hadn't been able to leave him a phone message, but she hoped this could open the door to them at least having a conversation. She turned her eyes to where he was sitting, her gaze slowly traveling up from his leather shoes to land on his face. She noticed the agitated rise and fall of his chest, and the complicated play of emotions across his face. But his eyes didn't leave hers.
The crew had reassembled in a rush of movement around them, and Derick was called forward by the director before anything else could be said. She saw him shake his head lightly as he moved to stand. The director placed his hand on Derick's shoulder as a gesture of support. "Derick, you've got to give me something that I haven't seen yet today. Try something new this time. If it's crap, we'll throw it out. But I've got to believe that you want to be with her. That longing and the desperation hasn't come through yet."
Derick nodded before walking to his place just off-camera. He cast Anne one long, unreadable look along the way that bewildered her. Had what she'd said been enough? She couldn't tell. She tried to calm her breathing, but everything felt so heightened. Someone yelled "quiet on the set" again, and then "action" just a few moments later, before Anne had had any time to try to collect herself.
In character again, Derick stormed in the room in front of the rolling cameras. Anne watched as the actress looked, her face shifting to show anticipation and pleasure at the sight of him, just the same as the previous take.
But Derick…Anne stared at him, forgetting everyone else around her. His expressive mouth conveyed such determination. Anne wondered why the actress wasn't melting into a puddle from the way he was looking at her. Anne herself was blushing hotly from the intensity of his gaze. She wasn't even in the scene—Derick wasn't even looking at her!, but she couldn't help it. Every bit of him spoke of love and irrepressible desire; his eyes were alight with it. Anne had seen the last take, and it hadn't been anything like this. She'd seen no chemistry between the actors, no real emotions between them in the scene. She wondered how he was suddenly putting so much passion into it now.
She marveled. She hoped. An excited gasp of air rushed from her lips, and then she had to cover her mouth with her hand because Derick was speaking his lines, the lines Anne hadn't heard the first time around.
"Catherine, I must speak. Tell me that I'm not too late—that I haven't waited too long, please. You—you pierce my soul. I've never stopped loving you." Each word was ripped from him as though he had been dying to speak it for five long years, as though he would shatter if he had to wait a moment longer.
The name Catherine was unimportant. Anne almost didn't register it. Derick wasn't speaking to the actress; he was speaking directly to her. She didn't see the actress's reaction, didn't hear any further lines. She was so absorbed she was hardly breathing. This had to be for her. At the end, Derick knelt, kissing the actress's hand in a heartfelt gesture of love. Anne jumped when the director yelled cut. They'd made it all the way to the end this time, and she hadn't realized the scene was over.
Walter nudged her with his elbow. "Maybe you should come to all the filming," he said, smirking. "I think that little speech of yours really lit a fire under his ass. That's the best Derick's done this whole production. And, between you and me, that's saying something."
"What's happening now?" Anne asked in confusion, overwhelmed as everyone began to move in separate directions. She ran a hand over her forehead, trying to calm herself, feeling overheated. Walter, oblivious Walter, had just confirmed her hopeful thoughts.
She looked for him among the bustle, but Derick hadn't moved from his mark. He was speaking with the director, whose smile beamed his approval. Derick handed his jacket off to one of the passing costume crew members and absently rolled the long white sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows. Anne watched Derick's eyes crinkle with happiness as the director clapped him on the back, and they chatted energetically, though it was too far for her to hear.
"That was Derick's last scene today. Now the real show starts! They'll be setting up my scenes soon. Ready to watch your old man work?" Walter asked, resting his hand lightly on her shoulder. But Anne's reply died on her lips as she saw Derick walking purposefully toward them, each step assured. He hardly glanced at Walter.
"Can I talk to you?" he asked Anne, and she nodded her consent. Her mouth was suddenly too dry for her to speak.
"Excuse us," he said to the bewildered Walter. Derick grabbed Anne's wrist in the lightest of grips, his fingers warm on her skin, and their pace was brisk as he led her away. She didn't know how she was moving; she felt like she was floating outside of her body. But she had to walk quickly to keep up with him, her feet feeling clumsy. Anne didn't ask where they were going. She didn't care.
Soon, they reached his trailer, and he quietly opened the door, showing her in. Her eyes took a moment to adjust to its relative dimness. The trailer reminded her of his apartment from days of old: a little messy and haphazard. There was a small kitchenette, a sofa with the pull-out bed extended, a few chairs. The silence between them was heavy, the stillness and quiet of the room was a strong contrast to bustle of their hurried walk. Anne's skin still hummed from the feeling of Derick's hand, and she looked up at him expectantly with wide eyes.
"I just wanted someplace private to talk," he said in explanation a few moments later when the silence was too much, and Anne nodded slowly. Talk, yes, that's what she had wanted, too. She watched him pace in distraction while she stood frozen in place by one of the chairs. But underneath it all, her heart was beating a frantic staccato rhythm against her ribcage. Anne did her best not to glance at the nearby sofa bed and their proximity to it, feeling a pang of longing at seeing him so close and in such an environment. Derick opened his mouth to speak, both hands on the top of his head, buried in his hair, but then shook his head.
"Hold on. I can't have a conversation like this wearing make-up."
He went to the sink and quickly washed his face, his movements hurried and jerky. He loosened his tie and pulled it over his head in a rush, undoing the top button of his shirt. Then he walked back towards her, running a towel carelessly over his face. His mussed hair ran in every direction, and his skin was red from where he'd washed it, but his eyes were on Anne. Finally, he stopped in front of her and tossed the towel aside.
He was so close now, only a foot away from where she stood, and she allowed her eyes to travel up the length of him. The change to a more casual appearance did not help her in the least, as the vest and shirt sleeves accentuated everything she loved about the lines of Derick's body. Her ache for him was an agony, almost a physical pain. She didn't know what she would do if this didn't go as planned…if he wasn't interested in a reconciliation. But she saw the quick heave of his chest as he inhaled sharply, and his hand reached out to take hers in a gentle grasp, so she wasn't the only one overcome with need.
"What you said back there…" he said, and she could see the wonder and the hope reflected clearly in his expression, and it mirrored her own. But he paused a moment later, a gentle humph of air escaping from him in wordless amusement and exasperation. His smile was crooked as he began again, and the way it lit up his features disarmed her entirely. "Sometimes, I wish I had someone who'd write a script for my life. Someone who'd tell me the right thing to say right now. That's the nice thing about playing a character; you always have a line."
He raised a shoulder lightly and then dropped it. "I don't know what to say. I don't have any lines." He laughed abruptly, and his eyes were so blue as they searched her face, his grip tightening on her hand. "Except that 'you pierce my soul'. Would you buy that line? You do. Somehow, I never stopped thinking about you after we broke up. I hated myself for it sometimes, and I thought I hated you, but I know now it wasn't hate. Just…love, still," he finished quietly, looking down for the first time.
"I told myself that I didn't care, that you didn't matter to me. When I saw you again in the fall, I thought it was my chance to show you my indifference." He laughed at himself, but there was little humor in it, and his mouth turned down into a frown. "But I was just trying to hurt you, to show you how much better I had been without you. I was awful. I'm so sorry for that," he said with feeling. His expression was serious as he looked at her again, and his mouth quirked into a sad frown. "I was just kidding myself, anyway. None of that was true, and I was wasting the opportunity to get you back…" His voice broke with sudden desperation, and he closed his eyes. "Please tell me you're not dating that bartender."
"No—no I'm not," Anne gasped, her response immediate. With a fumbling step, she walked forward, reaching for him; she couldn't help herself. And then he was holding onto her so tightly that it almost hurt. "There's nothing there. Nothing."
"Thank god," he said, his voice muffled as his lips rested against her hair. "I wasn't sure, but then you were here, and—and everything you said to Walter…"
She pulled back to look at him, seizing her chance to explain.
"When you left…I don't know; something died in me." Hot tears flooded out of her eyes and down her cheeks. "It was like I had died. You don't know how much I regret everything. I didn't want to hurt you. I really thought I was doing what was best. I never thought it would be so…" Here she could hardly speak for crying, and she had to pause. She collected herself after a few moments. "And when you came back… the part that had been missing woke back up. It was like I was broken, and then suddenly I wasn't. Parts of me won't work without you."
She carelessly brushed the tears from her face. He got the last one with the pad of this thumb.
Anne had never seen such a tender expression from Derick, and she reveled in it and the feeling of being held so close in the circle of his arms. "That's why I couldn't hold onto that anger when I saw you again," he said softly. "I understood why you'd done it. I couldn't hold it against you. I think part of me had always understood; I wouldn't have a career if you'd moved with me. I'd just never wanted to admit it. The fact that I was so damaged was the only reason I got that first role…" He shook himself. "And when I saw you again…you were the same. Everything felt the same between us, and I still loved you. You even do that little nod with your head when you finish playing a piece…"
A laugh bubbled out of her; she was too happy to think. It had been so long since she'd felt this; she almost didn't remember how to be this happy. Derick's hand cupped her face, his thumb stroked her cheek, and Anne felt herself dissolving, becoming liquid under the touch of his hand. Then his mouth was on hers, and she was home. She drowned happily in the feel of his warm lips and in the taste of him. This was what she remembered, as kiss after kiss filled her with a sweet ache, making her senseless to everything else around them. Eventually, they broke for air, and he looked as happy as she felt, his cheeks flushed and his eyes so warm with love. She smiled, feeling mischievous and too delighted to contain herself.
"The 'you pierce my soul' bit was too much," she teased, breathless and laughing. "I don't buy it. This isn't 18-whatever, you know-"
He rolled his eyes heavenward and shook his head, interrupting her. "Oh, shut up," he said fondly, bending his head to kiss her again. Her need for him seemed to grow with every touch of his hand, every brush of his lips. The passion arced between them as their bodies pressed together, and they kissed wildly, like they would fly apart if every part of them weren't touching. The kisses were almost frenzied, with all the force and longing of eight years behind them. Anne's feet weren't touching the ground; Derick had lifted her up. She had her arms tight around his neck, her hands buried in his hair. She couldn't really breathe, but she didn't care. She would die of asphyxiation before she'd stop kissing him. They had eight years of lost time to make up, and they were starting now.
Lights flashed everywhere, blinding in their brightness. The pattern was dazzling against the backdrop of an early-evening sunset. Anne heard Derick's name yelled from what seemed like every direction, and there were endless questions, too. The voices pleaded for attention, or occasionally they heckled. She didn't know where to look as flashbulb after flashbulb went off. There were too many cameras in front of her. This red-carpet walk was so alien to her, and she knew she wouldn't have been able to handle the experience were it not for Derick's hand on the small of her back. Its warmth sustained her, protected her, supported her. His hand never wavered, and his steadiness was reassuring. Without him, she would have felt too overwhelmed and unsure. But she knew that everything would be fine because Derick was there by her side, right where he belonged, and nothing bad could happen on such a magical night.
This world of movie premieres… it had always been her father's world. Despite her immense talent, Anne had never had a taste for the spotlight. Elizabeth had been the one to take every opportunity for the limelight. Even while at school, Anne had disliked the moments when the audience's attention had been focused on her, rather than her playing. But walking side by side with Derick made her realize now that it all depended on whom she shared the spotlight with. She felt like royalty with all the attention that was devoted to them, though she marveled at the strangeness of stopping and posing for pictures.
"There are so many cameras," she said, blinking away the after images and turning her head to speak to him. She wanted to see how he was faring. As expected, he looked far more comfortable than she felt. His expression showed a faint hint of a smile as he looked carefully from one camera to the next, pausing at each one like the professional that he was.
"Just keep smiling. We're close to the end now," he murmured.
"But my cheeks hurt," Anne lamented, still holding her expression. "I was too enthusiastic at the beginning."
Derick laughed jovially, a true smile breaking out across his face for the first time that night while his arm tightened around Anne for a moment. She heard the click of what seemed like a thousand camera shutters all at once.
"Good thing we practiced that smoldering look of yours. Go on, impress everyone with it now," he said, but the line of his mouth betrayed how funny he thought this was. She had tried; the evening before, she had practiced her best Elizabeth Elliot impersonation while Derick took a few photos on his cell phone. But somehow, each one had come out looking constipated rather than sultry. He'd been bent double with the laughter as they flipped through the photo roll. Anne knew she had to maintain her smile the whole way or be mortified by the photos she'd see online the next day.
"Thank you for walking with me," Anne said, feeling overcome with sudden gratitude for Derick's solid presence. This was Ben's movie, and one to which she had written the score. Derick wasn't among the cast. He didn't appear in the movie at all, but still he was here with her, braving the line of paparazzi, supporting her the entire way through her first movie premiere. He gave her a soft smile in response and bent his head to kiss her, while flashbulbs exploded around them at the sight. Her cheeks glowed with happiness after he pulled away a few moments later.
"This is your night. You deserve all the attention and all the praise. Everything. All of it. It's amazing."
"Derick! Who's your date?" frantic voices shouted.
"This is Anne Elliot; she composed the incredible score for this movie. I can't wait for everyone to hear it," he replied, emphasizing her name so that everyone could understand it clearly.
"Derick!" another voice yelled. "Are you officially together? Is this your girlfriend?"
Derick turned his head to look down at her for a moment, and his easy smile was just for her. "Yes. Yes, we are."
There was a burst of voices after that declaration, but they'd reached the end of the carpet, and Derick simply smiled and waved, which she mimicked. After Derick's statement, the smile came easily and naturally to her face.
Months had passed, and Anne still felt a rush of happiness whenever she was with Derick. She gave silent thanks for every kiss and every touch, for every moment they spent together, astounded at how their sad story had turned, amazed at how they had managed to return to each other. Even now, at the premiere of Ben's new movie, with her face aching from smiling, her toes pinched by her heels, surrounded by hundreds of paparazzi, Anne could feel nothing but gratitude. She tried to appreciate every little moment of the evening, not wanting to forget a single thing.
When she and Derick were finally inside the theater, Anne could barely see for all the afterimages floating across her vision. But their ordeal was over, and she teemed with excitement as they took their seats. She couldn't remember being this eager for any movie before.
But then again, this was her movie. Or what she thought of as her movie, anyway. Technically, she supposed, it was Ben's movie; she had only written the score. Nonetheless, it was her crowning achievement to date. Anne had never been prouder of anything she'd done. The score for this movie was her: her troubles and her joys. The score was made from her songs of rebirth, of past and present coming full circle. They were songs of regret and loss, songs of love. And she was finally about to see all of it set to motion. Anne wanted the moment to last for all eternity.
The theater lights dimmed around them, and everyone's voices hushed. Anne found Derick's hand waiting to hold hers. His hand was so strong, so warm and comforting, and she returned his gentle squeeze as the movie began and the first strains of gentle music swelled around them.