Something to Believe In

by Jenny B. Jones

  “Kira, I don’t want your role.” The words roll off my tongue, and I know my face surely reflects Kira’s own exaggerated expression of surprise. “You’ve worked so hard for this—not just the last few months, but for years. Don’t let a bout of nerves stop you from doing what you were born to do.”

  She leans her head back against the foul-smelling dumpster and covers her face with her hands. “I’m so nervous, Katie. I mean, I’ve thrown up three times.”

  “Out here?” I jerk my hands from the pavement. “Like right here?”

  “No, earlier. In the bathroom. I don’t think I have what it takes to truly carry this play.”

  “Well, I don’t know that you’d be carrying the play. We are an ensemble, made up of many cast members and cohesively we work together to—”

  “I’ve wanted to be an actress since I was four years old. I used to watch movies over and over until I’d have every leading lady’s part memorized and I could mimic their every blink.”

  I can totally relate. “So, you’ve been studying acting for years and can clearly do this. Get on out there and show them what you’ve got.”

  “But now I realize it takes more than mimicry. It takes more than just a strong passion for the art.” She levels those tortured eyes on me. “I don’t want to mess this up. There’s simply no going back from that. And all of a sudden, I can’t remember my lines, and I can’t remember where I’m supposed to stand.”

  “It’ll come back to you. And if it doesn’t, I’ll whisper it from the wings.”

  She scoots away from the squished burrito which met an unfortunate demise. “There are some important people out there, and it’s putting even more pressure on me.”

  This is exactly how I feel about my mom’s service tomorrow. “Like talent scouts?”

  “No, bigger than that—my parents. It’s hard for them to get off work, so they’ve only been to a few of my plays. But they came to this. They wanted to see their girl in her first lead role.”

  “Then what are you waiting for? Why would you deny them this chance?” I swat at a bug swarming my face. Kira really could’ve picked a better setting for this meltdown. “They’re gonna love this play tonight no matter what—because you’re in it, not because you deliver some flawless performance.” A few years ago, I wouldn’t have had those words—wouldn’t have had the context for it. But then the Scotts came along. They introduced me to the theater and taught me what it meant to be loved unconditionally.

  “I’m so afraid I’m gonna screw up,” Kira says.

  “So what if you do? What’s the worst that could happen? I mean, truly, is there anything bad that could happen that you couldn’t overcome?”

  She seems to consider this. Or maybe the dumpster fumes are finally getting to her. “I don’t know.”

  “If you don’t go on tonight, you’re always going to wonder what could’ve been.” I give her trembling hand a squeeze. “You’re an amazing actress, Kira. It’s time to walk in that truth and talent and step into the moment that’s been waiting for you all this time. You’ve worked your butt off. You know this part. And there’s nobody better who can lead our cast to freedom before the final acid rain.”

  Kira gives a small laugh and wipes at the black tracks of mascara beneath her eyes. “It’s a terrible play, isn’t it?”

  “When this is over, I’m lighting my script on fire. But you make the show better. And we need you.”

  “Thank you.” She breathes in and meets my eyes. “I’ll be sure and tell Dr. Maddox how Katie Parker Scott talked me off the ledge and saved the play.”

  “Don’t bother. He won’t know who you’re referring to anyway.”

  We share a laugh and stand. Kira dusts the dirt and debris from her pants. “Your day’s coming, you know.”

  “To have an anxiety attack in the alley?”

  “Yep. And to be the lead in a college production. And Katie, if being an actress is what you want to do, don’t let anyone talk you out of it. Not even snotty seniors who get jealous of gifted freshmen.”

  She thinks I’m “gifted”? I had no idea. “It seems like an impossible dream, though, doesn’t it?”

  “It’s kind of like someone told me. If you don’t go for it, you’re always going to wonder what could’ve been.”

  “Are you going to go for it?”

  “Yeah. I think I will. Though I might need you on speed dial for some of your pep talks.”

  “I do want to be an actress.” I think of standing on stage during my first show at the Valiant. Life had never felt so right, so full of magic and possibility…and joy. “So few make it, though.”

  “But what if we’re those few?” Kira asks. “What if we get the dream?”

  Yeah. What if? “You should probably go inside before Dr. Maddox has a coronary and fills in for both of us.”

  Kira surprises me with a hug. “Thank you.”

  “Break a leg.”

  Later, watching Kira from the wings, I think about her prediction. Maybe my day is coming when I’ll be the star of the university’s production. I pray that’s so. Quitting would definitely get in the way of that.

  But until I score the lead role, I guess I can step out of the spotlight and let someone else shine.

  And offer an umbrella when needed.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  That evening, I walk into the Valiant theater, completely unafraid that it’s midnight, and I’m alone in a creaky old building.

  Because it’s my theater—my touchstone, my church. The holiest place I know.

  It’s where I found myself, found my talent for acting, and found love.

  Tonight, I’m hoping it’s where I find the words to speak at my mom’s funeral.

  The wood floor groans beneath my feet as I walk the slight incline, my body pulled toward the stage like an invisible string connects me to it.

  I’ve showered and scrubbed off all the stage makeup, wearing a worn pair of yoga pants and a well-loved Chihuahua football t-shirt. The play went well. As well as a play about commercialism and the end of Earth can go. I don’t want to brag, but I gave the performance of a lifetime when I delivered my one line. I didn’t see people moved to tears when I offered Kira an umbrella, but surely one or two had to reach for a Kleenex.

  I lie down on the scarred wooden planks of centerstage, listening to the buzz of the bulbs burning and watch the dust motes flit in the rafters. Chasing yet another random thought, I wonder if my mom can see me now, prostrate on the floor, my eyes squinted shut as I struggle to write an orphaned girl’s soliloquy. How do I describe this complicated woman? How can I tell people about the good without mentioning the bad? I’m torn between what my mom would want me to say, what I truly feel, and how much I’d rather keep it all to myself.

  “Katie?”

  I startle at the intrusion but don’t move a muscle. Perhaps I’m just dreaming. Perhaps my melancholy conjured that voice.

  But when Charlie Benson walks across the stage and rests his body next to mine, I know this is not a figment of my overwrought imagination.

  Turning my head a fraction, I study the new addition of the faint stubble that graces his cheeks. “What are you doing here?”

  He stares at the ceiling, a small frown marring that otherwise flawless forehead. “You didn’t tell me about the funeral.”

  “You live in Chicago.”

  He smiles. “Yet here I am.”

  My heart nearly folds in on itself. “Here you are.”

  He angles his head toward mine, our faces only inches apart. “You knew I’d come see you.”

  “Maybe I did,” I admit.

  “Are you afraid of that?”

  I don’t answer. I just study the specs of color in his eyes and wonder what he sees.

  His hand reaches for mine, his fingers warm as life should be, his energy pressing into my skin. “I’m sorry to say, I can’t stay for the service tomorrow. I’m headed back out on a five a.m. flight in the morning to New Yor
k for fall break. I’d cancel it, but I promised my grandpa I’d be there for his birthday.”

  My voice fills with wonder and confusion. “Did you fly here just to say hello?”

  “I had to do something.”

  It’s not lost on me that this grand gesture is the stuff of romance novels.

  “Millie told me about your play, and I tried to make it in time, but I had an unexpected layover in Charlotte.”

  A boy who wants to see my plays. Keep your Academy Awards, Meryl. I’ll take this instead. “Charlie, you could’ve just called.”

  “I’ve called and texted you all day, but you didn’t answer.” He shrugs. “I kind of anticipated that.”

  “So, you came looking for me?”

  His finger traces the outline of my cheek. “Sometimes I feel like I’ve been looking for you my whole life.”

  Tears cloud my eyes, and my throat constricts. “Charlie—”

  “Jeremy told me you left the cast party to go home. When I saw your car wasn’t at the Scotts, I figured you’d be here.”

  I study the curve of his shoulder, a place my head has rested more than once. “Lots of life’s problems have been solved here.”

  “Is that what you’re doing tonight? Solving problems?”

  “I’m not sure this one can be fixed. James asked me to speak at the funeral.” I turn on my side and finally face Charlie. He’s more devastatingly handsome than a boy has a right to be. Especially at midnight. “I don’t want to, but nobody knows Mom better. I’ve been wracking my brain for words for a week, but so far, nothing works. It’s complicated, you know? How do I talk about my mom…without really talking about my mom?”

  “What’s wrong with some truth?”

  “I haven’t been to a lot of funerals, but I’m pretty sure they all give the deceased quite the glow up.”

  “So, you focus on the positive aspects of your mom.”

  That would be easy for Charlie to do. His mom is normal. A kind woman who loves her children and hasn’t found herself mentioned in police reports. Despite the fact that her two boys are practically grown, Mrs. Benson had a surprise baby last year, and now the whole family is crazy in love with this new little girl. How come some women get all the maternal instincts, and some get none? I know Maxine said I had to embrace the past with my future, but she didn’t have to stand before a church and talk about it.

  Charlie tries again. “What would your mom want you to say about her?” The building hushes as if waiting out my prolonged silence. “Katie?”

  My bottom lip trembles and terrible, broken words spill out. “My mom’s not coming back, Charlie.” The rest comes out in a rush, a shaken pop bottle uncapped. “We didn’t leave things on good terms. After she went to prison, I never visited her until it was too late. There was so much I wanted to tell her, so many things I wanted her to say to me.” I try to breathe through a wave of grief, but it takes over. Turning my head, I hear my own broken sob echo in the theater and rise to the rafters, like my sadness won’t be contained.

  I stand, ready to bolt, but Charlie’s right there with me, and his strong arms gather me before I can escape.

  “I’m sorry,” Charlie says, his voice low near my ear. “I’m so sorry.”

  As I hug him close, my tears dampen his shirt. “Why does she always have to leave?” Charlie’s arms tighten, and his hand slips across my hair. I inhale the scent of him and close my eyes. “I thought I’d never have to be that girl again—to feel abandoned and rejected once more.”

  “You’re not that girl.”

  Then why do I feel like I am? “I wanted to be enough to hold my mom here. But I wasn’t. I’ve never been.”

  “You’re enough.” He breaks away, only to frame my face in his hands. “Do you hear me, Parker?”

  I hear the words, but they might as well be in a foreign tongue.

  “Her addiction had nothing to do with you. And her lack of sobriety had nothing to do with you. Do you get that? Look at me.”

  I lift watery eyes to Charlie’s face. “It’s like if you could only know everyone’s expiration date. Then we could fit in everything in we need to do. Everything we need to say.”

  “What would you tell your mom?”

  “That I’ll miss her.” More tears fall, hot and unbidden. Is this how this crying stuff works? There’s just an endless supply? “I’d tell her that I’m sorry I didn’t write to her or visit until it was too late. I didn’t think I was ready.”

  “Don’t you think she’d understand?”

  “I’d tell her I was grateful for our happy times. And I’d ask her about her mom. I know nothing about our family, and now it’s gone. I’m the only one left.”

  “There’s no replacing your bio family.” Charlie’s hand slides down my hair, his palm a light caress against my head. “I wish I could fix it for you.”

  “I wish I could wake up tomorrow and feel whole and happy and say perfect, pretty things about the woman who gave me life. I thought I could do this, and I’ve written at least ten drafts, but none of it’s right.”

  His face softens as his shadow intertwines with mine. “Nobody’s expecting perfection.”

  “But nobody wants to hear who my mom really was.”

  “This is for you and Bobbie Ann. Who cares about everyone else?”

  That’s what I asked Maxine, when she didn’t want to do the vintage dance routine. Why can’t I take my own advice to heart? Surely this is different. “I guess I do. You spend a lifetime being embarrassed by your mom and her choices. You spend your eighteen years hiding the truth and creating alternate realities to diminish the drama, dying every time she drops the ball or causes another catastrophe.”

  “Your friends and family can handle whatever you want to say about your mom. We’re all screwed up in one way or another.”

  Tears flow again in earnest. “I’m so angry that her story didn’t have the ending I wanted it to.” It definitely would’ve made the memorial and what I want to say easier.

  “Bobbie Ann is who she is. It’s not fair that this is how the story goes, but it’s your story. And it’s hers.”

  That’s just like Chapel Betty said. That we each had our story. I know I can’t rewrite my mom’s. But it’s so hard not to want to.

  “You are who you are because of her.” Charlie holds my face in his soft grip, his gray pleading with mine. “And I like who you are. So do the people who are coming to the funeral. They’re people who love you. So maybe you let go of some of this stuff that’s been tearing at you and say whatever you want tomorrow.”

  “But—”

  “This isn’t a crowd of theater guests you have to entertain. Give them the truth.”

  “I talk about her addictions?” There is no way. Does he know I have permanent cramps from tiptoeing around that my entire life?

  “If you feel like it.”

  “So, I tell everyone about her crappy mothering skills?”

  “It made you a survivor. If we ever find ourselves stranded on a deserted island, you’re my pick for team captain.”

  I could almost hear the drip-drip of my resistance melting. “I’m sure everyone would be super uncomfortable if I reminded them that my mom abandoned me.”

  “Then you tell them your mom entrusted you to the Scotts’ care,” Charlie says, giving it a softer spin. “Which made you a fighter, and the bravest girl I know.”

  I sure don’t feel like a fighter—or brave. It was a Herculean effort to show up and get through the play tonight. And if I survive tomorrow without barfing at the altar, it will be a holy miracle.

  “Do you really believe all that?” Or are these simply words he knows I want to hear?

  “Every bit of it,” Charlie says, his voice roughened at the edges. “That doesn’t even begin to touch how your mom gave you a sense of humor, scrappiness, the ability to read a person in seconds, and an unstoppable drive to have a better life.”

  “A better story.”

  “Yeah, K
atie. That’s exactly what you have.”

  Swiping at the moisture on my cheeks, I step away, too close to this raw truth. My mom’s gone, and my interpretation of her life’s never going to be pretty. I can’t spackle over all her mistakes and wallpaper them with what I’d hoped she’d be. Chapel Betty said there was no shame in where I come from. One day soon, maybe I can live that. According to Charlie, I’m not too bad. And the way he’s looking at me now, I almost think I’m something pretty wonderful.

  “For so long, I’ve tried to hide who Bobbie Ann was…so people wouldn’t go looking for it in me.” I stare out into the rows of seats, where hundreds of people have sat, their gazes on me, seeing what I wanted them to see. “It’s going to be a hard habit to break.”

  He smiles. “How about you try it tomorrow?”

  “It feels pretty scary at the moment.”

  Charlie walks a few paces away, then holds out his hand. “Come here.” He studies the wood floor, then shuffles to the left. “Yep, this is the spot. Come on over.”

  Who am I to ignore a guy who hopped a plane just to see me?

  I reluctantly stand by him. “I was kind of in the middle of a meltdown.”

  “Do you know what happened right here a few years ago?” If he notices my sharp intake of breath, he doesn’t let on. “One time, I kissed a girl in this very spot.”

  Eloquent words fail me. “Did you?”

  “Yeah.” He steps closer, his face nearing mine. “It still remains in the top five kisses of my life.”

  “Top five?”

  “Okay, it’s my favorite, but I’ll never tell the girl.”

  “No?” My heart wants to float up to the ceiling and join the heat of the lights.

  “It would go to her head.”

  “Yeah. You wouldn’t want to add to her endless supply of self-confidence.”

  Charlie’s grin reveals that dimple in his right cheek. “What she didn’t know is I was scared to death.”

  I mull over this new gift of information. “You were?”

  He drops his gaze to ponder the very floorboards between us. “I was terrified. What if she didn’t feel the same way I did? What if it went badly?”