Chapter 49
Chapter Forty-Nine
Willow wanted to call Dylan the moment she heard about the fire. She imagined him standing watching the flames, wondered what he must have been thinking to see it all disappear. She wondered if now the house was gone, he might be more inclined to stay.
But she didn’t call him because it was opening night and it would be a distraction she didn’t need.
She had successfully filled her time since being back so as not to think about what she’d left behind, and so far it had worked.
She felt fitter and stronger than she had been; her knee ached if she worked too hard, but she’d learned to rest now rather than push on through regardless.
She was more careful, took less risks with her body and she spent more time thinking about the other performers, helping them out if they were struggling.
It was as if that by stepping back, her field of vision had widened.
Curtain-up had always been the worst part of any show for Willow.
Whether it was opening night or a couple of months into the run, still her stomach would churn with unadulterated fear and her palms would sweat in panic.
Waiting to go on was a kind of torture. She’d try and visualize the whole performance, watch it through in her head to try and lessen her nerves, but it rarely worked.
The only thing that could quash the nail-biting adrenaline was taking to the stage.
But seemingly overnight, those torturous pre-performance nerves had abated.
On the preview night, she had stood waiting for her cue with dry palms and a calmly beating heart.
She’d even cracked a joke or two. The change could have been because she was in a less important role than usual—she knew her body well enough nowadays and believed in herself enough to come back slow—but it occurred to Willow that when she thought about the performance now, it wasn’t just about her, it was about everyone.
She used to believe with all her heart that there was no single thing more important in life than her own performance—which was probably what made her so good—but now her vision was less tunneled, her world seemed more colorful.
Ballet, she’d learned, wasn’t everything.
The artistic director was less keen on the change in her disposition, but Willow wasn’t sure she could ever go back to the dancer she once was.
Opening night was a full house. Brodie, Maeve and Zoey were in the audience—they had sent flowers to Willow’s dressing room, and she’d promised to give Zoey a backstage tour after the show.
Her mom sent a photo of her dad set up in front of the livestream, Noah on hand for any technical difficulties.
Before she could stop herself, she wondered what Dylan was doing. But then the orchestra started, the lights dimmed, and she made herself think of nothing but the curtain going up.