He looked at me for a long moment, then nodded once. “A’ight. I hear you.”
“And Mr. Christopher? Let me be clear. If you or any town representative come on this property again without mypermission, I’m calling the sheriff. I’ll press charges for criminal trespass. I don’t play about my home or the people in it. We understood, Mr. Christopher?”
His expression tightened, but he didn’t look away. “We understood, Ms. Grindley. I ain’t gon’ put you in that position.”
“Have a good evening. You can tell the mayor my answer is still no,” I announced.
“Yes, ma’am.” He paused. “Take care of yourself, Kyleigh.”
“Bye, Mr. Christopher.”
He nodded once, like he wanted to say something but wasn’t going to argue. I closed the door before he reached the gate. The latch clicked. I pressed my palm against the wood and made myself breathe in, out, in. My hand shook. I curled it into a fist.
“Ms. Kyleigh?”
I jumped. Mr. Benton stood halfway down the hall with a silver tray, teapot and single cup arranged just so.
“I took the liberty of preparing a bit of chamomile tea,” he said. “You appeared… unsettled.”
“I’m fine.” The words came out too fast, my tone all wrong. “It was just town business. Nothing important.”
His eyes held something soft. He’d known me since I was a newborn swaddled close to Mrs. Amanda. He knew I was lying, but he let me be.
“Very well. I shall leave this in the sitting room. In case your ‘unimportant’ business disagrees with you,” he said.
“Thank you, Mr. Benton,” I said quietly.
He nodded and disappeared. I stood there a few more seconds. The house felt so strange right now. Finally, I turned and went upstairs, my steps too quick. I passed the second floor and caught a glimpse of my baby’s tree, its white lights blinking. I kept going, all the way to the third floor, to the converted attic Mrs. Amanda had given me when I was a teenager. It was myroom, my sanctuary. I closed the door and leaned back against it, finally letting my eyes shut.
Only then did I let everything hit. I had been in the presence of Jabali Christoper. His voice, his face, those eyes... my baby’s eyes. My eyes watered. My breath stuttered. He was still so beautiful, still so perfect, and I still?—
“You’re okay, Kyleigh. You’re okay,” I whispered to myself.
But my hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
(BackThen)
The first really cold weather of December hit Emancipation, LA, like it was pissed off. I could see my breath in little puffs as I stood in the rigged-up backstage of the outdoor amphitheater, hugging my coat tighter around my sweater. The town had spent some money on this century-old structure, somehow illuminating the stage in a way that threw soft, golden light over everything. It was pretty, the way the fake snow on the set glowed and the gold foil that held poinsettias shimmered. The town’s foreparents had chosen such a pretty location, too, right in the center of some of the tall, beautiful pine trees that dotted the North Louisiana landscape. The Christmas play certainly had the right aesthetic background, helped along by the carolspouring from the speakers as people filed into the rows of stone benches.
It probably felt magical to the audience. For me, it did not. I was too caught up in the logistics of the play: listening through my headset, checking my clipboard, and going over cues like my life depended on it. I wanted to know everything, down to the exact moment the little kids in reindeer pajamas were supposed to run across the stage. I liked being backstage because it let me be useful and invisible, two things I was really good at.
“Ky, stop frowning at that paper like it owes you money,” my best friend Taniyah teased, bumping my hip with hers.
I glanced up and tried to smile. “If one of these babies trips on stage because I forgot a cue, I would die.”
“They’re eight. They trip standing still. You good.”
She looked so pretty under the yellow string lights of the amphitheater’s backstage area, her hair in two puffs and her cheeks all red from the cold. She was ready for her moment. Somewhere out front, her mama was probably bragging to someone about how her baby girl was singing the solo in the town playing.
I was proud of her. Taniyah was meant to be a star and me? I was the girl behind the girl. That was my comfort zone. Tonight was about her. Still, my eyes kept sliding toward the sliver of parking lot I could see above the theater. Every time headlights turned in, my heart sped up.
“He said he was coming, right?” Taniyah asked, following my gaze.
I tried to sound casual. “Who?”
She kissed her teeth. “Girl, bye! Don’t play with me, Kyleigh. You ain’t dressed like this just to work backstage!”
I glanced down at myself. I had on black jeans, ankle boots, a red turtleneck sweater and my grandmother’s pretty gold cross necklace. My hair was blown out and flat-ironed straight,tucked behind my ears. Blow outs only worked in the winter in Louisiana. Nothing about my outfit was dramatic, but it was a step up from my usual “oversized hoodie and a bun” uniform.
