In An Instant, Chapter 16

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Chapter 16. La fille aux cheveux de lin

Dean sent Beth a text Thanksgiving night:

Need to talk?

But she didn’t respond at all that night, and when she did text the next day, it was not to reply, but to share a video of Toby playing Hungry Hungry Hippos with Wesley Alcott. They must have patched things up, he thought. If she needed to talk, she’d bring it up.

But she never did. It was December, and she was busy with rehearsals and performances at the church and in Cedar Falls, plus practicing that concerto for an hour or two every day. As for Dean, the season had him as wound up as a kid, except now his excitement centered on someone else’s joy rather than his own. Diamonds for Beth, a playset for Toby—he spent money he didn’t have a hundred different ways in his imagination. It was no end of fun. Eventually he settled on a tricycle and a T-ball set for Toby, and a diamond pendant for Beth.

One Saturday after nap, they went downtown to pick a Christmas tree off the lot. He dropped them off at home and went to bring Mom over, and the four of them spent the entire evening decorating the tree with strings of popcorn. Toby ate so much, they had to make another batch. It was like living in a Norman Rockwell painting.

Christmas Eve, he sat at church with his mother by his side and Toby on his lap, watching Beth and the new choir director—a woman—take turns accompanying. That night, he barely slept.

Toby, of course, slept like a log after being up late, and Dean, who arrived at the house just after seven, had to wait almost an hour before he woke up and came to see what the fuss was all about. Dean was a little disappointed—Toby didn’t scream or jump, just perused his gifts with detached interest. But Beth gasped when she saw her pendant, and when he opened the nondescript envelope she handed him, he was flabbergasted to find two dugout tickets to the Twins’ home opener. What must she have gone without to manage that?

They spent New Year’s Eve playing cards with Ron and Coreen Rhinehardt, who were keeping Toby for the night, and then went dancing at Frank’s dance hall. Midnight found them cheek to cheek, their bodies molded together as they swayed on the dance floor. He let his hands explore a little. The breath from Beth’s nose tickled his neck, and he allowed himself to smile. Maybe, he thought, just maybe tonight was the night.

And yet somehow, an hour later, he found himself driving home with nothing more than a goodnight kiss.

He was still puzzling over it two nights later as he stood, dressed in his only suit, in Beth’s kitchen, listening to Toby bang pots and lids together. Why did she keep putting him off? Hadn’t his work to get that Freuhoff guy in her corner shown her that he was in this for the long haul?

“Beth,” he called, “the babysitter’s here. Are you ready?”

“Almost.” The word floated down the hall. Dean checked his watch. She’d said she wanted to be in Cedar Falls two hours ahead of the concert, but at this rate, it was gonna be close.

The noise of clanging metal faded a bit as he headed down the hallway. He raised a hand to knock on the door frame, but at the sight of her on her phone, he stopped. A tiny smile played on her lips as she read from the screen. The light bathed her face… and her neck, and the curve of her breasts… in an unearthly glow. “Wow,” he said. Her head jerked up, and her dangly earrings tossed colored twinkles from the Christmas lights she hadn’t pulled down yet. “You look—wow.” He shook himself. “I thought you were in a hurry to get out of here. What were you doing on your phone?”

She came toward him in a rustle of blue-silver skirt. “Looking for moral support,” she said.

He chuffed. “So, did you get any?”

“Does Evander count?” She grinned. “He’s telling me how much is riding on this performance, how many people he’s got lined up to hear the recording.”

“Yeah, that’s great moral support.” Dean laughed and grabbed her wrist. Rhinestones bit into his palm as he pulled her tight against him. She melted into the curve of his body with a soft sigh. “Besides,” he mumbled into her neck, “everybody’s gonna be too busy looking at how good you look to notice how you play, anyway.”

“Thanks a lot,” she said, laughing, and pushed him away. “That’s no help on a recording. C’mere, let me see that tie.” She began fussing with the sloppy knot as his throat. Dean raised his chin, looking down his nose at her flushed cheeks, her shallow breathing. Maybe. Chances were good. The thought filled him with anticipation.

She gave an impatient sigh. “Oh, this thing is hopeless. Who taught you to tie a tie, anyway?” She finished fussing and stepped back to admire her handiwork.

“Mom did. Watch it.” He tipped her chin upward, smiling, and kissed her lightly. Then he said sincerely, “Don’t worry, Beth. You’re gonna kick ass.” He ran his fingers over his pendant at her throat and up either side of her neck, where multiple strings of tiny diamonds fluttered below her ears. The gems trickled through his fingers. “These are new,” he said, and frowned. “Beth, are those real?”

“Oh.” Her smile was half grimace. “Yeah.” She sighed. “Peace offering… excuse me, make that ‘Christmas gift’… from the Alcotts.”

“Jeez. You could live for a couple months off those.”

“But what would I tell them?” Her smile was a little strained.

Dean winced. He should have nudged a little harder. He’d assumed she was over what happened at Thanksgiving; clearly, she was not.

Maybe it was his own cluelessness that was holding her back.

She started toward the banging in the kitchen, but he stopped her and pulled her back toward him. “Hey,” he said, “I’m sorry. I should have asked if you wanted to talk through that. I’m sorry I messed up the holiday for you.”

She kissed him softly. “There was plenty of blame to go around that day. I should have told you to stay away. Anyway, I don’t want to think about that tonight.”

He clicked his heels and offered a mock salute. “Yes, ma’am. Toby!” he shouted over the banging. “Leave the lids alone for a minute and come say night-night to your mommy.”

The clanging did not abate. They entered the kitchen, where a pimple-faced teenager was leaning on the counter beside Toby. “Hi, Marta,” Beth called over the din. “I put together a plate for his dinner. It’s in the refrigerator—”

“I told her that,” Dean said.

“Bedtime is eight, and don’t let him talk you into more than two books, unless he’s in bed before then.”

“I told her that, too.” Dean roared and scooped Toby up off the floor. “Hey, buddy, Mommy’s gonna go play some pretty music. Give her a hug.” He passed the toddler into her arms.

“Mommy, go?” Toby reached for her hair, and she set him back down hastily.

“Yes, honey. I’ll be back later. I love you.” She wrapped up in her worn coat and blew kisses all the way out the door.

Dean and his mother went to dinner with Beth’s parents while she warmed up at the performing arts center. By the time they returned, the auditorium was half full. His mother squinted at the musicians warming up onstage. She turned to Ron Rhinehardt and smiled brightly. “I hate concerts,” she said.

“Huh?” said Ron, understandably nonplussed.

“I hate concerts. It’s been a long time, and I just hate going. Thanks for letting me tag along.”

Dean swallowed a lump. Damn, he missed his mom. “She means love, not hate,” he whispered. “She gets confused sometimes.” He turned his attention to the stage to avoid the sympathy in Ron Rhinehardt’s eyes.

A long, steady note pierced the cacophony, and the orchestra tuned, then fell silent. The conductor strode onto the stage, and applause rippled across the hall.

The first piece was short and sweet, but the second lasted forever. Beth’s solo wasn’t till after intermission, and Dean found his attention wandering. He glanced around the auditorium. Rapt expressions surrounded him. He tried not to fidget. He thought the piece was over three times, but he was the only one who started clapping. At last, he folded his arms and settled in. No matter how big the ending, he was not making a fool of himself again. Maybe they didn’t clap at classical concerts. How would he know?

The music ended again. To his extreme annoyance, the crowd erupted into applause. What did they know that he didn’t?

The lights came up for intermission. Dean went to get a drink while Coreen Rhinehardt took his mother to the restroom. Back in the auditorium, the lights dimmed, and the orchestra tuned again. In his absence, someone had shifted all the chairs and rolled a long, sleek grand piano to the front of the stage.

This time, Beth came out of the wings with the conductor—floating, more than walking, it seemed to him, her long neck soaring above the black velvet. The tiny rhinestone pins in her hair sparkled in the bright stage lights. The audience applauded appreciatively. She touched a single note on the piano and the orchestra tuned again. The hall grew quiet.

Seven pairs of chords—notes even he was familiar with, she’d practiced them so much. But tonight they seemed bigger somehow; rising, falling, a net cast over the audience that collected Dean and everyone else, focusing their attention on the slim figure sitting at the piano, her lips pursed with concentration, a small pucker between her eyebrows. And then the orchestra entered, and Dean forgot everything else. The rolling melodies filled the auditorium, surrounding him, peeling away the layers of distraction.

The first movement ended before he had time to get bored. A quick glance at his mother showed her gaze sharp and fixed on the stage. The music began again, and he returned his attention to Beth, watching the way her long fingers flew over the keys, her upper body swaying as she reached for the extreme ranges. He was mesmerized. It was like he’d never seen her before. She was Beth, but not—transformed, elevated, irradiated by the glory of the moment, beautiful and terrifying and impossibly beyond the reach of a mere mortal like him. It was kind of unnerving.

And then, before he knew it, the whole thing was over. The audience leaped to its feet, sweeping Dean along with them. Mom hopped in place, her face aglow with the delight of a small child. He put an arm around her and squeezed.

The ovation went on and on. At last, the applause settled, and the audience began to file out into the foyer, where there was a reception set up. Dean stood with his mother and the Rhinehardts, waiting for Beth. It seemed to take forever, and he got more nervous by the second. He felt like a groupie. This wasn’t how he had envisioned the night turning out. He’d imagined the excitement of the performance acting as an aphrodisiac. But after seeing her up there, beloved, adored, it was almost like she didn’t belong to him anymore.

The room erupted in applause. Dean jerked back to reality to see Beth making her way toward them. Her progress was slow, hampered by the crowds swarming around her. But at last, she arrived at his side. “Hey,” she said breathlessly. “What’d you think?”

“What’d I think? It was unbelievable!” Even to his own ears, it sounded fake. The slight crease between her eyebrows told him that she thought so, too. He took her by the arm and kissed her, adding softly in her ear, “And you look unbelievably sexy.” He nibbled at her ear... above the earring, whose magnificence was even more intimidating here than it had been in her room, where at least the dinginess of the surroundings made her seem connected to the earth. There were too many scents wafting around the crowded foyer; he couldn’t distinguish that subtle fruit smell that he associated with her. Instead of feeling better now that she stood next to him, the sense of disorientation intensified. He had the horrible feeling that this was a different Beth Rhinehardt than the one he knew—one who belonged in a different world, a world he didn’t understand, one in which he would never feel at home.

“All right, all right!” Laughing, she twisted out of his grasp and turned to his mother. “I’m so glad you came, Mrs. Townsend.”

“It was wonderful, Beth.” His mom kneaded her forearm. Dean knew that sometimes creeped people out. Gently he took her hand and threaded it through his elbow.

Beth’s dad evneloped her in a crushing hug. “Beautiful, honey,” he said. “I’m so proud of you.”

“They finally got your tempo on the last movement, didn’t they?” her mother added as she took her turn.

“Yeah, we got that straightened out at dress…” A strange expression dropped over her face as she stared past Dean’s shoulder. “Jen?”

Dean turned so fast, he lost his grip on his mother’s arm. There she was, as bleach-blond and tan as ever, wearing a shimmery dress with a neckline that plunged all the way to her waist. It made Beth’s velvet and silver look dowdy and countrified. The man at Jen’s side had bronze skin and the body and face of a model.

The pair swept past Dean without a glance; vaguely he noted Ron Rhinehardt’s sympathetic wince.

Jen released the supermodel’s arm and bestowed a double-cheeked kiss on Beth. It was the most affected thing Dean had ever seen. “Beth Rhinehardt!” she said. “What a performance! That was just spectacular! Beth—Mr. and Mrs. Rhinehardt—this is my husband, Luis Jiminez!”

Husband. The word knocked the wind right out of him. Jen was married. How could that be? She was supposed to have married him.

He’d always figured a suit was a suit, but he’d been wrong. Suddenly, Dean recognized how shabby his old suit was—the same blue light special his parents had bought for high school graduation ten years ago. If Jen could have a guy lifted from Greek mythology, it was no wonder she’d dumped him.

The parade of exclamation points continued. It occurred to Dean that if he could just tear his eyes away from that plunging neckline, he might find Jen’s effusions downright annoying. Through it all, Luis Jiminez spoke not a word, but simply stood there looking godlike. Apparently, she hadn’t married him for his conversation skills.

With effort, Dean managed to refocus. Jen’s beauty smacked you in the face. It left no room for anything but adoration… and desire. Not a thing about her had changed in the last seven months, not her hair or the tiny beauty mark above her left eyebrow. Nothing except the ring on her finger. In place of the heirloom she had scorned, Jen wore a rock that hid everything below the first knuckle. “…got married on a private beach beside the Mediterranean, near his parents’ summer home,” she was saying. “It all happened so fast.”

“What are you doing back in Iowa?” Ron Rhinehardt asked, with an uneasy glance in Dean’s direction.

“Luis wanted to see where I grew up. We only meant to stay for a few hours, but I saw the poster for the concert hanging at the airport!” Jen giggled and looked up at her bronzed lover with sheer adoration. Jen, acting like a schoolgirl? She really was in love with this guy.

Dean’s dinner rumbled in the lower reaches of his throat.

“Sorry we don’t have time to stay and visit,” Jen was saying, and Beth mumbled something noncommittal. “We’re due in L.A. tomorrow for a screening of a new film!” Sighing, she looked around. “It’s nice to see the old places again, though!” Her gaze swept the atrium and landed on Dean.

Had he not been feeling so crappy, he might have found it amusing, the number of colors her burnished skin went through in two seconds. “Dean!” she said stupidly.

Luis looked at him then. A slight crease marred the perfect forehead. Dean shifted, uncomfortably aware that he was under scrutiny from every one of his companions. “Hi,” he said.

“W-what are you doing here?” she asked, and for the first time in his memory she looked rattled. Dean figured that was the closest to an apology he was going to get. Jen glanced from him to Beth, and her lips parted. “Wait a minute. Are you two…?” For a split second, he thought he saw hurt in her expression—but the next moment she lit up. “But that’s wonderful!” She laid a slim hand on his arm. Even through the shabby polyester, her touch seared. “How long has this been going on?”

He jerked away. “I, um,” he stumbled. What was the matter with him, staring at her with his tongue hanging out like she hadn’t cut his heart out a few short months ago. He could feel Beth’s gaze, see her shrinking as she watched him ogle Jen.

Why couldn’t he say, Of course I’m with Beth. She’s worth twenty of you? It would be true. He wanted to grab her, hug her, tell her he didn’t give a damn about Jen. Except clearly, it would have been a lie.

Luis leaned down and whispered in his wife’s ear. Jen bestowed a brilliant smile on them. “We’ve got to run. They’re powering up the jet as we speak.” Well, at least she’d quit exclamation-mark-ing everything. “So good to see you, Beth—Mr. and Mrs. Rhinehardt. Dean,” she added softly. She took Luis’s arm and swept gracefully through the room, leaving a trail of perfume and dazzled faces in her wake.

Had he ever really loved her, Dean wondered, or had he only ever wanted her? He hated himself for still feeling that pull. Beth was worth twenty of her. Jen hadn’t even acknowledged his mother.

With a sick rush, reality rushed back. “Mom? Where’s Mom?”

“She’s at the food table.” Ron Rhinehardt pointed.

Dean confirmed with a glance, then looked back at Beth. Hurt rolled off her in waves. She should have been the star tonight, and he’d managed to make her feel second-place.

His hopes for the rest of this evening felt cheap and tawdry now. When had he become such an asshole?

“I, uh,” he said. “I, um… I should probably get Mom home. Right?” He spoke to Beth, hoping against hope she’d contradict him, but she only nodded silently.

“We’ll get Beth home,” Ron said, putting an arm around his daughter. His face was wreathed with empathy that seemed to encompass them both. Which somehow managed to feel like judgment.

Dean swallowed, his hand twitching toward Beth—to comfort her, or himself?—but he knew anything he tried to do to try to erase his asshattery would only make things worse. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, and fled.

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In an Instant, Copyright 2026 Kathleen M. Basi. No part of this may be reprinted, or used to train AI, without written permission. Sharing this post, however? That, the author wholeheartedly approves of.

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