by Sarah Willis
“Yeah, she’s fine. She went to the marina with Ben.” Beth says this tightly. Will doesn’t want to know why Beth’s mad at her mom again, but it’s getting old fast.
“All right. You and Norton get Greg into a bed. I’m going to the marina. Tell everyone to eat.” He gets back in the car and drives to the marina, trying not to imagine what might have happened to Mac. The only way to do this is to not think at all. If someone asked him right now what play they were rehearsing at his farm, he wouldn’t even understand the question.
There is chaos at the marina. Boaters who survived the storm have come back with no place to dock. Men who rent space from the marina have arrived to check on their boats. The owner of the marina has called in his wife to help, but the two of them immediately began arguing about an insurance policy that may not have been paid. Lars has watched all this from the hood of his car. He’s beginning to get hungry.
“Lars!”
He turns to see Myra and Ben running toward him.
“Any sign of their boat?” Ben asks.
“No, I asked the owner, but he hasn’t—”
Ben and Myra walk right past Lars, over to the owner, who is being yelled at by a lady in a yellow hat. Something about code violations. Lars doesn’t know if he should follow Myra and Ben over there. He’s much happier with specific directions. He loves blocking a script. He stays where he is.
When they walk back from talking to the owner, Ben has an arm around Myra’s shoulder. Tears are running down her face. They stop ten feet from the car and talk quietly to each other. Lars is used to this. He is somehow inconsequential in the great scheme of things, an observation made by his last girlfriend—her point being that Lars has assumed this inconsequential position himself. Not that it’s true, she said; he has value—she just neglected to point out the specifics. She told him this while breaking it off, saying if he ever decided to become part of the living, she would like to hear from him. Lars didn’t really believe she wanted to hear from him again; it was merely the kindest thing she could say.
He met her, as he had met every girlfriend he ever had, after she had seen him in a play. Acting in a play, he is alive. He can feel it happen with the first read-through, and that feeling grows stronger with each rehearsal. Onstage, in costume, under lights, the house full, Lars is as solid and whole as he imagines everyone else is all the time. But, someday—and this is a very new thought, brought on by the exercise Will had them do outside in the dark—he’d like to direct. His nerves tingle and twitch at the idea, like walking on a foot that has fallen asleep.
Ben and Myra start running. They run right past Lars, and he turns to see Mac, Jimmy, and Nate walking up the marina drive. Lars is relieved to see them, but he stays on the hood of the car.
Hugs are given all around, more than once. Myra lifts up Mac, crying, then puts him back down on the ground to inspect his face, then makes him turn full circle, then she hugs him again. Now Mac takes Nate’s hand and pulls him close to Myra, telling her something. Myra hugs them both. Then she turns to Ben and hugs him. Lars is glad he didn’t go over there. Jimmy McGovern, who has gotten the least of the hugs, spots Lars and walks over.
“I don’t suppose you brought food, huh, Lars? I’m dying of hunger.”
“Ah, no,” Lars says. “But I could—”
“Jesus, this place is a fucking mess!” Jimmy says, looking past Lars at the broken docks and piled-up boats. “You should have seen our boat. If we hadn’t got out of it when we did, we’d be dead as doornails. Didn’t even have Mac wearing a life jacket. I hope Myra doesn’t ask about that. Shit. I never thought … Not a Twinkie? Anything? Jesus, Lars, you should have seen the boat.”
“Pretty bad, huh?” Lars says.
“Fucking upside down on the shore. Hold on. I’m going to tell these guys to get a move on.” He goes over to the Myra-Mac-Ben-Nate group hug and comes back. “They say they’re going into town to get some iodine. We should just meet them at the farm. What a storm! Jesus, I was scared. I think I upset the kid. Nate was cool, though. Cool as a cucumber. Which reminds me, I’m starving. See you back at the ranch.” Jimmy heads over to his car but takes a look back at Mac, who’s still holding Nate’s hand. There’s a pause in Jimmy’s step, and his smile fades for just a moment before he gets into his car and takes off.
Lars imagines he directed this scene. Not a play, he thinks. A movie. Something like those independent films John Cassavetes makes. In black and white. He would pan from the upended boats in the dark water to the marina owner and his wife, then to Myra and her son. Finally, close-up on Ben’s face as he watches Myra. Lars has known Ben as an actor for a long time, and he knows the things Ben does to hide himself onstage and the moments when he can’t. And right now, Ben isn’t hiding a thing. It makes Lars very, very nervous. He gets into his car and drives off.
Ben drives them to the pharmacy, and Myra sits in the backseat with her arm around Mac. He says Nate Johnson saved his life, and Myra believes him. She looks at Nate and Ben in the front seat, these two men who are so different from each other but are now both so important to her. Inside this car Myra feels warm and safe. She imagines the four of them driving across the country.
Ben pulls up right in front of the drugstore. There are no lights on in the whole town, but the drugstore is open, and there are people inside. “Stay there,” Ben says. “I’ll get it. Is there anything else you need besides iodine?”
“Band-Aids, maybe.” She thinks she might start crying again. She is so grateful that all they need is iodine and Band-Aids, and that Ben knows she needs to stay in the car with Mac.
“If I see something else, I’ll get it. Don’t worry. I’ll be right back.”
Myra buries her face in Mac’s curly hair and breathes. She can smell the lake, the wind, and the distant memory of a baby in her arms.
On his way to the marina, Will sees Jimmy’s car speed by, with just Jimmy in it. Then Lars’s car, with just Lars in it. When he gets to the marina, there’s no sign of Ben’s car. Will finds the owner and asks him if he’s seen Mac. The man says he doesn’t know where the hell anyone is. Will had been looking carefully to see if Ben passed him, and he hadn’t, so maybe they found Mac, and he was hurt, and they’d gone the other way, to the hospital. Will jumps into his car and drives as fast as he can, swerving back and forth to avoid running over the large branches that lie across the road. Will hasn’t shed a tear yet, but his eyes ache, and he is afraid of what is held inside him by nothing more than a thin membrane.
Melinda wants to wait for Will before she serves her meal, but everyone is ravenous, so she cuts a large piece of quiche and takes a big scoop of potatoes, putting them on a plate in the oven to stay warm. She insists that everyone sit down at the picnic table rather than help themselves from the pans in the kitchen. Still, the food is gone in minutes. She’s definitely going to hold on to the pie until Will gets back.
Will drives up the lane, as if on cue. Seeing Will’s car, right after she has just thought about him, sends a shiver up her spine. Life is so amazing!
Will walks up to the table and puts a hand on Mac’s head. “Are you all right?”
Mac nods.
Will turns to Myra. “I went all the way to the hospital, looking for you. I thought Mac was hurt.”
“I thought you would turn around and come back. I was just about to ask someone to go look for you.”
“Thanks,” Will says. “And you’re okay too?” His voice is devoid of any inflection. Will uses tone and inflection as an artist uses color, Melinda thinks. The way he speaks to Myra now is like a painter covering over a picture with black paint. It’s a statement in itself. From the dead silence at the table, it is not lost on anyone.
“I’m fine,” Myra says.
“Good, I’m glad,” Will says. “How’s the barn, Victor?”
“Barn’s fine. No problem with the roof, I can see.”
“Good. And Greg? Is he doing okay?”
No one knows wh
o Will is asking, so Frank answers. “He seems fine, Will. Norton took him upstairs.”
Melinda stands up. “Would you like some dinner? I saved you some.”
Will doesn’t answer right away, and Melinda’s sure he’s going to say no, but then he rubs Mac’s head and says, “Sure, Melinda, I’d love some dinner. Scoot over, Mac, and tell me what happened to you in the storm. Were you in the boat? On shore? Were you scared? I want all the details.”
Mac’s eyes go wide. He has jelly on his chin. “I was fishing. I dropped my rod right in the water when I saw those black clouds. Jimmy says it was a cheap rod, but could you buy him one anyway? Then we started going real fast to get away from the storm, and …”
As Melinda goes inside to get the quiche and potatoes for Will, she wonders what it would be like to have kids. It’s just a thought. She’s not ready to play mom yet.
Will is exhausted. Moments ago he was furious, but he doesn’t have the energy for it now. Mac tells the story about the storm with as much detail as Will could ever hope for, but he’s just too tired to listen. Mac’s safe; the story’s just the frosting, and even though Will eats the food Melinda serves him, he’s not hungry. He wants to go to sleep. He’d like a comfortable bed tonight, but he’s not going to sleep in the same bed as Myra. He knows she must have been upset by Melinda showing up like that, but she walked off, again, without so much as telling him. And look what happened. He’ll sleep in the barn.
Mac stops talking. “Wow!” Will says. “What a story! I’m so glad you’re safe. Absolutely amazing. You’ll have to tell the whole thing again tomorrow, okay? It’s a lot to keep straight.” Will stands up. “I’m going to bed. We’ll start again tomorrow at ten—that is, if you all agree we should go on.” The storm has taken something from him, and without their confidence, he’s not sure he can go on. He’s not sure he wants to.
Chip Stark, sitting next to Beth, says, “Hey, Will, we’re here for you. No one’s going anywhere,” and many of the actors nod. It is not a loud and boisterous vote of approval, but Will’s pleased.
“Good night, then,” he says, and walks over to the barn. He’s too tired to change his clothes or brush his teeth. The ranch hands must have felt the same way after a long day.
Will turns and looks at the large table with the actors and his wife and his children, faces glowing in the lantern’s warm light, heads bent in conversation. He sees, too, how they turn to each other, and who they turn to. Something is different now. The storm has changed more than just Greg Henry’s face. He’ll have to think about what that might mean tomorrow.
Saturday
The day is quiet, like a pause; it’s not hot, or cold. It’s a day to ignore the weather, and for that, Will is thankful. He knocks three times against the barn door. The door doesn’t fall over. His muscles relax.
The actors are awake and ready to rehearse. The bunks have been made, personal things put away. Everyone’s had their coffee. There seems to be a new seriousness about them. Will feels they’re ready to let him shape and mold the rehearsal as he sees fit. He sees actors waiting to act. It’s taken a week, a lot of confusion, and a tempest. He knows it wasn’t a real tempest, but it sure felt like one.
He must admit, Melinda has something to do with all of this. She woke the actors and served breakfast (toast and some kind of strange crunchy cereal). She must have been up early because there’s cream for the coffee and new jams with plaid cloth covers. She’s the one who made the bunks and asked Beth to set up the props. She’s even placed the blue canvas chair he likes right where it should be.
Greg Henry looks awful, worse, if possible, than the day before. Part of his face is purple, part red, part green, all swollen. Greg says he’s fine. His eyes are half-masked, and Will figures it must be the pain medication, but the boy is here, and Will thinks he’s a real trouper. A cut on his face—or a scar—will not be a problem. Greg’s like the poster boy of cute young men with baby-face smiles that pass through the theatre every year or so on their way to Hollywood, and oblivion. The scar will give him some depth, Will thinks. Still, Will’s glad the kid didn’t break his leg.
Beth and Mac are pulling in chairs, and Will decides to let them stay. He doesn’t know where Myra is. He tells himself he doesn’t care, but he does. He just can’t think about it right now. Later, when things get back in shape.
“All right. Act two, no scripts. Stop and go at my discretion. I want you thinking about who you’re talking to. Are they an impediment to your dreams? Can you trust them or not? I don’t care about pacing, but I don’t want to see any of the old tricks. No southern accents, Chip. No goddamn perfect diction, Norton. Frank, I want your back to the audience at all times. Melinda, Curley’s Wife doesn’t need to bat her eyes at anyone. And see if you can find some backbone in the woman, all right? And Lars, we know George is Steinbeck’s everyman, and you do that well, but goddamn it, who does George think he is? No! I don’t want answers, I want to see it happen right here in front of my eyes. If I don’t, I’ll stop you, and we’ll do it again and again. I’ve got all day. Oh, and by the way, no more leaving the property during rehearsals, for anything. After lunch I’ll be taking Lars and Ben down to the creek, and I expect you to do whatever you do, right here, in character, for the rest of the day. Ready?”
The actors move into place quietly, and, Will believes, with great expectations.
Beth watches the rehearsal from the corner of the barn. She has watched her father direct before, from the wings, and from the red velvet seats in an empty house, but this is different. He’s like the bonfire they built: mesmerizing, glowing, radiating heat and light. She wants to hold out her hands, palms out. She wants to feel the heat.
After lunch, Ben quietly follows Will to the creek. He can’t stop thinking about Myra. Doing the dishes last night, they’d talked nonstop, telling stories about their childhood, as if they were building a past to stand on in the future, laughing so much they had to cover their mouths. They understood the rules; they couldn’t let anyone know how happy they were. Once Myra reached under the soapy water and took his hand in hers. Their wet, entwined fingers were enough to make Ben crazy.
He doesn’t understand what is happening to him. Given this scenario, say in a magazine, Ben would have filled in all the spaces that proved he was not the kind of man who would cheat with his best friend’s wife, so he’s surprised at the feelings he has when he thinks about chilling his heels, taking a step back, and putting the hex on this before it’s too late. He gets angry. Angry at Will for ignoring Myra, and angry at the world; this could be his turn at being happy. And Myra’s chance, too. If Myra can feel this way about Ben, then she must not love Will. Thinking back, Ben can’t remember Myra and Will holding hands, standing arm in arm, whispering in each other’s ears. Maybe they haven’t been in love for a long time.
But hell, he must be crazy. Misreading the whole thing. She couldn’t want him. She’s probably back up at the house trying to figure out how to tell him, kindly, that she is just in need of a friend. Thanks anyway …
Myra should go grocery shopping, but she wants to stay where she can catch a glimpse of Ben, or talk to him, or touch him. She feels like a kid. She feels loved, and sexy, and young again. And giddy—she has a secret. A big secret. It stuns her. That she would dare … She knows that Will had an affair years ago. He thought she didn’t know, and she didn’t, actually, until it had been over for almost a year. She had found out from the woman herself in a drunken moment of bravado. Myra hadn’t mentioned it to Will, what the woman had said. She had been pregnant with Mac. She watched Will carefully for a long time afterward but found no clues that he was straying again. There were good reasons, she tells herself, why she never said anything. It was the right thing, then, to go on with the life she knew. But now, with Ben, she is definitely not doing the right thing.
Then how come it feels so damn good?
Last night, she, Ben, and a few of the actors had sat around the picnic table talki
ng late into the night. They were stirred up from the storm, as if electricity were still in the air, and in the darkness lit by only a few lanterns, she and Ben had grinned at each other brazenly. Melinda had gone to bed earlier, and when, finally, Myra had gone up to her room, Melinda was there, asleep, curled like a small child on Myra’s side of the bed. But Myra couldn’t find anger, or offense. Here was a woman, sleeping in her bed, who had taken her role—the role she had named Lyla and believed might save her from her own failures—and Myra was so high on Ben’s warm smile that as she climbed into bed, she was close to giggling, wanting to wake Melinda and tell her everything, like kids at a sleepover. She had known better, but still, it took forever to fall asleep, and even now, after waking at eight this morning, she has so much energy that scrubbing the bathtub is over and done in no time flat. The house is swept. The laundry is in the washer. Obviously, the dishes are done. She needs to do something to keep moving. When she stands still, she is overwhelmed with fear, but when she moves, her body does the thinking, and her body wants Ben. But no more housework.
The tree. The one that fell. She’ll build a bonfire for tonight. The ax is hanging on the wall in the barn, part of the scenery of Of Mice and Men.
The rehearsal is the one thing she has to push out of her mind when it comes in. Entering the barn is not the easiest thing she has done all day. Entering the barn is harder, by a lot, than reaching for Ben’s hand under the sudsy water while her husband stood right outside. Beginning an affair is much easier than she ever imagined, and for the briefest of moments, she understands what must have happened to Will, and forgives him just a little.