The Truth About Fragile Things (33 page)

I wiped my palm on my tweed skirt and looked to the ring of bright lights spilling from the rafters, over the staircase of the scenery and falling in puddles on the stage floor. The spotlight that always held me up when I stepped out there alone and anxious. I’d never once considered that for the past two years it had been Braden’s hand holding it steady. I placed my empty hand into my other palm. Sometimes you just have to hold onto yourself until someone else gets there.

“That’s my sister!” Lauren launched herself through the crowd when I emerged into the bright, busy foyer. She didn’t modify her volume or movements to account for the bodies. She pounced on me, her feet dangling at my ankles and pushed me into my favorite girl on the sound crew. Her kiss landed on my hair before she released me, beaming and exultant. “You were awesome.”

Curious eyes stopped to take in the show. There were kids who had never seen me mauled and seemed to thoroughly enjoy the prospect. My parents arrived by the time I peeled her off, and they handed me an armful of peach roses. As I flinched beneath the congratulations and compliments that batted through the air, hitting and deflecting off my sore shoulders, I noticed Doctor Dave’s smile across the hallway and through the crowd. His eyes wrinkled in happy recognition and he flashed me a thumbs-up high above his head. I returned a smile that was not about the play or the people or the night. It was just for him. For being a man who would come rescue Melissa and Charlotte, just like Bryon rescued me. And maybe the situation wasn’t as unfair as I imagined. Because watching the way Charlotte jerked away from his touch I realized that maybe his rescue mission was the harder one. Bryon’s cost him his life but took a moment. Dave’s would take every moment of his.

I hid my baffled face by pressing my nose into the soft roses for a minute, torn between loving the excitement as every person around me gushed over their favorite lines and moments, and the desire to step outside into the cold night and point my face to the quiet stars. I felt a need to tell Bryon privately that this performance was my best yet and it belonged to him.

When I turned I spotted Braden. He didn’t say anything, but I knew the smile he gave me was just like the one I gave Dave. It had nothing to do with a play. If I could skip over the awkward introductions, the years it takes me to know someone I would have asked him if he wanted to step outside with me and just look up. But people aren’t allowed to be that honest. Aren’t allowed to need anything that simple. He slipped away into the throng and the giant room grew dimmer and noisier, as if he carried light and stillness with him.

When the commotion died down enough for me to make my escape, I retreated to the girl’s dressing room backstage and carefully placed my costume on the hanger labeled with my name. In the far corner, with the shadows wrapped around me, I held up the hanger and looked at the limp clothes, like a skin I had shed. I was supposed to check for tears or missing buttons or stains so all could be repaired before tomorrow’s show. Instead I watched the fabric ripple as I slid the hanger to the edge of the rack. The clothes looked dead, but still shining with some sort of glory from the night. Angel clothes.

I ran one finger down the sleeve of the white blouse. The glow of the fabric in the lights reminded me of Charlotte’s smile when she plunged into the river, screaming with cold. I took my hand off the shirt, a small, surprised breath escaping my lips. In that moment I knew I wouldn’t need my costume for the next show. Tonight I had put it on for Bryon. And tomorrow I wouldn’t—for Bryon.

I
opened
Schatz’s door and saw Braden leaned back in my plastic chair while he showed her a diagram of the sound system.

“Oh,” popped out of my mouth before I could formulate a thought. He didn’t miss my fleeting, troubled expression; instead he glanced around as if checking to see if he was the cause of my confusion. I’d never realized how much I counted on people missing things until I spent time with someone who noticed everything. I readjusted my mouth into a fast smile. “Hi, Braden. Good job last night.”

“Thanks. My physics teacher let me come down early to check some wires. Do you mind if I sit in until my lunch starts?”

“That’s great,” I forced out, wondering how I could possibly say what I needed to with him sitting right there. Schatz was almost too drunk on the echoes of applause to contribute to the conversation. She had the aura of a kitten who just discovered catnip. “I take it you’re pleased?” I asked primly, hiding my amusement.

“Best opening night ever!” She smacked the table in front of me and let off a howling laugh. “Packed house, flawless crew. They were laughing so hard they couldn’t even hear you. Phillip turned it on last night.”

I knew what she meant. We’d all been siphoning his energy from the moment the curtain lifted. Five minutes into the first act the audience knew our secret—we were having more fun than they were. And they ate it up. Which made it even harder to say the words that needed to be said now. I slipped my next sentence in light and fast, hoping she would believe me. “It was almost like we couldn’t mess it up if we tried.”

“Braden, our wireless mics have never sounded so clear. I loved it.” She turned her praise to him without acknowledging what I said. I leaned back and listened for an opening, an opportunity to try again. Braden twisted the string of his hoodie between his calloused fingertips. I remembered his hand gripping mine, dry and warm and unfamiliar.

“Why so quiet, my prima donna?” Schatz interrupted my thoughts.

I snapped to attention, hoping they hadn’t noticed my staring. “No reason.” Something trembled in my ribs, alerted me that this could be my chance. I cleared my throat, slid my hand across my forehead. “Except, maybe I don’t feel well.”

Schatz froze like I told her a meteor was about to collide with the earth. And that made me think of the falling stars. My fingers started to shiver and I knew it would spread to the rest of me in moments.

“What do you mean?”

“I think I might be getting sick.” The lie burned a slow hole through my throat and I knew why they call liars the ones on fire. I swallowed against the rising smoke.

All of her hazy happiness forgotten, Schatz leaned toward me like a wall cloud towering black on the horizon. “You look fine. What are you telling me? Don’t feel well as in
emotions
?” There was a horrible struggle in her face between hope and despair.

“No. Like sick,” I choked out, certain puffs of black would curl out of my mouth.

Her voice went higher with panic. “As in too sick to perform tonight?”

“Maybe. I don’t know which one, but I’m going to be sick today or tomorrow.”

Her steel blue eyes locked on mine and struggled there, our gazes wrestling for understanding. When I didn’t flinch, didn’t back down or explain, her eyes flickered with a horrible understanding.

“It’s okay,” I reassured her. “My understudy can handle it.”

I jumped when Braden’s cool hand brushed against my forehead. “You don’t feel warm. What’s wrong?” I was grateful for the chance to turn away from Schatz’s dismayed face, but flustered by his soft question.

“I think I’m losing my voice.”

“You sound fine,” he protested. “I’ve seen you go on when you could barely talk.” For a fleeting moment I wished he was Phil. I wished I could grab onto one of those hands and have the fingers brace me without a doubt or question or explanation.

“I’m definitely going to be sick.” I didn’t try to pretend. No wheezing or small cough. If I did this I had to do it with her blessing and her understanding. “But I’ve taught Charlotte. I’ve shown her everything. She can do this.”

Schatz tapped the table with her fingers, answers gathering in her face. I knew she would fight. I knew she might win. Which is why I had to use every weapon at my defense.

“Please.” I held perfectly still, released the word like Noah’s dove, praying it would find a safe place to land.

Schatz linked her hands together, coiling her fingers in an angry knot. “Did you plan this?”

“Not at all,” I promised. “How could I? You cast us. But Bryon’s list…” I glanced at Braden, his face so confused it bordered on distress. “I realized last night it should be her.” I begged her to understand because I couldn’t say anything more in front of him.

“Megan, if it were anyone else…” she threatened, standing up to take hasty, hard steps.

“I know,” I told her. “I would never ask if I didn’t have to.”

“You aren’t exactly
asking.
” Schatz’s chilly eyes blew cold through me. “Or are you?”

“Not exactly,” I whispered. “There are so many things I can’t give her, but I’m the only one who can give her this.”

Braden’s forehead twitched with the exertion of trying to understand our cryptic sentences. He looked down at the desk instead, lost in his own thoughts, his expression almost angry. I wanted to apologize to him but I didn’t know what for.

“On your head be it,” Schatz concluded with an agitated shake of her head. “If you are not going to feel well tomorrow night, you better have your understudy prepped and ready. And don’t think I won’t remember this the next time I have to cast you.” That barb I didn’t expect.

“What are you giving? What do you have to do? What does Charlotte have to do with it?” Braden moved back in his chair with a jarring sound of metal on the concrete floor but we ignored him and the sound.

“On second thought,” Schatz continued, her voice slowing, brightening. “You will not feel sick tomorrow on closing night.”

“I won’t?” I steeled myself to be more stubborn.

“No. Now that I think of it, you look pale right now.”

“She’s always pale,” Braden protested. ”She’s fine.”

Schatz flicked his comment away like a fly. “You will be sick tonight and rest all day tomorrow and be better by closing night.” She lowered her eyebrows along with her voice, and leaned over me. “Am I understood?”

“Yes,” I managed to say while suppressing the grateful smile building behind my lips.

“This entire conversation makes no sense,” Braden interrupted under his breath. “How can you decide when to be sick? You’re not sick. You’re not any paler than usual. You’re not losing your voice.”