In Harmony(28)

“What do you want?” she said. She hugged her elbows, not looking at me. Her body shivered in jeans and a soft pink sweater.

“You left these.” I held out her coat—heavy, expensive wool—and her pink knit hat.

“Oh. Thanks.”

I turned to go.

“Wait a sec.” She drew on her coat and hat. “Thanks for the advice. It worked. I wasn’t expecting what happened up there. Or maybe I was,” she added, almost to herself. “Maybe it was exactly what was supposed to happen, but I wasn’t… I wasn’t ready for it.”

“I get it,” I said. “You mind if I smoke?”

She shook her head. I lit a smoke and the flame from my lighter lit up the side alley where we stood. The only other light came from the tavern next door. I took a drag and exhaled, struggling to find words.

“You okay?” I finally asked.

“Yeah. Just…took me by surprise.”

I nodded. “You were…” Powerful and raw and fucking real. “…Good.”

I winced at the flimsy, pathetic word. She deserved better feedback. But it was either tell her, You shook me to the bone in a way I’ve never felt before and I couldn’t take my eyes off you. Or tell her, You were good. Nothing in between.

“Thanks,” she said. She shivered, even though her coat was buttoned up now. “I should go.”

I moved out of the way to let her pass, suddenly aware I was a virtual stranger cornering her in a dark alley.

She started past me, then stopped.

“Is that why you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Save all your words for the stage?”

I stared.

“Because it’s a catharsis, isn’t it?” she said. “It’s telling your story without really telling it.”

What story lay behind the one you told tonight? I wanted to ask. But whatever subtext Willow’d been operating off of to give us that performance, it wasn’t a story for a casual talk behind an old theater. Or for me. Still, I wanted to tell her something of my truth too. Give something back.

Forget it. Also not for casual talk behind a theater.

I stuck my cigarette between my lips to keep from saying more than “Yeah, I guess.”

“Is that why you don’t talk much?”

“Maybe,” I said, taking another drag, “Or maybe I just have nothing to say.”

“I doubt it,” she said. “But I get it too.”

“You’re going to get Ophelia,” I said.

“Really?” Her eyes lit up, and right then, she was beautiful with the hope radiating off her. Rays that bounced off me, filling my head with possibility. If she were Ophelia, I’d spend the next two months rehearsing with her. Acting with her. Having this untouchable beauty on my stage.

And that was too much hope for a poor bastard like me.

“Yeah, you might get the part,” I said, putting a hard edge in my voice. “But one monologue isn’t the same as an entire Shakespeare play. You’ll have to show up to every damn rehearsal. You’ll have to take it seriously. Because it might’ve been a whim or something for you, but it’s fucking important to me.”

She bristled a little, her chin thrusting out. “It’s not a whim,” she said, an edge in her own words. “It’s important to me, too. And cocky much? What makes you so sure you’re going to get a part?”

My edge crumbled and I laughed around my Winston. The ugly yellow light from Nicky’s Tavern turned Willow’s hair to gold. The urge to bury my hands in that hair was so strong, I had to take another drag.

“I’ll get it because there’s no one else Martin will trust with it.”

“That’s not the only reason,” Willow said. “You have to know how good you are.”

I sighed and chucked my cigarette down and ground it out with my heel.

She cocked her head. “You don’t want to talk about that either?”

“No, because it’s boring. It is what it is. Acting is how I’m going to get the fuck out of Harmony. Beyond that?” I held up my hands.

“Oh,” she said, her face falling. “You want to leave?”

I peered at her curiously. “You want to stay?”

She shrugged, rubbed her chin with her shoulder. “I don’t know. Maybe. I like it better than I thought I would. It’s quiet here. Peaceful.”

“There’s nothing for me here.”

“No, I suppose not,” she said. “Your talent is too big for this little town.”

I’m counting on it. It’s all I have.

A silence fell, and then she said, “Okay, well. I’m supposed to meet a friend. Mr. Ford will tell us what comes next?”

“He’ll email the callback list,” I said. “You’ll need to be back here tomorrow night at seven.”

“If I get called back.”

I smirked. “See you tomorrow night, Willow.”

“See you tomorrow night, Isaac,” she said. “If you get called back.”

I smothered the chuckle that bubbled up my chest, watching until Willow got to the street safely. Then I pushed off the wall and walked out of the alley, away from the theater. Away from my real home. It was good practice for when I left Harmony for good. I’d walk away from all the shit memories. My mother’s ghost and my father’s rage. The poverty and the cold and the constant hunger for something more than I had. I’d leave it behind and never look back.