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Benny thought I had forgotten my lines. “In your orisons, may all my sins be remembered.” He wrinkled his nose again. “What are orisons?”
“Prayers,” I said. “She can’t hear him yet, but he’s asking her to remember him in all of her prayers. Like saying goodbye.”
“Is he going away?” Benny asked.
“Yeah, he is,” I said, the words dropping from me like stones. “And he can’t take her with him.”
I walked over to Benny and took the script out of his hand to shut it.
“Benjamin, if you were ever my friend, you will stay in school. For me and for your mother. You have to take care of yourself because no one’s going to do it for you. Your mom is going to try her best but it’s up to you, in the end.”
“Where you going?” Benny asked, blinking back tears.
“I’m going to go stay at a friend’s house for a while and after Hamlet closes, I’m leaving Harmony.”
“Will I see you again?” His voice trembled now.
“Yeah, of course. You’ll see me around. And I’ll come say goodbye before I go.”
Benny sniffed and wiped his nose on the sleeve of his shirt. “Sucks, man,” he said. “But I’m glad for you. I’ll miss you.”
I reached out, ran my hand over his close-cropped hair. “Come on. I’m taking you to school.”
I dropped Benny off at Elizabeth Mason Middle School, then drove my truck back to the trailer, my thoughts still full of Willow and a page covered in little black X’s.
I would ask nothing of her. She owed me nothing. But I’d give her the play as best as I could. I’d help her get through to the end, to tell her story and find the relief she kept asking me about. And when it was done, I would go.
Pops was in his room with the door shut when I came back. I went directly to my own small room and packed up a bag of my things. It wasn’t much. Everything I owned fit in one small suitcase.
Outside my dad’s bedroom door, I paused. I raised my hand to knock and then let it fall again. Instead I tore out a sheet from my script and wrote on the back:
I’ll pay the bills and send you money. You don’t have to worry about anything.
--Isaac
I set the note on the coffee table that was now free of debris except for one ashtray and a pack of Winstons. Just to be safe, I propped the paper against the smokes so he wouldn’t miss it.
Then I left.
I drove across town to the neighborhood beyond the amphitheater. Streets of large, comfortable homes, most dating back to the Civil War. I knocked on the front door of the Fords’ red brick house with the wrought iron fence. Brenda Ford opened the door, her hair and smock smudged with paint, a big smile at the ready. Her expression morphed into shocked concern as she took in my bloodied clothes and swollen cheek.
Her eyes dropped to the bag in my hand and the suitcase behind me. A myriad of emotions splashed across her face: sorrow, concern and finally, relief.
“Come in, Isaac,” she said, opening the door wider for me. “Come right in.”
Willow
Wednesday afternoon, Angie and I went to Roxy’s, a women’s dress shop in the Braxton shopping mall.
“Your mission,” Angie said, “should you choose to accept it, is to find me a dress that doesn’t make me look like I’m trying too hard.”
“It might be hard to find a dress with a smart-ass quote on the front,” I said with a nod at her T-shirt. It was gray with black lettering that read, Sorry I’m late, I didn’t want to come.
“If I had my way, I’d wear this little baby,” Angie said, plucking at the hem. “But I gotta pretty myself up for Nash. He deserves it. Although I try not to give him my full glory too often as it tends to overwhelm him.”
I grinned. “I can only imagine.”
“What’s your style?” She held up a long, full-skirted yellow dress in shimmery satin. “With your hair, you can go full-princess easy, though you’re more of a Rapunzel than a Belle.”
