Chapter Thirty-Three
Show day
The next morning, Annie was tugged into consciousness by a waft of lemongrass. “Lollie…” Annie smiled, reaching for Lola’s side of the bed.
Which was empty.
Annie blinked awake, scanning her room. No coffee brewing.
No shower running. No Lola, just the memory of her written in ghostly essential oil.
Annie whimpered, curling back into herself like an injured dog.
She wanted to stay like this for the next hundred years, cocooned in bed.
But she couldn’t. Today wasn’t just the first day of being single and heartbroken—again.
It was also the day of the show. The last Saturday in August. Their one-night-only engagement was finally here.
She could break down tomorrow. Tomorrow she would eat an entire pint of Chubby Hubby and rewatch all the magic-gone-wrong episodes of Buffy—only Randy and Joan could save her now.
Tomorrow, she would pine for the love that’d slipped through her fingers.
Today, Annie Elizabeth Lightfoot had to get shit done.
· · ·
Annie arrived at the playhouse just after ten a.m. with a box of takeout coffee, her lucky truck-stop doughnuts, and a fiercely resilient smile.
Originally, the cast had been given the day off, but Garrett had promised to wrangle whomever he could.
Annie pushed open the double doors, expecting to see half the cast.
Instead, almost everyone turned to face her: Jamie and Mikki. Deborah and Clyde. Vicky and Dylan and Jazz. Garrett and all four Tragedians—who, despite having rehearsed until one a.m. last night, looked enviously well rested. (Oh, to have the constitution of a teenager.)
The group was gathered by the front row, urgently mid-conversation. As Annie stepped inside, they abruptly paused. Annie had the brief, uncomfortable feeling of walking into a meeting she a.) wasn’t invited to and b.) was all about her.
Steeling herself, she walked up the center aisle, head held high. “Morning, everyone!” she called, making her voice as cheery as she could. “Great news!”
“Lola’s coming back?” Zoe looked hugely relieved. “Oh, thank god. We’re not sure this earpiece idea will—”
“Nope,” Annie said quickly. “The great news is I have doughnuts and coffee—and belief in all of us.”
She sucked in a shaky breath and faced the listening cast. “I know what we’re planning for tonight is unconventional and risky and might go totally off the rails. But that’s the beauty of art. That’s the beauty of life.”
She hadn’t planned on a speech, but it felt right—the cast needed hope. Assurance. Inspiration. Being a leader wasn’t about self-importance or delusions of grandeur. It was understanding what a group needed most and helping guide the way there.
Annie’s voice stayed clear and confident.
“Life doesn’t always go as planned, but it’s not about what happens.
It’s about how we handle the setbacks. And we’re going to handle our setback by staying positive.
” She met Jazz’s eye, who beamed back. “Staying sharp.” Annie looked to Vicky, whose cat eyeliner had never been crisper.
Vicky nodded back, her gaze unwavering. “And having fun,” Annie went on, smiling at Dylan, who grinned, running an easy hand through their flop of dark hair.
“Because together, as a team, we’re creative and inventive and we’ve got each other’s backs. Any questions?”
Annie readied herself for a snarky comment from Kat or a crazy curveball from Clyde.
But no one said anything. Everyone just smiled, eager and hopeful.
“Okay.” Annie clapped her hands, the sound echoing around the empty theater. “Then let’s get to work.”
The final day’s rehearsals kicked off with a renewed sense of determination.
But as soon as they began, cracks started to show.
Zoe knew most of her lines but not every one, calling for prompt after prompt, which visibly undercut her confidence.
The remaining trio of Tragedians kept slipping back into their original choreography, muscle memory overriding the new blocking.
But worst of all was Annie’s attempt to perform with the earbud.
By the time Garrett fed her a line and her brain translated it into action and delivery, the moment had passed. Her performance was stiff and halting, her body tense, her movements unsure. And the call dropped out. Twice.
The strain rippled outward. Other cast members began missing cues, stumbling over lines.
Their makeshift miracle was unraveling, stitch by stitch.
· · ·
By the end of the day, doubt hung over the group, as dark and heavy as the clouds rolling in. A storm was coming. The news that they’d sold two hundred and seventy-five tickets inspired worry, not triumph. “Two hundred and seventy-five people are gonna watch us fall on our ass,” Emery muttered.
Annie didn’t have the energy to correct them—they may well be right. “We’ll just do our best,” was all she could manage, before everyone slunk off to grab dinner and get show-ready. Far from the excited, celebratory mood Annie recalled from other opening nights, the vibe was funereal.
Annie was the last to leave the stage. She surveyed the sweep of empty seats, her hard-won hope fizzling out like a wet firecracker. The Rhodes Players weren’t ready for their revival. Not in this form. Not—she had to admit—without Lola.
Lola, who at this very moment was charming a handsome K-pop star on a professional film shoot, an ocean away.
The idea could make her weep, but Annie didn’t let herself. She’d go down with this ship. She’d be the last one on deck as the freezing water rushed to claim them.
Annie didn’t leave the theater, opting to stay close and put on her makeup in the green room, trying not to replay yesterday’s awful fight.
She was too nervous to eat or drink, refusing both the takeout burger Vicky brought back for her and the flask that Dylan, in costume as Hamlet, took a nip from.
“I don’t think being drunk will help things,” Vicky told them witheringly.
“And being a Goody Two-shoes will?” Dylan flipped back.
“Fuck off!” Vicky whirled on them, her half face of stage makeup making her look weirdly broken. “I’m trying!”
“You think I’m not trying?” Dylan sounded outraged. “Jesus Christ, Vicky, I’m the one who—”
“Guys!” Annie cut them off, her voice sharp with tears. “Please. Let’s just get through tonight, then you never have to see each other again.”
She meant it as a light at the end of the tunnel but instead Vicky and Dylan both flinched, their anger collapsing into devastation.
Vicky was the first to recover. “Perfect,” she said, swiveling back to the mirrors to furiously sponge on foundation.
Dylan’s gaze was pinned to the carpet for a few painful beats. “I’ll check on the box office,” they murmured, melting off as Jamie and Mikki came in with the news that the theater was officially open; the audience had begun to arrive.
“My whole moms group is here,” Mikki said. “I thought I’d be excited but…” She exchanged an uncertain look with Jamie, who gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
“It’s going to be great,” he said, sounding thoroughly unconvinced.
Annie focused on her makeup, trying not to meet her own eye in the mirror.
Maybe they should’ve canceled. Maybe her big idea was just another big mistake.
Garrett rapped on the doorframe. “Thirty minutes to places.”
“Thank you, thirty,” everyone chorused, but not even the backstage lingo could assuage Annie’s ballooning doubt.
Garrett caught Annie’s eye, gesturing for her to join him in the corridor. There, he made sure none of the cast was in earshot. “Annie,” Garrett began, “I hate to say this, but I think we should mentally prepare to call it at intermission.”
“Call it? Call what?”
“Call it off,” Garrett said. “Cut the play.”
Annie’s jaw just about hit the floor. “What? Why?”
Garrett let out an agitated breath. “Zoe and I have been running lines nonstop in Jazz’s office but she’s getting in her head. Her performance is getting worse, not better. And I just don’t think this earbud thing will work.”
Annie stared back at him, aghast. Calling it off, halfway through, was worse than no show at all. It was like a bride running out on a wedding halfway through the vows. “We can’t call it,” she whispered in horror. “We absolutely cannot.”
“We might not have a choice,” Garrett said bluntly.
Panic seized Annie’s muscles, blanked her mind. What was her first line? What were any of her lines? What was she doing here? There was no way she could do this. There was just no way.
“It’s filling up out there!” Deborah bustled past, sounding upbeat.
“The whole town showed up!” Clyde added, following Deb into the green room. “Despite the rain!”
The whole town. Would see. Her failure.
Time sped up. Minutes blurred. Backstage became a frantic mash of voices.
Fifteen minutes to places—Where’s my sword?—The box office says we’re about to sell out—Five minutes to places—Help me with my cape?—Okay, we’re officially sold out!—Places, please!
And suddenly Annie was on the side of the stage, the chatter of the waiting audience as loud as the rain pounding the roof.
Her heart was beating so fast she felt like it might explode.
With a shaking hand, Annie edged back the tall red curtains, peeking out.
Every seat was full. Even the nosebleed seats in the balcony.
She recognized so many faces—locals and acquaintances and friends.
All her favorite clients. The waitress with the micro bangs.
Sal sat in the front row, proudly pointing out her name on the program to the cute boy he was with.
Next to him, Annie recognized Dylan’s mom.
An expectant smile lifted Celine’s makeup-free face.
But there were plenty of people she didn’t know. Nonlocals who were there to see the famous Lola Wilson. Nonlocals who were supposed to see the show, fall in love with Rhodes, and keep coming back, per Jazz’s vision. A vision that was fading by the second.