Under the Lights by Rebecca Royce Page B

estate sale. Then she would have the house staged for sale. Both jobs would empty what was left of Granny’s bank account. As executor of the old woman’s will, Teirney had the right to manage things. Since Ian hadn’t returned her call, she supposed she would have lots of time to do things—nights full of time when she couldn’t sleep.
    Her cell phone rang, and she looked at it. What did it mean that it took her so long to recognize her parents’ phone number? When was the last time they’d spoken?
    She’d sent them an email in the morning to let them know of Granny’s death. Maybe not phoning had been petty. Perhaps she should have. Teirney shook her head.
    It had taken them hours to return the message, and she knew her father lived with his email practically attached to his forehead.
    She finally answered on the third ring. “Hello?”
    “Honey.” Her mother shouted into the phone. In the background Teirney could hear what sounded like a steel drum band playing. Teirney had always loved the sound, until she had heard it out by the pool day in and day out during her one and only visit to her family.
    She tried to find her compassion. Maybe her father was so upset about losing his mother he couldn’t come to the phone. Perhaps he was wrought with grief, so overwhelmed he had stayed off the golf course.
    “How are you, Mom?” She held the phone slightly away from her ear.
    “Well, Teirney, I have to tell you while I know you are dealing with a tremendous amount there with Granny’s funeral, but I am downright shocked about your behavior. I mean, I’m not necessarily disappointed. Shocked is the right word.”
    Maybe all the steel drums and daiquiris had finally played havoc with her mother’s brain.
    “I’m sorry. I don’t understand what you’re saying? What behavior?”
    “Well, honey, it’s all over the Internet and the television gossip site has it too. You know how I watch my programs. And there you were. I mean Ian Mackenzie.”
    Teirney couldn’t make hide nor hair of her mother’s statements.
    “Ooh, Mom. I’m so sorry. I’ve got to go. Someone is at the door.”
    When had she become such a good liar? Or maybe she wasn’t, perhaps she no longer cared what her mother thought anymore at all.
    She hung up and walked over to her computer. If there was something about Ian on the news, she was sure she could find it easily enough. Had something happened during the show which had made it into the blogosphere? Teirney sighed loudly. Her grandmother was dead. She was supposed to be in mourning, and instead she was Googling the man she had been horrible to at two a.m.
    It took a minute for the search results load, and, when she saw them, she wished she hadn’t. Ian was certainly making the gossip sites and it was all because of her. The headlines were mixed yet the pictures remained the same. There she was, in the rain, yanking on him to bring him to the car. What had seemed a good idea at the time—to save him from getting wet—appeared quite different in the photos.
    Her shirt had been wet, and it left nothing to the imagination. Every roll of fat on her body seemed exposed, not to mention the expression on her face looked pissed off instead of concerned.
    Some articles questioned if she was Ian’s girlfriend, although they didn’t know her name. Others had already called her Ian’s unidentified lady and insinuated she hated the fans and didn’t want him to spend time with them.
    Teirney chewed on her nails, biting them until they were gone. A terrible, dirty habit she thought she had rid herself of during childhood. She leaned forward in her seat and then shut off the computer. It was all a bunch of crap, and, truthfully, in her heart, she was surprised how little it bothered her.
    Her job would never require her to hold a place in the spotlight. In fact, to be good as a stage manager, she had to do the opposite. She really was happy to stay in her black clothes and remain unseen by the