In Harmony(43)

“I don’t know,” I said. “Try to get by. To survive.”

She held my gaze a moment, then nodded. “I’m sorry but…” She ran her fingertips beneath her wet eyes. “Some things happen and it’s like the power going out. Or the volume turns down to mute.”

I nodded. “Yeah, it is.”

“Until.”

“Until?”

“It’s something my grandmother told me once. She said every story has an until. Something bad happens that shows the character what they want most. But where is the until that puts everything back together? When does the character actually get what they want most?”

“When they allow themselves to have it,” I said. My hands itched to brush the lock of hair that had fallen over her cheek. “Or when they go and take it.”

“That’s why you’re leaving Harmony,” she said.

“Yes.”

She nodded, then huffed a sigh. The strength returned to her voice. “I wish I was as brave as you.”

“Auditioning for a part in Shakespeare’s most famous play without having acted a day in your life sounds pretty brave.”

“Or stupid,” she said, with a small laugh. “I’m sorry for what I said about your mom.”

“Don’t be.”

“Too late. I am.” She was smiling again and my eyes were drawn to her full lips that glistened with a touch of gloss.

I wondered what it tasted like…

Willow jerked her chin down the street. “That must be what you wanted to show me.”

I followed her gaze to the Harmony Amphitheater across the street.

“Yeah,” I said, snapping my eyes away from her. “Yeah, that’s it.”

We crossed the quiet street and passed under a freestanding square arch of white stone. The theater was a circle made of tiers of cement stairs that wrapped all the way around with a stage in the center. Random, freestanding cement blocks were placed here and there around it, as a kind of abstract decor. Green grass surrounded the amphitheater, or it would be green once spring came. Now the sun beat down on muddy patches in the brown and yellow turf.

“I come here sometimes at night,” I said. “To smoke and be alone.”

“I can see why.” She held out her arms. “Why didn’t Martin stage Oedipus out here?”

“Too cold in January.”

“Oh, right. But summer time? Does he do shows?”

“No. Too expensive to rent.”

“Bummer,” she said. “Can’t you just see it? Shakespeare-in-the-park?”

“I can,” I said, easily imagining Willow building a life here. A house in The Cottages and a summer of Shakespeare in her backyard. While I ran as fast as I could in the opposite direction.

“So can Marty,” I said. “He dreams of expanding the theater program to outdoor productions.”

“Why doesn’t he?” Willow said, climbing up on one oblong block of cement. She sat and dangled her booted feet over the edge.

“No funds,” I said. I leaned against the block, my shoulders level with her waist. “He won’t tell me much, but the previous owner of HCT didn’t manage the books very well.”

“Is it serious?” Willow asked. And the genuine concern in her voice made my damn heart swell.

“I don’t know. But it’s another reason I need to get out of here. I can’t make any money here. But out there,” I waved my hand to indicate basically anywhere but Harmony. “I have a shot. I can help him out.”

“You won’t forget where you got your start,” Willow said, her voice softening.

I shrugged, but smiled to myself and reached for my Winstons. “You mind if I smoke?”

“Yes and no.”

I glanced up at her, squinting. The sun was behind her, turning her long, wavy hair into a golden halo around her.

She looks like goddamn Lady Godiva.

I cleared my throat. “Yes and no?”

“Yes, I mind because it’s not good for you. No, the smoke won’t bother me.”

I nearly put my smokes away.

Do not start with that changing-yourself-shit, Pearce. You’re leaving.

I tapped a cigarette out of the pack, put it between my lips and lit it with my silver Zippo. As I exhaled my first drag, I noticed a small black X inked on the knee of Willow’s jeans. “What’s this?”

“Nothing,” she said, a little too fast. “I doodle when I’m bored. Paulson was putting me to sleep the other day.”

I nodded. I wasn’t an expert on clothes, but I could tell her jeans didn’t come out of the bargain bin at The Outpost. Designer brands ran at ninety bucks a pair. Not something you wanted to mark up with black ink.

Let it go.

I took a drag and looked over the amphitheater. I liked coming here at night, when the white stones glowed in the moonlight. My own Stonehenge. In the light of day, the space echoed with all the activities it hosted in Harmony: the fair in summertime, the occasional wedding ceremony and the high school graduation I wasn’t invited to.

“I heard George Mason High holds graduation here,” Willow said, apparently reading my mind. “Are you going?”

“No.”

“Does that bother you?”