“I’m so sorry I never told you.” I weep more, realizing that she loves me no matter if she doesn’t agree with me.
She tilts my chin up, and I feel like I’m five years old again. “I will never ever leave your side. I am here.”
Clara and Topher sit on the floor next to me, and I guess I hadn’t even realized they’d come in.
“Nothing should ever keep us apart,” Clara says, tears rolling down her cheeks.
“Why can’t I be part of the Daisy Lady Gang? I’m not a lady, per se, but I like to dress in women’s clothes,” Topher whispers and wraps his arms around us.
“Might as well. Honorary member,” Mama says softly, wiping her face. “We need to have some kind of induction ceremony like those sorority girls do. Cloaks and candles and a swearing in.”
“And whiskey,” Clara says, nodding. “We’ll need whiskey.”
Mama scoffs, but says, “Wouldn’t hurt.” She gives me a long, lingering look. “Hate to tell you, but you’re gonna have to redo that makeup.”
I give her a hug, holding her tight. “I won’t keep you in the dark, Mama. I won’t do it again.”
She smiles. “Good. And when you become a superstar pantie person, if Birdie Walker says one damn word, I’m going to dye her hair bright purple like Devon’s and call it a win.”
I laugh.
“Come on,” Clara says, pulling me to my feet. “We have a play to get to.”
Chapter 32
JACK
The gym is packed when I arrive, chairs in two groups along the floor with an aisle, the bleachers bursting with people.
“Dude. Everyone is here to see you.” Devon gives me a questioning look. “You got this?”
“Yeah.”
“Liar. You gonna puke again?”
He had to pull over once on the interstate. Same thing happened last night when I drove down for the last rehearsal. My stomach is screwed up. I can’t eat. I can’t think. Thoughts of Elena mixing with nervousness over speaking in front of all these people.
“They’re not reporters,” he reminds me. “Just good people who want to see you. There’s Timmy.” He nudges his head as the tornado that’s Timmy sees me and barrels over to us. He’s got jeans and a slightly wrinkled dress shirt on.
I swing him up and give him a big hug. “You look nice, little man,” I say to him, forcing warmth in my voice—when I feel so damn cold.
“You’re late! Mama is asking everyone where you were!”
I grimace. “Sorry. Here now. Go tell her I’m coming.”
He nods and dashes back down the gym floor.
“This is a one-night-only show. The last time you’ll see Elena,” Devon murmurs, sticking his hands in his jeans. “Think about that tonight.”
“Yeah.”
“Fine. Break a leg, then. Go on. I’m going up front. Elena mentioned they had seats for us and Quinn.”
“Me too,” Lucy says, coming in the door with Quinn and hearing us. She’s a surprise guest. I mentioned the play to her a week ago, telling her about the people of the town. About Elena.
I didn’t think she’d be able to make it since she’s had a recent bout with the flu. Quinn picked her up since she doesn’t drive much anymore, while I rode with Devon.
“I want a good look at this Juliet you’ve been talking about on the phone,” she says, arching her brow. In her late seventies with bobbed brown hair, she’s wearing black dress pants, a white silk blouse, and a strand of pearls I bought her for Christmas last year. They make me think of Elena . . .
“Yeah,” I say tonelessly.
Her eyes are hazel and faded—but sharp. I haven’t told her anything about what happened because I don’t want her to worry, but Quinn . . .
I nod. “Should be three seats up front. I told Laura, and she reserved them.”
She shoos me off. “Go on, then. Don’t worry about us.”
They wish me luck, and I wander off toward the front, but I pause, my chest knotted. I hang back, feeling eyes on me from every direction. My hands tremble as I hoist my duffel bag up on my shoulder.
Part of me wants to just . . . run away.
The other side of me . . . wants to see Elena. Last time.
Anxiousness rides me as people watch me jog to the stage, a wave of relief hitting me as I shut the door and climb the steps to the stage. Curtains are drawn, and everyone mills around with final prepping. Cast members huddle in groups, going over lines. Shit, I hate being late. I head into one of the dressing rooms for the men, thankful it’s empty as I change out of my clothes and into Romeo’s shirt, jeans, and black boots.
By the time I’m out, miked up, and waiting with the rest of the cast, I still haven’t seen Elena.
Is she late?
Did she dread coming as much as I did?