Lynn.”
“Go?” she asked in a voice so small and tight it hurt her chest. Even now, just thinking about it, she felt that old pain, dead center of her heart. “Where are you going?”
“To follow my bliss.”
She hadn’t understood what that meant, but it didn’t sound blissful to her.
“Listen.” Her mother had taken both Trixie’s hands in hers. “I can’t do this anymore.”
“Do what?”
“Stay here in Podunk, USA. Stay married to your father. I got sidetracked, derailed when I got pregnant with you. I’m almost thirty, Trixie Lynn. If I don’t do it now, I never will.”
She heard the whooshing of her own blood pounding in her ears. “Will what?”
“Make it big in Hollywood. I’m special. I’m destined to be a star. I can’t keep living a lie.”
“Can I go with you?”
“No honey. You gotta stay here. Stay in school. Take care of your daddy. He’ll need you.”
“Mama, please, please don’t go.”
“I gotta. You’ll understand one day. Here. Put out your hand. I got a present for you.”
Trixie Lynn had put out her hand, and her mother settled the brooch in it.
“It’s worth a lot of money. A nice man bought it for me a long time ago, but more important than that, it’s a symbol. You know what a symbol is?”
Trixie Lynn wasn’t sure, but she nodded anyway.
“A star for a star. The man who gave it to me said, ‘You’re gonna be a star someday. You’re destined for greatness.’ So, Trixie Lynn, if you get to feeling lonely for me, you pull out that star and you hold it tight and you remember who your mother is.”
“Okay.” She ducked her head.
Her mother hooked two fingers under Trixie Lynn’s chin and forced her face upward. “What does this brooch represent?”
“Stardom.”
Her mother had beamed. “Good girl. Now give me a hug.” She hugged Trixie Lynn so tight she couldn’t breathe. Rocked her quietly in her lap. Rocked her and whispered, “You’re gonna be a star, you’re gonna be a star, you’re gonna be a star.”
Then a car horn had honked outside.
“That’s my ride. I gotta go.” Mama set her aside and stood up. Then she had walked out the door, strolled down the cracked sidewalk, and climbed into a shiny white Cadillac with a man Trixie Lynn didn’t know sitting behind the wheel. They drove away, and Trixie Lynn never saw her mother again.
Following her mother’s departure, Trixie Lynn had immediately gone in search of the perfect vehicle that would fly her to celebrity—ballet classes and soccer practice and art. But she was graceful as an egg, bruised like a week-old banana, and quickly discovered she had the artistic ability of a chimpanzee.
Finally, at fourteen, she found what she’d been searching for.
The minute she stepped onstage in the lead role in Twilight High School’s production of Annie , she felt for the first time as if she’d finally found her way home. She’d been born for this, singing her heart out, sliding under the skin of a fictional character, letting her imagination flow, running away from the sad, empty life of Trixie Lynn Parks.
Once she embraced the stage, there was no turning back, never mind that her looks conspired against her ambitions. For one thing, she was skinny—all sharp elbows and knees, flat butt, even flatter chest. Not to mention her height (or lack thereof). She barely passed the five-foot mark. And then there was the matter ofher copper-colored hair and the freckle-faced complexion that went with it.
No beauty, Trixie Lynn, no sirree. But she was whip-smart and possessed an iron will. When she made up her mind about something, it was a done deal, no matter how long it took. No matter what she had to endure.
She’d left home at eighteen. Not that there was much of a home to leave; she and her father had long since moved away from Twilight, the one place where she’d ever felt like she belonged. She legally changed her name to Emma and took off for New York City. For twelve years