by Emma Scott
“Hamlet’s ruminating on war and what drives men to risk their lives for it. What’s worth dying for. Honor. He’s saying that Claudius is still the King, his mother is still married to a murderer and he’s done nothing.”
Willow read from my script. “From this time forth, my thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth.”
I nodded. “The time for talk is over. Now he must act and do what’s right for the honor of his family and his name.”
“He should.”
I looked over her and found her watching me softly. “Now my turn.”
I sat down on the bench and she plopped her script in my lap, pointing.
“All these little songs at the end of my mad scene,” she said. “They’re so hard to keep track of. I know I know them, but then I start to second-guess myself.”
“Try this,” I said. “Go to the beginning of the hedge maze and do your stuff as you walk it.”
She scrunched up her face. “How will that help? I’ll be lost and screw up my lines.”
“You just told me you know your lines. Your brain needs something else to worry about. Let the words just come to you while you concentrate on getting through the maze.”
“But how will you cue me?” she asked. “Gertrude and Claudius have a lot to say.”
I shrugged. “You’re going to have to shout and I’ll shout back. That’ll be good practice projecting to the back row.”
She went back into the maze, her long hair swaying behind her. “Are you sure no one is going to hear us?” she called.
“Shakespeare-in-the-park.”
“Very funny.”
The afternoon was still and quiet, the air warm but not yet thick with summer humidity.
“Can you hear me?” she called, her voice came like a bell.
“Yep,” I called back, projecting my voice toward her. “Go.”
Willow began her lines. I smiled to hear them punctuated with cursing as she ran into a dead end of the maze.
“How should I, your true love, know from another one? By his—shit!”
I laughed silently. “That wasn’t it.”
“Goddammit,” she muttered.
“Wrong again,” I called, and laughed harder.
“You’re not helping,” she yelled.
Shakespeare echoed back and forth over the hedges until finally Willow arrived back at the windmill. The sun behind her lit up her hair like gold as she planted her hands on her hips. Her eyes were impossibly blue as she gave me a look.
“Well, I hope that was fun for you because…”
Her words died away and the fun-and-games mood between us downshifted into something deeper. The moment held, naked and obvious and lying between us, waiting.
The time for talk was over.
I closed the distance between us in three long strides, took her face in both my hands and kissed her. She gasped in surprise but didn’t flinch or stiffen. It took all I had to keep my mouth soft on hers. Make it easy for her to get away. But she moaned softly, a sound full of ecstatic relief to my ears. Her lips parted, she pressed into me closer and her tongue ventured a tiny bit into my mouth.
Christ, it’s too good.
She tasted so sweet, her tongue soft as it slid against mine. A growl in my chest as I sank deeper into the kiss, my tongue sweeping her mouth. Her body melted against me, and I held her tighter, kissed her harder. Every turn of my head, every move of my mouth in hers, she responded. Willing. Eager.
My hands dug deeper into the soft, silken thickness of her hair. I wrapped it up in my fists, careful not to pull. Like ocean tides, her mouth drew me and released. We moved in tandem, back-and-forth, opening and closing, shallower tastes and nips of our teeth, tongues tangling and exploring. The need for her grew hotter, more urgent. Finally I forced myself to slow down, kiss her deeply one last time, then break away.
We stood together, breathing hard, her hands gripping the lapels of my jacket. I was loathe to take my hands out of her hair, but I slid them down her back and let them rest on her slender waist. One more deep breath with my forehead pressed to hers, then I took a step back.
Her eyes were full of tears.
“Shit, I’m sorry,” I whispered. “Was it too much?”
“No,” she said, with a breathy little smile. “It was perfect. And I thought I’d never have anything perfect again.”
She craned on her toes to kiss me again, soft, slow, and deep. Taking her time, indulging in the victory over her nightmares. And me, I kissed back, reveling in the sweet ecstasy of her mouth on mine. Even if every taste and touch was going to make it so much harder for us in the end.
“What are we doing?” she breathed between kisses. Her fingers were grazing through my hair and I’d never felt anything so fucking good in my life.
“I don’t know.” My mouth was on her neck, dragging kisses down her throat. “We were supposed to be professional.”
We kissed until the erection in my jeans was painful. Pressed to me, she felt it and gasped. I pulled away.
“Sorry… It’s got a mind of its own.”
“Don’t be sorry,” she said. “It’s okay. It really is.”
Her face was flushed, and her lips swollen from my kisses, her chin pink from my stubble.
That’s how she should be marked, I thought. With kisses she wants, not fucking black X’s.
My desire for her twined with a need to protect her and suddenly, getting out of Harmony felt like death.
Her dreamy expression faltered then, as if she saw the conflict on my face. “No,” she said, pulling me close to her again.
“No?”
“You have to go. It’s your dream.” She spread her hands wide on my chest, skimming over my shirt. “But I keep thinking about what Martin said when we first started rehearsals. He said Hamlet and Ophelia’s story begins before the play starts. Remember?”
“I remember,” I said.
“I don’t know what’s going to happen later. I know you need to leave Harmony and I’m not going to stop you. I would never try to stop you. So maybe it’s selfish of me to want you now. Or maybe…it’s just how the story goes.”
She slipped her hands around my neck. Her touch was brave and unabashed, though I felt her heart beat fast against my chest.
“Maybe we could have this time,” she said. “Before we take the stage and perform. Before you get discovered by big-time talent agents that take you away from here. Maybe we can live in the time before the play. Live where the story begins.” She looked up at me, her blue eyes clear and bright and unwavering. “The love was there first.”
I brushed a lock of her hair away from her face. “Yeah, it was.”
Willow smiled then, and my breath caught. No girl ever looked at me the way she did just then. As if I were valuable. I kissed her again and again, wanting nothing but to hold her and keep her safe.
“God, Isaac,” she breathed when we forced ourselves apart. “This is crazy.”
“It’s life,” I said. “Off the page. But how is this going to work? If anyone sees us…”
“We’ll use codes when we text in case my dad checks my phone.”
“Codes?”
“I’ll put you in my contacts as…Ham? Hammy? No, too obvious.”
“The Dane,” I said. “Or Dane.”
“Dane.” Her face lit up. “My new friend Dane. She’s in the play. She’s constantly forgetting which scene we’re rehearsing. If we want to meet, say, at three-thirty, we text Act Three, Scene Three.”
“Perfect.”
She gave me a playful, wry look. “And if we want to say something sweet to each other, because girls like that sort of thing, y’know…”
“You don’t say?”
“If you want to do that…” She bit her lip, thinking.
“Act Two, Scene Two. A2, S2.” I pulled her close. “Remember?”
Her lips parted, and her cheeks turned pink. “Of course I do. The letter. Never doubt…”
“Never do
ubt, Willow.”
I kissed her again. In that moment, it seemed so easy. So perfect, I could almost forget the words were written for a tragedy.
“I must be cruel only to be kind;
Thus bad begins, and worse remains behind.”
—Act III, Scene IV
Willow
I woke up with a slant of bright, spring sunshine over my face. I lay on the floor in my blanket as usual, though I’d slept straight through with no night terrors. I’d been sleeping better for the last few weeks. Not in my bed yet, but I was getting there. I had hope.
My phone chimed a text from “Dane.” I smiled as I bundled deeper into my blankets with the phone, shutting out the rest of the world.
Need to change up rehearsal today he wrote. Act 4, instead of 3.3
Translation: Running late, see you at 4 instead of 3:30.
My thumbs flew. Sounds good.
A2 he wrote.
A pleasant shiver rippled through me and I bit my lip over my smile.
S2 I typed back and tucked my phone away.
I showered, dressed in a pretty, pale pink sundress that came just above my knee, and jogged downstairs for breakfast. My mother sat at the kitchen counter, flipping through a magazine. It was only quarter after seven, but Dad had been at work for hours already. The Wilkinsons worked him hard, or maybe he didn’t want to hang around my mother. I couldn’t blame him.
“You’re up early,” I said.
“Spa appointment in Braxton at eight.” She let her magazine drop as I set my bicycle helmet on the counter and rummaged in the cupboard for a glass.
“Really, Willow, that helmet looks so silly. Especially riding a bicycle with a dress on. We can buy you a car. We can afford a car.”
“Don’t want a car.”
“You won’t be saying that next December,” she said. “You know how God-awful it is here in winter.”
I rolled my eyes. Right. Because New York in winter is super fun.
“We’ve been over this a hundred times, Mom. I love the bike. It’s a short trip downtown and to school, and you never have to worry about me needing a ride.”
Not that you ever did before.
For me, a bike was a necessity. My days of using Angie as my taxi service, or to cover for me, were over. I loved her too much to risk getting her in trouble again. And as my body continued its slow thaw of recovery, being outside in the sunshine and getting exercise brought me closer to my idea of normal.
I’ll worry about winter later.
My mother set aside the magazine and flipped through the mail on the counter. “I should’ve known,” she said, an envelope in her hand.
“What’s up?” I asked, pouring some juice.
“The party for Wexx that was set for next week in Indianapolis. It’s canceled. A new one is scheduled in Manhattan over this weekend.”
I froze, the glass at my lips. “Canceled?”
These past weeks, the only dark cloud over my happiness with Isaac was the Wexx party and Xavier Wilkinson being there.
My mother sighed. “I wouldn’t be surprised if half the attendees RSVP’d no and Wexx came to its senses.”
Usually my mother’s prejudice against the Midwest made my skin itch, but today I hardly heard her.
“So,” I carefully set the glass down. “The Wilkinsons aren’t coming here?”
“Willow, are you listening to me? Why would they come here if the party’s been relocated? It’s back in Manhattan. We’re all invited, of course—”
“I can’t go. I have too much schoolwork and the play is getting close to opening night. You guys go ahead. Have a great time.”
“Okay,” Mom said, drawing out the word. “You’re awfully agreeable. More like your old self.”
I shrugged.
“In fact… The last time I remember you like this was…last summer? Right around the time of your birthday.” She frowned, thinking. “Willow.”
“Yeah?”
Her delicate brows came together, her manicured fingers drummed on the counter in that way she did when an unpleasant thought occurred to her.
I held my breath. I could almost see her—finally—putting together the events of last summer. Meeting Xavier at the Wexx Fourth of July party. Me telling her how we’d hit it off. How she’d been so happy because he was “the right kind of young man” for me. She didn’t know about the birthday party I’d thrown for myself a few weeks later, of course, but she knew I didn’t talk about Xavier anymore after that. It was all right there.
“Willow,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “You understand the Wilkinsons are very important to this family? Your father’s been a loyal employee to Wexx, and despite the move here, they’ve been good to us.”
My voice went dry, and I could only nod.
“With that in mind, is there anything that you want to tell me?”
It was painful to hear the words creak out of her mouth. What was I supposed to do with them? Tell her the truth and bring her entire lifestyle crashing down? For an accusation that had no evidence, not even my own clear memory?
There was nothing to be done about it, especially since Xavier wasn’t coming anywhere near my adopted state anytime soon. I had grabbed a little piece of happiness with Isaac. I wasn’t about to let it go.
“No, Mom,” I said and kissed her on the top of her head. “Got to run, I’ll be late for school.”
She patted her hair where I’d kissed her with an irritated sigh. But her fingernails had ceased to drum. “Have a nice day. Don’t be too late coming back from rehearsal. My God, it seems like you live at that theater.”
“The show is in two weeks,” I said. “We have tech rehearsals and full run-throughs coming up this week, and dress rehearsal next week…”
But she’d already gone back to her magazine.
After school, I killed time riding my bike around Harmony, waiting for Isaac to be done with work. I biked to The Cottages first. It formed one corner of my triangle of favorite places: The Cottages, the HCT, and the hedge maze.
Everything I could want in a two-mile radius.
I stopped in front of one of the cottages. A sweet little blue one with white trim. It had a For Sale sign in the front yard that looked as old and faded as the house. The real estate market around here wasn’t great, but I was glad this one hadn’t closed.
Someday, I thought.
I rode back to town and stopped in the bookstore to pick up a comic book for Benny. Isaac mentioned he’d been doing well in school. I’d yet to meet him, but Isaac spoke about him a lot and with warmth. I figured Benny deserved a reward, not just for his schoolwork, and for being important to my boyfriend.
Boyfriend?
The word had crept in, shooting a thrill across my heart. And though it was probably foolish, I kept it there.
A few minutes after four, I rode to the hedge maze, and set my bike against the informational placard out front. Isaac’s blue Dodge was parked at the far end of the lot already. The sun was bright and warm, thickening the air toward summer humidity. I held out my hand to shield my eyes from the glare. Beyond the hedge maze was a field of tall grass and trees. We’d had to sneak there a few times when other people came to wander the maze.
I navigated the hedges easily now, and found Isaac sitting in the windmill, a script on his lap and a pen in his hand. The end of the pen was mangled—he chewed it to keep from smoking when we were together.
I stopped and watched him for a moment, my eyes drinking him in, my body taking note of every detail. His long legs in denim, a black T-shirt that highlighted the broad planes of his chest. The bulge of his biceps and his tanned forearms, one bearing the tattoo, I burn. I pine. I perish.
He’d told me it was from The Taming of the Shrew, and that he’d chosen it because that had felt like the entirety of his life. Burning talent, endless want for a better life, and the fear he’d never reach it.
He’s going to reach it. But right now he’s mine.
&n
bsp; Isaac’s face was hard-angled and unsmiling above his script. But I knew the man beneath the stony expression. He was brilliant and poetic and protective. He’d been hardened by his experiences but they hadn’t broken him. He showed all his soft to no one but me.
He looked up. A tilted smile came over his lips. “Hey.”
“Hi.” A longing stirred deep within me. It had been waking slowly over the last few weeks, my body thawing from its freeze under Isaac’s hands, though he’d never done more than touch me over my clothes as we kissed.
Or maybe because he’d done nothing more. Never pressured me, verbally or physically. He kissed me and the kissing was perfect. He touched me gently, until my body understood the difference between his hands and the shadowy phantom of X.
Now I wanted more.
Isaac got to his feet and crossed the short space between us. At six foot two, he towered over me and I loved how protected I felt standing beside him.
“I brought something for Benny,” I said, my heart pounding. “For acing his science test.” I showed him the comic book. “According to Angie, Luke Cage is a serious badass.”
“According to Benny too,” Isaac said. “I’ll take it to him tomorrow morning.”
“How’s your dad?” It was Monday, which meant Isaac went to the trailer yesterday to give his father money for the week.
Isaac’s eyes darkened. “Not good,” he said. “I think he’s drinking more. I tried to talk to him about a treatment facility, but he won’t go and I can’t afford to put him somewhere nice. Not yet.”
“You will,” I said.
He bent to kiss me softly, but I deepened the kiss immediately, pulling him to me and exploring his mouth with mine until we were both breathless.
“Okay, I’m ready to work,” I said abruptly, and moved to put my bag down. Isaac stared, his smile stunned, while I floated light above a heavy, warm stone of desire between my legs.
I want him.
The truth of it shocked me, crackled down every part of my body like electricity. I shook out my trembling hands.
“I’m really nervous about opening night. I’d like to work my last monologue in Act Three.”