Right.
Could I make you dinner after the kids are asleep at Dogwood?
Is that allowed?
I’m their uncle. Of course it’s allowed.
What I was really, really hoping would happen after was probably frowned upon. But I needed to see Daisy. Like really, really needed to see her. Who even was I?
A tap at my door broke me out of my thoughts. I saw the text from Daisy:
Well, all right. But if I get in trouble for having a boy over…
I smiled, then looked up to see Andy Christianson and motioned him inside. “The Missus and I were just going over plans for how to impress the coach.”
I laughed. “Funny, because I think the coach is probably going over plans for how to impressyou.”
He sat down. “Maybe. But don’t you think it would be nice if, instead of him having to wine and dine us, we did something a little more personal? Maybe had him to the club for drinks and appetizers and then to our house for dinner?”
I thought for a second. “I really like that idea. Show how committed you guys are to the university.”
Andy nodded.
“I can’t think why that wouldn’t be a great idea.”
“Who doesn’t want to be wanted?” Andy asked.
As if on cue, my phone beeped again.
Maybe you shouldn’t come over… I’m afraid if you do, I’ll stay up past my bedtime…
The thrill of the chase was fun. But Andy was right: There was nothing in the world like being wanted.
TILLEYThe Wide-Eyed Wonder Girl
I won’t allow it,” Elizabeth was saying. Tilley, Elizabeth, and Daisy were sitting on the back porch of Dogwood while George and Greer ran up the steps and down the slide, over and over. Tilley wondered when they might tire of the repetitive motion, but, so far, it seemed they might continue down this path forever.
“This is your fault,” Elizabeth said to Daisy, rather rudely, Tilley thought. She was here, mostly. But partly, she was Dolly Levi. She considered this to be okay since now, she wasn’t escaping from her life. She was getting into character, which was not only her right, but also her responsibility. She would have mere weeks of practice to become the woman she had admired watching on the screen as a girl, the womantheBarbra Streisand carried off so very well. She wanted to be as good as Barbra. And so, she wasn’t hiding, wasn’t avoiding. She wastransforming. As any good actor would.
“I wouldneverhave let her try out for this play,” Elizabeth said, as if Tilley wasn’t even sitting there. “You have set her up for failure and heartbreak, and I am very upset about it.”
“Yes, we can tell, Elizabeth,” Tilley said drolly. “You sound like a postal worker on meth.”
“A postal worker?” Elizabeth asked, looking at Daisy as if to say,I told you so. She’s nuts.
“Yes. A postal worker. Because this speech is a little like junk mail. A waste of resources and no one wants it.”
Daisy tried to cover her laugh with her hand, but she could not quite manage it, further annoying Elizabeth.
Tilley leaned over to her sister. “Elizabeth, do you remember us on the stage as children? Do you remember how that felt, to just completely become someone else, to bask in the glory of the applause and the flowers and the praise?”
Elizabeth crossed her arms. “No. I do not. Because, if you’ll recall, you were the star with the voice and the rhythm and golden shining light. I painted sets.”
Tilley waved her hand as if that was a small matter. “Fine then. You don’t remember. But, in the years since, you have experienced marriage and motherhood and grandparenting and a million tiny moments that I never have. The stage was always my happiest place. And I have the opportunity to reclaim that, to get to feel like you feel, to live a portion of a life that got away.”
Tilley could see the fine mist in Elizabeth’s eyes. This was the thing about her sister. She was a very passionate person, a fact that Tilley had always, always been able to use to her advantage. Elizabeth said quietly, “I know the stage has always been your happy place. But Tilley. I am worried about you. The long hours, the memorization. What if… Well, don’t make me say it.”
“What if I can’t do it?” Tilley asked as Daisy looked on, unsure as to whether she should interject.
