Chapter Thirty-Five
Eliza
“We all must do theater, to find out who we are, and to discover who we could become.”
—Augusto Boal
Being that close to Reed in the hospital parking lot was one of the hardest things I had ever done. Not touching him, not letting him hold me or kiss me…
I went there, waited for a half hour, because I wanted to apologize. Because I missed him. Because I stupidly listened to Mom and thought I needed to “take a leap.” But the pain he failed to hide brought me back to reality.
His best friend was being charged with arson. Mrs. Fulton told Mom that Mr. Fulton’s unit was attacked and that they still hadn’t received word on his condition. Reed didn’t need anything else to worry about going into that championship.
So in those quick minutes, I had backed down from my “Get Reed back” plan and decided instead to spend every day of the next week pouring all of myself into getting the play ready in its new location.
Tech Week, aka Hell Week, officially arrived and, naturally, it came during the hottest week on record.
God, what I wouldn’t give for air-conditioning.
I took a long swig of water from my fourth bottle of the day while Carl, my “favorite” light guy, finished inspecting my job of hooking up our new trees and fixtures. He explained the complexity of DMX cables while he looked over everything, and my head spun.
Can you Google Translate an electrician?
“Okay.” He rubbed the sweaty stubble on his chin. “We’ve got good news and bad news.”
Great. I groaned. “Bad news first, please.”
He tucked his clipboard under his armpit. “Bad news: You’ve got a faulty fixture for your stage left.”
“But how is that possible?” They’d just come in a couple of days ago and were working fine until yesterday. I chucked my bottle into the nearby trash can.
“Nice shot.” Carl pulled a Red Sox hat from his back pocket and tugged it on.
Ugh. He would be a BoSox fan.
“Sometimes, these lights are like…like sleeper cells from a spy movie.” He rubbed his nose. “You don’t know they’re bad until BAM! They start stabbing you in the middle of the night.”
Super. “So what do I do?”
“We’re going to run it from a splitter so it can’t affect any of the other lights. Kinda like a virus. Gotta keep it from spreading and infecting.” He made a few notes on his clipboard.
I rubbed my sunburned neck. “Okay. It’ll run from its own board, but can I still sync that up to my main one?”
“Yep. And don’t forget: With that older model of a board, you gotta do any chase sequences or big effects manually if they’re not already preprogrammed.”
“Right. Thanks.”
“But now for the good news! The flickering spot you called us about? It’s just a bad cable.” He pointed to the output. “Go ahead and shake that one right there. Go on.”
I blew on my fingers—Dad did that once before jumping my Jeep and swore it helped—and wiggled the cable to the spot. Sure enough, the bulb flickered. “The kit we bought came with extra cables,” I said. “We can use one of those, right?”
“Right.”
I let out a breath. “Change a cable, add a splitter, set the rest of my cues, and get Hazel caught up on the follow spot. Totally doable.” If I had weeks and not days.
“About that splitter.” Carl tapped his clipboard. “It is going to cost a little more than what the website says.”
So much for optimism. “How much more?” I’d sell one of my kidneys if I had to so I could get this crap done. It’s not like I needed both.
Ms. Sparrow appeared at my side and placed her hand on my shoulder. “Money is no longer a problem. Just get our girl what she needs.”
Say what?
“You got it.” Carl gave a small salute and hurried over to the back of his truck.
“What do you mean, ‘Money is no longer a problem?’ ” I grabbed two bottles from the cooler near my and Katie’s table and offered one to Ms. Sparrow.
She grinned. “We received a donation of fifteen hundred dollars yesterday.”
Water sprayed out of my mouth. “Wh-what? From who?”
She pulled her bright yellow framed sunglasses down to the tip of her nose. “From your father.”
I drove over to Crowley Park on my lunch break and marched straight onto the field. “Dad?” I called.
TJ flipped up his mask from behind home plate and yelled toward the outfield. “Hey, Coach! You’ve got a visitor!”
Dad said something to Caleb and Asher, two of his outfielders whom he also coached at our high school, and then jogged over to where I stood by the dugout. “Hey. Don’t you have rehearsal today?”
“Yeah, I do…” I bounced back and forth on my feet. “But this is my lunch break.”
“Oh.” He took off his hat to wipe his forehead. “Is everything okay? Did you need something?”
I crashed into him and wrapped my arms around his neck, hugging him tighter than I had in years. This was the dad I had been waiting for, the one I had missed for so, so long.
He squeezed me tightly before pulling away. “What was that for?”
“For moving the championship so Reed could play. For bringing your coaches to help get the amphitheater ready, and for”—tears fell down my cheeks—“for donating that money. Dad, I—I don’t know what to say—”
“You’ve already said it.” His eyes turned misty, and he pulled me into another hug, patting my head the way he used to in junior dance rehearsals when I’d had a horrible performance. “I’m so sorry it took me this long to get here. I won’t make that mistake again, Eliza Jean. I promise.”
Later that week, I woke up to back-to-back texts and selfies from Lauryn at the salon. She had bags under her eyes, but her hair was already looking awesome.
Lauryn: This crown braid is taking FOREVER
Lauryn: And Mom’s driving me crazy
Another picture downloaded of Lauryn’s mom photobombing her selfie, holding up two cups of coffee behind her.
Me: Your hair looks AMAZING!
Me: And at least she brought coffee!
Lauryn: Those cups are both hers
Lauryn: She said no caffeine for me today because it’ll dry up my throat
Lauryn: I’m in hell Eliza. The thresholds of HELL.
I cackled. A knock came from my bedroom door before it opened. Mom stood in the hallway holding a tray of her famous bacon-cheddar scones and a cup of steaming hot coffee. “Happy opening night…day!”
“Thanks, Mom.” I threw off my covers and stretched. “That smells amazing.”
She set the tray on my desk and plopped down at the end of my bed. “You feel ready?”
“Kind of.”
I finished all the cues two days ago but had only seen them once with a run-through.
Normally, I’d have a few days of tweaking the finished show, but there was nothing normal about this setup.
I planned to get there early and adjust what I could, which would be tricky enough with the sunlight overhead.
“I’m proud of you either way.” Mom patted my legs. “I can’t wait to see it.”
“You’re coming?” I crossed my room and grabbed a scone before sinking into my desk chair. “What about Dad’s game? The championship?”
“He knows, and he understands.” She smiled. “Besides, he’s not the only one who has a championship tonight. I want to support yours too.”
Gratitude washed over me. “Mom, don’t make me cry before nine a.m.”
She winked and kissed my head before heading out the door. “Have you spoken with Reed at all this week?”
I shook my head and slumped against the back of my chair. “Like you said, we’ve all got our own championships tonight. He needs to focus on his.”
Never mind the dozen texts I’d typed out and erased without sending.
I wasn’t sure how or when it had happened, but he had become my person.
The one I wanted and needed to tell things to.
Even if it was something random like how I caught Viola Gratton fussing at the mailman the other day for not letting her “help” him hand out other people’s mail.
(Reed would’ve had the same thought as me: The woman never stops snooping.) Or how Chad threw a tantrum in the middle of the street over a parking ticket. (Reed would’ve loved that.)
But I couldn’t tell him.
I spun my chair around and ran my hand over the small pile of performing arts high school pamphlets I’d printed off from the library. Honestly, all of them were amazing and probably better than Fairfield High, but would there be a place for me at any of them?
“Hey.” Mom tapped on the door, bringing me out of my mixed-up thoughts.
“Just don’t forget you need to have your head in your big night too.
You can’t control what happens at that ball game, but you’ve worked too hard to let tonight happen without giving it your all.
” She gave me her infamous “You hear me?” look and closed the door.
I grabbed the coffee Mom brought me and then stepped out onto my balcony. The air smelled like freshly cut grass, and the sun already burned brightly above the tall oaks lining our driveway. The forecast called for a warm day but with low humidity and a clear night.
It would be a beautiful evening for a baseball game.
And an even more beautiful one for an opening night under the stars.
Mom was right. I couldn’t change the course of events that led to the Legion League Championship, but I could change my own future and do Grandma Marguerite proud by lighting the shit out of Romeo and Juliet tonight.
Who knew where I’d end up next year? But I sure as hell wasn’t about to let that uncertainty keep me from doing my job.
A Crowley always finished what she started.