Chapter 32
An hour later, the doors at the back of the theatre open, and I see Bertie walk in. She makes her way to the stage, and I
meet her near the stairs, giving her a hand as she walks up the steps.
Once she’s standing next to me, she faces me and squeezes my hands. “Booker told me what happened. Are you okay?”
Her kindness makes me want to collapse, to be honest and let all my feelings out.
“Not really, if I’m honest.” Tears sting my eyes, but I blink them away. “But we have a lot of help.”
“I made muffins,” she says. “Baking is my love language.”
I laugh through the emotional drain. “That was so kind of you,” I say. “Thank you.”
I look around, marveling at all the people who’ve come out to help. Booker has started removing the ruined top layer of the
floor, which is painful to watch, and a few of the others stand by to help him. Who knows what it looks like underneath that
layer—it will need to be dried and painted and the staples pulled out, but hopefully the damage doesn’t make the stage unusable.
“I wish the accident was the only problem we’re facing,” I say sadly.
“What do you mean?”
I tell Bertie about the low ticket sales and the importance of this show turning a profit. “I know I won’t be here after this summer, but I can’t stand the thought of this group losing their theatre program.” And I really can’t stand the thought that I could be the one who couldn’t save it.
Bertie squeezes my arm. “You really care about them, don’t you?”
I look around the space again. This is community. This is the adventure. It’s not traveling or seeing the world—or starring in a huge show on Broadway. It’s simpler
than that. It’s people.
It’s always been people.
“Yeah. I really do.”
“Then let’s put our heads together and figure out how to fill this place,” she says. “What have you tried so far?”
I shake my head. “Nothing. I haven’t even invited my friends or my parents yet.”
She frowns. “Why on earth not?”
I give her a half-hearted shrug.
If she’s disappointed, she doesn’t let on. “Well, we should fix that immediately.” She pauses. “Do you know anyone at the
local news station?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know anyone local at all.” But then I remember something... “Wait. Wait a second. One of my best
friends just took an anchor job in Milwaukee...”
Bertie’s eyes light up. “Call her!”
“I doubt she knows anyone all the way up here,” I say, really not wanting to ask for this favor.
“Milwaukee stations cover Door County news sometimes,” Bertie says. “It can’t hurt to ask.”
I chew the inside of my cheek, trying to imagine what I might say to Marnie, one of my best friends who has no idea what I’ve
been doing up here. Or really, since I moved to New York.
“Call her.” Bertie squeezes my hand. “She might actually be able to do something here.”
I give her a nod. “I will.”
She smiles, but I notice that smile fades when she sees Arthur, who takes one look at us and walks the other way.
I frown, turning back to her. “What’s that about?”
She tries to wave me off, but I can see the hurt behind her eyes. “Oh, it’s nothing.”
“I thought you two were getting along.”
“We were,” she says wistfully. “He’s a wonderful man.”
“I’m surprised to say I agree with you,” I say.
She sighs. “But he made it clear he doesn’t want to see me anymore.” She hands me the basket. “Too much baggage, I guess.
Old people stuff.” She says it as a throwaway.
I start to ask another question, but she cuts me off. “Here, you take these and make sure to pass them around. I don’t want
to be in the way.”
As she turns to go, I glance back over my shoulder and see Arthur standing off to the side, working, but looking like he’s
trying very hard to pretend not to notice Bertie is here at all.
After a long moment of me glaring at him, he finally turns and walks out the stage door and into the scene shop, leaving me
standing onstage with a basket of muffins and a whole lot of questions.