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CHAPTER 12 MR. RILEY

1999

Bolton Landing

I remember one night, about an hour before opening curtain for Twelfth Night , I was looking for Annie and Amanda because one of their costumes needed a last-minute alteration. I was walking backstage when I heard whispering to my left. I paused, stayed quiet, realized the voices were coming from inside a tangle of curtain—thick navy blue, dropping from ceiling to stage. I looked down and saw two pairs of feet and recognized the girls by their shoes.

Gently, so gently, I took a step forward—picture that low shot in a caper movie, the thief gently moving on tiptoe. Now closer, I could hear them more clearly. One of them said, “I don’t know what’s happening to me. I’m just kinda scared and shaky. What if I freeze—mess it all up?” Then there was a pause. A moment later, the other said, “Honestly, I bet that happens to everyone one time or another. I think we’re all just pretending to not be freaking out and you’re just having a harder time pretending right now.”

A second later the curtains rustled—they were hugging—then one of them said, “You know what I love about you?”

“Do tell,” said the other, solicitously.

“It’s like… ummm… how do I explain this? It’s like you hold me steady, but without holding me still.”

After a long pause, the other said, “It’s an honor to hold you steady.”

I still think about that moment. Not even that thick blue theater curtain could keep their love from radiating outward.