In Harmony(120)

“I have more. A lot more.”

“After the show.” He looked around behind him. “Someone wants to say hi, if that’s okay.”

I glanced over his shoulder and saw Benny—Ben, now—at the tent. I grinned. “Send him over.”

Martin left and Ben took his place, staring around, his hands jammed in the pocket of his jeans. Nineteen now, he was tall and solid; the kid I’d known was gone.

He’s the same age as I was when I met Willow.

“Hey, man,” I said, rising to give him a hug. I laughed at his dubious expression as Len Hostetler belted an operatic-sounding vocal warm-up.

“Theatre people are the weirdest,” he said.

“You got that right.”

A short silence fell. Ben and I had talked when I came back to Harmony three years ago, but it had felt strained. My apology weak. He’d already lost his father and then I’d cut him out of my life. I don’t think he’d ever forgiven me for that, and I couldn’t blame him. The tension between us had never gone away, and then he’d gone to school. University of Southern Indiana. I could not be more proud, but he wasn’t mine to be proud of anymore and that hurt.

“So listen…” Ben’s shoulders came up, his arms stiffening. “I just wanted to thank you for all that you’ve done for my mom and me. Her house…my college.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Yeah, man, I do. It’s a lot.”

And I don’t want to owe you anything.

The subtext was there, all over his face.

Fix this. Tell him the truth. It’s what we do.

I glanced around the tent and held up my hands. “All of this? This is a lot. That woman standing over there?” I pointed at Willow laughing with Lorraine. “She’s a lot. This entire life I have now is a helluva lot, more than I’d thought I’d ever have.”

Ben frowned. “That’s not all on me.”

“It’s a lot on you,” I said. “You remember how you used to help me run lines for my shows? For Hamlet?”

“Yeah.”

“Remember all those scenes between Hamlet and Horatio?”

He shrugged. “Didn’t understand much of it.”

“Horatio is one of the most important characters in the play,” I said. “He’s Hamlet’s best friend. He’s the only character who sticks by Hamlet no matter what. And at the end of the play, when Hamlet is dying, it’s Horatio he asks to tell his story. Because he trusts him. They’d been friends longer than anyone.”

Ben’s eyes were brighter for a second, then he shrugged again. “Yeah? So?”

“So you were my Horatio, man. You were my friend when the entire town talked behind my back or laughed at Pops.”

“I was just a kid.”

I shrugged. “So was I.” I glanced around the tent again. “I have this theater, this show, because I hit it big in Hollywood. I made it to Hollywood because of my performance in Hamlet. And there’s no Hamlet without Horatio. I just want you to remember that.”

Ben thought about this for a second, dug his hands deeper in his pockets. “Well, we got to watch out for each other, right?”

I swallowed hard. “Yeah, we do. And you did. Thank you, Benny. I owe you.”

His gaze flickered away, and then back. “I should get back. Leave you to it.” He turned to go and then swiveled to me instead to pull me in for a hug.

I held him tight, my jaw clenched to keep from losing it.

“Love you, man,” I said.

“You too,” he said, his voice tight. “Okay, break a leg,” he said, releasing me and turning away quickly. “See you after?”

I nodded, lips pressed together. “Absolutely.”

He smiled, waved a hand, and went out.

A low buzz of laughter and talk from the audience drifted on a light breeze under the summer sun. It was a full crowd today. Among them were Angie and Bonnie, Yolanda and Ben—my best friend, I thought with a smile—resuming his seat, along with all the friends Willow and I made around town.

Ben had always been enough of a friend when I was younger, but now I had more than I’d ever imagined. Our days were full of socializing, small dinner parties over candlelight and bottles of wine. After the door closed on the last guest, Willow and I reached for each other. We spent the sleepy warmth of morning in bed, talking and kissing, or clutching at the bed sheets in relentless ecstasy.

It was a life a poor kid from a broken house of violence could never have imagined.

The tent cleared out but Willow remained at the entrance, peeking through the flap at the audience. I moved to stand beside her.

“I see my parents,” she said. “My mother’s hat could provide shade for an entire village.”

Dan and Regina still lived in New York but visited Indiana twice a year. Breaking down the walls between us was a slow process, although Regina embraced me more readily than Daniel. He was proud. His apology didn’t come in one sentence. It took countless visits for him to finally grasp his daughter’s happiness. And the gratitude in his eyes as she laughed or smiled was apology enough for me.

Likewise, the relationship between Willow and her parents was improving, largely because of Willow’s generosity. My girl was filled with love. Bottomless. After being dimmed for so long, her light was blinding.