“Don’t be nervous,” Marisol said cheerfully. “We’ve got this.”
“And I have to fix that scene today—the Caterpillar one.”
Her assistant groaned. “That scene is not good.”
Emily widened her eyes. “I know.”
“Well, you’ll fix it. You’re like a master magician.”
Emily wasn’t so sure.
“Besides,” Marisol said, “the show is in great shape otherwise.”
It was. And yet, some days, Emily found herself waiting for the whole thing to fall apart, like a supersize game of Jenga. Had she forgotten something important? Something that would make or break this production? What if she let everyone down?
“I still don’t really feel like a director,” she said. “I was always a performer.”
Marisol put a hand on Emily’s shoulder. “These are kids, Em. No matter what, you know a lot more than they do. Just talk to them the way you wish your directors would’ve talked to you.”
Emily nodded. Marisol was right. So far, nobody knew she was a fraud.
“Where are we starting, Miss Emily?” Alyssa Daniels asked. The girl had a powerhouse voice, but she’d been struggling with the acting side of her part. Emily saw it with several of the kids, actually. Good voices could carry them to a certain point, but if she wanted the show to be truly excellent, she needed to teach them about becoming the character.
And she felt wholly unqualified. The last time she’d tried to help anyone “become a character,” she’d gotten publicly torn to shreds.
She reminded herself this was different. And like Marisol said, no matter what, she did know more about theatre than the kids did.
Even Bethany Thompkins, whose mother was very clear at auditions that her daughter was a musical prodigy and should be treated as such.
“You’re going to want her as Alice, of course,” Mrs. Thompkins had said. “She was accepted to Boston’s prestigious Little Voices program and has been singing with a private instructor for five years now.” The woman nodded at Emily as if she’d just issued a directive.
Bethany was eleven years old and did, in fact, have a beautiful voice. If they had been casting an opera. Emily spent a good deal of time at the piano with her, trying to find a way to make her sound more current, but five years with a private voice instructor had drilled a very particular sound into the girl.
Mrs. Thompkins had many thoughts about Bethany’s role in the ensemble, and she hadn’t kept them to herself.
“Apparently, Bethany’s mom is telling the other parents you’re unqualified and don’t know what you’re doing.” Marisol had laughed as if it were the most ridiculous thing in the world, but the barb cut Emily like a deep wound that had been there for a long time and had never healed.
Now, as she stood in front of a handful of her leads, her confidence level dipped.
I can do hard things.
She never thought that would include directing a group of kids. How had she gotten here?
All right. Enough.
Emily cleared her throat. “Okay, let’s run the scene.”
In front of her, Alyssa and a blonde girl named Madison, who was playing Alice, stood with their scripts in hand.
“Got your pencils?”
They each held up their freshly sharpened number twos—one of Emily’s rules: show up ready to work, with a pencil, and write down everything you need to know.
Maybe to some people, the scene wouldn’t matter much, but to Emily, it set the stage for “Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah,” which immediately followed. She saw no point in having a showstopper that slogged onto the stage with a boring or poorly acted scene before it.
And watching Alyssa and Madison up until this point, it was clear that was what she was going to get unless she jumped in.
“Alyssa, do you know what a beatnik is?”
Alyssa scrunched her face and shook her head.
Emily stood in front of her, changed her stance, and said one of the lines as if she were a 1950s poet with a set of bongo drums.
Alyssa laughed.
“The Caterpillar is the coolest character in the show.”
The girl beamed. “Really?”
“Oh yeah. She’s got this certain vibe, like someone who knows she’s cool. Everything is ‘Ya dig?’ and ‘Are you pickin’ up what I’m puttin’ down?’” Emily said that last part in a character voice.
Alyssa smiled. “You want me to talk like that?”
“Not exactly,” Emily said. “I want you to make it your own. Think of the coolest person you know.”
Alyssa started to speak, but Emily cut her off with an upheld hand.
“Don’t tell me who it is. Just think about them for a minute. How do they talk? How do they move? What is it that makes them so cool?”
Alyssa closed her eyes, then nodded.
“Now I want you to try the scene again and think of that person the whole time. And keep that one word in your mind—cool.”
Alyssa’s face grew serious, but she nodded again as if to let Emily know she was up for the task.
Within seconds, Emily saw the difference. The kind of change she wouldn’t have believed if she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes. Alyssa’s dull monotone had been replaced with a character, one that would most certainly work for their Caterpillar.
They finished the scene and Madison grinned at Alyssa. “You did so good!”
Alyssa looked at Emily. “Was it okay?”
Emily had inexplicable tears in her eyes.
Alyssa’s face fell. “Oh no, was it bad?”
Emily shook her head, a nervous laugh flowing out. “No, no. It was so good. You were good, Alyssa.” She opened her arms and the girl raced in for a hug. “Now, just remember that next time we do the scene, okay?”
“You got it, Miss E.,” Alyssa said in her beatnik voice. “I’m pickin’ up what you’re puttin’ down.”
Emily laughed. “Good job. Let’s run the scene one more time to get it in your head.”
She watched as the whole scene sprang to life as if it had been injected with a healthy dose of energy. As if what she’d done had made a difference.
They were getting it. Alyssa was getting it. Because of her.
Emily watched, certain there was undeniable pride on her face, and when they finished, she cheered.
“I’m so proud of you guys,” she said. “Really good job. Now go find Miss Marisol so you can work on your song.”
The girls ran out, but seconds later, Alyssa darted back in. “Miss Emily?”
“Yes?”
“Thanks.”
“Just doing my job, kiddo.”
“No, I mean thanks for directing the show.”
Emily smiled. “You’re welcome.”
“This is my favorite summer on the island ever, and I got a new best friend because of it.” She wrapped her arms around Emily’s midsection and squeezed.
“It might be my favorite summer on the island too, Alyssa.”
The girl looked up without letting go. “I hope so.”
CHAPTER 40
AFTER REHEARSAL, EMILY SAT in the center of the stage, letting her mind wander as she painted a set piece in the silence of the empty space. Typically, these work sessions were filled with other people—parents, cast members, Marisol—but today it was only her and Hollis.
She wanted everything to be perfect, including the tiniest set details, even if it meant working on them herself.
With Jack and his crew handling the house restoration, she had all the time in the world to think of ways to make the show a success—and thankfully, she had people to help bring her ideas to life.
And maybe that was it. The key to a successful production. She’d tried to make her first attempt happen by herself. She had no one to bounce ideas off of. No one to steer her in a different direction or come up with a different way to do things. No one to help take her ideas and make them reality.
Maybe the trick was relying on other people.
Something Emily didn’t do well.
She had a bad case of I can do it myself, and look where that had gotten her. She was trying to do better.
Was that why she’d asked Marisol to go to the library and look up information on her mother’s accident? Or had she done that because she was scared of what she might find?
She’d been putting it off for weeks, but there it was, gnawing at the back of her mind. Every time she saw her grandmother, she almost asked the million questions running through her mind—but something always stopped her.
Maybe some things were better left in the past. Some secrets better buried.
Still. The obituary. The holes in her grandmother’s story. The confirmation from Shae Daniels that the accident had, in fact, happened on Cliff Road. All of it raised more questions than Emily knew how to process.
And despite her best efforts, she couldn’t shake any of it.
What if Marisol returned with information Emily was better off not knowing? What if her mother had been involved in something unseemly and her grandmother was trying to protect Emily’s memory of her?
But no. Not Isabelle. She’d grown up so quickly out of necessity, because of Emily. She wasn’t the type to put herself or her daughter in danger.
Emily didn’t like thinking about it, so until this point, she hadn’t. She’d done a great job putting it all out of her mind. Why were these things nagging her now?
“Penny for your thoughts?” Hollis must’ve come in through the scene shop. She’d been too lost in her thoughts to hear him. He sat down next to her. He’d become a permanent fixture around the theatre over the last several weeks. It had been nice having him there with her. Whenever he was around, she felt invincible, as if all the things he believed about her might actually be true.
And like maybe she wasn’t a complete failure after all.
She held a paintbrush loaded with brown paint, which she’d been applying to the canvas they’d stretched over chicken wire to create the giant tree. They’d use something called Good Stuff to create texture, and she’d paint it various shades of brown to give the trunk dimension.
“You look pensive,” Hollis said. “It’s making me nervous.”
Emily smiled. She hadn’t told Hollis anything about the mysteries surrounding her mother’s death. She hadn’t told anyone because if she said it all aloud, that made it true, and while she was curious, she wasn’t sure her heart could handle another break.
What if what she uncovered left her wounded again?
“Do you think it’s better to know the truth even if it’ll hurt?”
Hollis’s face dropped. “What do you mean?”
She hesitated at first but decided to tell him the whole story, even without the prompting of their silly childhood game. She started with Gladys’s comment that her mother and grandparents had a rocky relationship. She covered Cliff Road, Shae Daniels, and her grandmother’s lie.
“What do you think the truth is?” Hollis asked when she finished unloading all the thoughts she’d bottled up.
She shrugged. “I’m not sure. I just keep wondering why Grandma would lie. Why say Mom’s accident was in ’Sconset if it was on Cliff Road? Who lived on Cliff Road? Where was my mother going that night and why did she take me with her? Why not come back and get me in the morning?”
“Emily, are you sure you want to go digging around?”
She shook her head. “No, I’m not. That’s why I asked if it was better to know the truth even if it hurt.”
Hollis reached over and took her hand. “I’m not sure how to answer that, but I know that I’d do just about anything to keep you from getting hurt.”
Emily’s heart fluttered. Like an actual butterfly, only a big one, something genetically altered. She’d been immune to these kinds of girlie proclivities for so many years—was this what it was like to fall in love?
The thought startled her. Love? And not the kind you felt for your friends and family, but romantic, head-over-heels love?
She looked up at him and saw the concern that laced his brow.
These weeks spent with Hollis had been the best weeks of her life, but having someone else to think about, to consider—was she ready for that?
“I think I want to know the truth,” she said. “I want to know what happened the night my mother died.”
It would be like picking at a loose thread, not knowing when everything would unravel—but she was ready. She needed to know.
Hollis held her gaze for several seconds before asking, “Then how can I help?”
She looked into those earnest, kind eyes and smiled. “I’m not sure yet, but when I figure it out, I’ll let you know.”
He nodded. “Did I already tell you I’m glad you came back this summer?”
She raised an eyebrow. “You did.”
He let go of her hand, and she could feel a weight in the air between them. It was too heavy—if she wasn’t careful, she would buckle underneath it.
Without thinking, she took her paintbrush and poked him in the chest with it, leaving a brown mark on his faded-red T-shirt.
She laughed, then hopped up, as if that could protect her from his impending revenge.
Hollis flinched, then laughed, eyes wide. He jumped to his feet and grabbed a paint roller from a bucket of purple paint, stretching it out toward her and rolling a trail of purple right down her side.
She dunked her brush in the bucket again and came out with another threatening glob. He ran to the other side of the stage and she followed him, wielding her brush like a sword.
When she lunged for him, he grabbed her arm, pulling her closer, focused on disarming her of her weapon. But one moment of nearness and the heaviness in the air returned. A brief laugh escaped without her permission and she found herself pressed against him, arm limp and eyes fixed on his.
He stared down at her, the lazy smile on his face melting.
Use caution! Protect your heart!
The words rang like an alarm in her mind, but she swatted them away. She didn’t want to be practical. Just for a moment, she wanted to get lost in the scent of him. She wanted to embrace the falling.
“Emily.” He whispered her name, his voice husky.
Her empty hand found its way to his back, taut with muscles she didn’t even know existed. She let it rest there, still holding on to his gaze and aware that his grasp on her arm had gone soft.
Her heart sputtered as Hollis searched her eyes for permission she was absolutely certain she gave.
Kiss me. Kiss me. Kiss me.
As if he heard her silent plea, he wrapped an arm around her waist, drawing her closer until their lips met. Unlike their first kiss, Hollis wasn’t tentative or shy, and he didn’t taste like cherry Popsicles.
Emily sank into him, dropping the paintbrush so she could wrap both arms around his muscled torso. His kiss made her toes curl, made every worry she’d been holding on to disappear. Heck, for a minute, it even made her forget her own name.
His lips moved steadily over hers and she inhaled every second of him, greedy for more.
Finally she pulled away, expecting the feeling of dread to follow—but it didn’t. She didn’t regret kissing him. She didn’t regret sharing the deepest parts of herself with him, despite the warning bells she’d shoved aside.
“Was that okay?” His eyes studied her.
Wordless, she nodded.
“Good, because I’ve wanted to do that for weeks.”
“What took you so long?” She smiled, arms still wrapped around him.
“I promised Jolie we were just friends.” He looked at her. “But that’s not how I feel. At all.”
“Me neither,” she said.
“Does that scare you?”
“Maybe, but I think the scarier thing is imagining my life without you in it.”
He took her face in his hands and traced her cheekbones with his thumbs. “Don’t imagine that. It’ll never happen.”
She inhaled
him as he kissed her again.
I love you. I love you. I love you. The words raced through her mind as she gave in to another kiss, drawing him closer. But she didn’t dare say them aloud.
He pulled away. “I have to talk to Jolie. I have to tell her about all of this.”
“Are you sure?” Emily asked.
“Yes,” he said. “And until then, we have to be friends.”
“You mean the kind of friends who don’t kiss?” She smiled up at him.
He took a step back, then laughed. “You’re going to make this impossible for me, aren’t you?”
“Depends on how long you wait to tell her.” She pressed her lips together, the taste of him still on her mouth. “I think you probably shouldn’t wait very long.”
He drew in a deep breath, hands up in front of him in mock surrender. “Go easy on me, Ackerman. I’ve got no willpower when it comes to you.”
She slid her hand up the side of his arm. He closed his eyes at her touch, then came toward her and with one swift movement drew her close for another mind-bending kiss.
She gave in to it immediately, letting herself relax in his embrace.
At the sound of voices in the hallway, she tore herself away from him and picked up the paintbrush. She turned away from Hollis, her adrenaline racing.
“Emily!”
It was Marisol, and she was doing that I-have-lots-of-energy-because-I’m-still-in-college kind of thing she did when she stumbled upon something fun or exciting.
“Hey, hottie Hollis,” Marisol said as she passed by.
Emily couldn’t be sure, but she thought it was possible Hollis’s cheeks were flushed. Her eyes darted to his for a split second and unlike him, she hid her smile.
This man. She couldn’t have stopped loving him now if she tried.
Every warning bell that had sounded at the back of her mind had been silenced by the sheer hope that maybe, just maybe, she was meant to have a life she’d never even dared to dream of. The one he described that night on the beach. Was there room for her in that simple life he craved?
“What happened in here? Are you painting with toddlers?” Marisol looked at the trail of purple paint down Emily’s side.
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