10

By the time the service ended, Rachel had worked herself into quite a state. Her hands and feet felt far away, as if there were a delay in the relay between her appendages and her brain. Before the last syllables of the benediction had even faded, she was scrambling to make a plan. “What do I do?” she hissed to Lynn.

“Invite him out to lunch,” Lynn hissed back. “We’ll come too.” She gestured to herself, Alex, and Ethan, who seemed oblivious to all the drama.

“I’m not going to—” But then he was there, standing right in front of her, and she had no chance of finishing the sentence without being overheard. “Hi!” she chirped, propping a hand on her hip and grinning maniacally. Dial it back, she warned herself. You’re overcompensating.

“Rachel,” Detective Smith said, nodding a hello to Lynn and Alex.

Ethan started to say something, but Alex clamped a hand over his son’s entire mouth and pulled him into the aisle.

Lynn drifted away as if to accompany them, but then stopped at the end of the row to sit and adjust her strappy heels.

Rachel didn’t know whether to be angry or grateful. With Lynn listening, she wouldn’t have to try to remember their conversation verbatim to repeat it later. She still needed to focus, though, because Detective Smith was talking, and she was fairly certain that at some point, she would need to respond.

“It’s good to see you again, Detective Smith,” Rachel trilled, hoping this matched whatever he’d just finished saying.

“Please,” he said, “Call me Ian.”

Call-Me-Ian. She struggled not to giggle insanely. “Oh. Well!”

“I’m here to talk to Craig Lewis about our churches getting together for a winter outreach campaign,” Detective Smith said, as if Rachel had done the sensible thing and asked him why he was here.

Craig Lewis was one of the church’s associate pastors. “He and I are both too busy to meet during the week, so Craig told me to come by and meet up with him after the service.”

Just past Ian Smith’s shoulder, Lynn stood up and cleared her throat. After catching Rachel’s eye, Lynn jerked her head and mouthed something incomprehensible. Rachel’s gaze darted back and forth between Detective Smith and Lynn while her brain attempted to fire on all cylinders. It was no use. She was in full synaptic collapse.

Lynn must have discerned the struggle, because instead of tactfully withdrawing, she scooted over to join them.

“Detective Smith,” Lynn greeted him warmly. “I’m Lynn. You may remember me from that night.” That night, she diplomatically called it, rather than its rightful title, The Night Rachel Went Bananas.

The detective shook Lynn’s hand. “I remember you.”

Of course he remembered Lynn. She’d likely come across as the only sane person in their entire group.

“We were just going to head out to lunch, if you’d care to join us.” Lynn smiled.

Rachel could have kissed her. Or slapped her. Or excused herself to go throw up quietly into a paper bag. It was a toss-up.

Lynn shot Rachel a meaningful look.

“Yes, please join us,” Rachel said.

Ian’s gaze flicked from Lynn to Rachel, then his eyes crinkled around the edges. “I wish I could, but I have that meeting.” The corners of his lips turned up in the barest hint of a smile. “Maybe next time.”

~*~

“What do you think he means, next time?” Rachel asked Ann as they drove from the church to Stu’s to meet up with Lynn, Alex, and Ethan.

“How should I know? You were the one talking to him, not me. I got trapped talking to Miss Graciela, remember?”

“About what?”

“Who knows. I wasn’t listening. I was too busy watching you trying to keep it together.”

“How did I do?”

Ann flicked on her blinker and glanced over her shoulder. “I was across the room at the time, so I can only go on what I saw. Your face looked normal. Well, normal enough.”

“Normal enough.” Rachel let out a short, sharp laugh. “I should add that to my online dating profile.”

“You have an online dating profile?”

“My theoretical online dating profile.”

“I know what would have made the situation even better,” Ann said.

“What?”

“If Call-Me-Matt had shown up today too.”

“Oh, my word.” Rachel’s voice dripped horror. “Don’t even speak it. Hopefully we’ve seen the last of him.”

“I still think you were too hard on him.”

“Too hard on him? He practically stalked me. I thought he was a serial killer.”

“You think everyone’s a serial killer. Granted, Matt came across a bit strong, but that could have been because—wait for it—he liked you. It’s not his fault that you flipped out and thought he was going to kill you.”

“In my defense, there were extenuating circumstances,” Rachel said.

“Such as you being a paranoid lunatic.”

Rachel sniffed. “I’m not worried about Call-Me-Matt anymore. If he hasn’t been to church all summer and hasn’t returned since the date that I told him I’d be back, there’s likely little to worry about at this point.” She pushed up her sunglasses and tilted down the sun shade as they drove through the full brightness of a Florida afternoon. “I’m sure he’s found a new woman to stalk by now.”

~*~

First class periods were always awful, but first periods on Monday mornings were something else entirely—something from one of Dante’s inner rings. Not even Rachel’s Sneaky Coffee took the edge off. Only the fact that they were to discuss Shakespeare gave her any hope that she could endure.

“As much as I look forward to reading all the essays that you wrote over the weekend,” she lied, rubbing her eyes, “I’m looking forward even more to delving into Act II of Much Ado About Nothing this week. In this act, the main plot elements really kick into high gear. In the week between the proposal and Claudio and Hero’s wedding, the rest of the characters conspire to trick Benedick and Beatrice into falling in love with each other. I hope this isn’t giving too much away, but a week is plenty of time for Don John to work out a new plan to make everybody miserable.”

Ryan immediately raised a slim hand.

“A question already?” Rachel wrapped her hands around the Sneaky Coffee. “Lovely.”

“I think Beatrice is miserable enough already,” Ryan said.

“Beatrice?” Rachel blinked rapidly, absorbing this. “Miserable? Explain.”

“All Beatrice does is complain and make fun of people. Especially Benedick, but pretty much everybody else too.”

“Give examples.”

Ryan flopped his hands against his desk as if to say where to begin? “Well, OK, there’s that part where they’re talking about Hero’s wedding and Leonato tells her that he hopes she’ll be married one day just like her cousin is, and she basically says not until men are made of something else—”

“Not till God make men of some other metal than earth,” muttered Jessica Potts darkly. She looked as if she’d had a rough weekend herself. Not that she looked bad, per se. Jessica Potts never looked bad. Her hair was smooth and shiny, her face carefully made-up, her school uniform crisp and fresh, her fingernail polish unchipped. But something seemed wrong around her eyes. If Rachel had to guess, she’d say that Jessica Potts was wearing exactly one pound of cover-up. Conversely, this crack in the façade made Rachel’s heart soften toward the girl. Rachel understood the struggle of a deep eye-pit.

“That’s right, Miss Potts.” Rachel nodded.

Shayla entered the fray. “I like when Beatrice has this whole conversation with Benedick when they’re both wearing masks. She knows it’s him and just makes fun of him repeatedly to his face, calling him a fool and stuff. But I don’t think she does that because she’s miserable. She does it because she’s awesome.”

“She’s the worst,” Ryan argued. At a few shocked glances from his classmates, he blushed and backtracked. “OK, not the worst. That’s Don John. But I still think she seems really mean.”

“When people are mean, sometimes there’s a reason.” If Alice Claythorne had tossed a hand grenade from the back row, she couldn’t have caused more surprise. She never volunteered comments.

Rachel noted Chris stiffen in his seat, his substantial eyebrows pulling together. He cut his gaze back toward Alice without really turning to look at her. Then he nodded once.

Alice acknowledged his nod with a slight inclination of her head.

From her seat over by the wall, Jessica cleared her throat.

Rachel clocked Shayla tensing at the sound. She didn’t fault Shayla for this. Rachel gripped her Sneaky Coffee and acknowledged Jessica with a nod.

Jessica flipped a handful of honeyed hair over her shoulder. “I don’t think Beatrice is mean. I think she’s protecting herself.”

“So you agree with Alice,” Rachel clarified.

“Not exactly.” Jessica turned to bestow a flat smile on Alice. “No offense.”

Alice, staring down at her script, missed the smile, which was just as well.

“How about you tell us what you do mean, then,” Rachel said to Jessica.

“I just mean that we already know that they know each other from before. And I don’t think she’s just saying she knows him, like they’ve met. I think she’s saying, like, she knows him.”

“Like, that she’s got him figured out and is still disappointed in him?” Rachel nodded. “I think you’re spot on.”

Alice raised her hand. Rachel’s eyebrows went up. “Yes?”

“When Claudio and Hero are figuring out that they really are going to get married, Beatrice seems to be enjoying herself very much. She’s teasing Claudio about not knowing what to say, and it seems—I don’t know—it just seems like good-natured teasing. And then,” she flipped through her script, her finger trailing down the margin as her eyes skimmed the text, “there’s this part with the prince…” her voice trailed off. “I can’t find it.”

Rachel nodded. “I know the part you’re talking about. Beatrice and the prince banter, and he proposes to her, but in a jokey way, and she rejects him lightly—she knows what he’s doing—but then he says—”

“I found it.” Chris tapped his finger against the page.

“Go ahead.” Rachel nodded and took a sip of her coffee.

“By my troth, a pleasant-spirited lady.”

Ryan grunted mockingly, and Chris shot him some side-eye. He turned toward Ryan and tapped the script. “It says it right here.”

Rachel noted Alice smiling slightly, her face turned down toward her desktop.

“I think the point Alice is making,” Rachel said, “is that Beatrice’s lines could be read in different ways. Don’t forget that this is a play, intended to be seen and heard, not read. So tone of voice plays a part in how we understand a character’s intent. So,” she said, directing this part to Ryan, “try reading the act again, imagining Beatrice’s lines said lightly, with a laugh in her voice. See what that does for your understanding of her character.”

“Yes, students.” Chris did a spot-on imitation of Rachel. “Because reading the act again is always worthwhile.”

“I can’t argue with that,” Rachel laughed.

~*~

Rehearsals went well. Almost too well. Everyone memorized their blocking and began making headway with their lines. Nobody was fighting, and thus far, nobody had fallen off stage; although Todd Perkins already demonstrated an alarming propensity to cross in front of people while they were talking. Rachel would cure him of that soon enough. Alice’s voice wasn’t carrying very far, and Jessica Potts upstaged her almost without trying, but they still had a month of rehearsals before opening night.

While the rehearsals barreled along, other aspects of the play caused headaches. Without Lee dropping by in the afternoons to oversee the crew, set construction ground to a halt. The set crew was capable enough, but they were young and inexperienced. Without a firm hand to guide them, they tended toward goofing off and settling for easy fixes. Rachel didn’t mind if the set wasn’t perfect—it was built by teenagers, after all, and the play’s ultimate success would hinge on the acting, not the backdrop—but she still harbored concerns. Of top concern were the changes Lee had made to accommodate Alice’s fall in the last act. More than a few times, Rachel contemplated scratching the entire plan. But she decided instead to wait. Lee never stayed mad for long. Perhaps within a few days, this whole thing—whatever it was—would blow over, and he would be back; bossing the crew around, scratching his beard, and making sarcastic comments meant only for her.

~*~

Halfway around the bend of the big loop circling Rachel’s apartment complex, Lynn tugged on her arm. “Wait—stop.”

“Did you get a cramp?” Rachel panted. Leaning forward with her hands braced against her knees, she lowered her voice. “Are you having a hot flash?” Then, more quietly, “Does your uterus hurt?”

“My uterus is fine,” Lynn said. “Thank you for asking. But you’re running funny.”

Rachel shrugged as she stood. “My ankle hurts. Also my knee.”

Lynn clucked worriedly. “Sit down.”

Rachel sat on the curb. As she worked to regain her breath, Lynn squatted next to her, manipulated her ankle, and probed her knee. Lynn sat back on her heels and squinted up at the darkening sky. She stood, hoisting Rachel to her feet. “We’re walking back, and we’ll have to be quick if we’re going to make it before dark.”

“I thought I’m supposed to be pushing through the pain, or whatever.”

“You’re allowed to push through muscle pain. Joint pain is another issue. You should go home and ice your ankle. And then consider buying yourself a brace.”

“An ankle brace?”

Lynn considered. “Maybe a knee brace too.”

“Now this is just getting ridiculous.” Rachel swiped at the sweat on her upper lip. “Remind me why I’m doing this 5K again?”

“We’re doing this because I thought you could use a little motivation. A little something to kick start you into a new gear. I had no idea your leg would still be such a problem, though.” Lynn wiped at the sweat on her temples. “Let’s take a week off. I don’t like what’s going on with your ankle and knee. You rest up, ice those bad boys in the evenings, and come back next week ready to run.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever be ready to run.”

~*~

By Friday, Rachel couldn’t take it anymore. She texted Lee. The amount of thought and planning that went into the text bordered on unbelievable. First she drafted something direct and confrontational. Then she veered toward something light and carefree, as if she’d momentarily forgotten they were fighting. She considered taking a cold, high tone, that of an angered parent demanding that a wayward child not avoid her any more. Nothing felt right.

In the end, what she did send didn’t feel right either, but it seemed the lesser of many, many evils.

I have some questions about the set. Pls be in touch this weekend.

Rachel woke early Saturday morning to the patter of rain on the windowpane. Rain in the fall was unusual in Florida, but she relished it. The hush of an overcast sky helped her to feel as if it were actually autumn. Suddenly inspired, she brewed a pot of coffee, dragged on jeans and a hoodie, slogged through the wet parking lot to her car, and drove across town, determined not to come home until she’d purchased something seasonally appropriate to wear to church the next day. She flipped through rows of light, frivolous scarves until she found an acceptable autumn shade that didn’t clash with her hair. She bought a flattering sweater, some new leggings, and pair of tall boots that barely caused her ankle to pop.

Tomorrow, no matter who showed up for church, Rachel would arrive looking fantastic.