The day after July Fourth it all begins with a meet and greet in the rehearsal barn. The barn is on the market, but Amy has convinced the Realtor that the monthly rent the production can pay, plus the fact of Gertie Sanger’s presence, will add to its cachet. By August, the production will move into the theater, and the for sale sign can go back up. All of this was reported to Sam by Uncle Timmy, who told Sam that hiring his sister was the best idea he’s had in ages.
Gertie cleared her throat when he said that, and Uncle Timmy said, “Sorry. My mistake. The best idea thatGertiehas had in ages.”
“Nice job, Mom,” Sam tells her mother, after she looks around the barn, admiring the taped-off stage area, the industrial-size fans in the corners. She means it, but she also thinks that the more praised and appreciated Amy is feeling, the less likely she is to pull out the college catalogs again.
Her mother grins. “Thank you!” she says, squeezing Sam’s arm.
The meet and greet starts at ten o’clock sharp, with breakfast: bagels from Old Post Office Bagel Shop and coffee from Joy Bombs, both collected by Amy. Then comes the first read-through around the long rectangular table. The table was also procured byAmy, delivered that morning by two guys in a big white truck that saidisland cateringon the side.
After the meet and greet, the equity members of the production vote on the rehearsal schedule; Amy collects the ballots and opens them, marking each result on a sheet of paper. At eleven, the read-through begins. Sam plops down in one of the extra folding chairs, away from the table, next to her mother. Amy has her reading glasses on, and she’s making notes in a notebook. The notebook, Sam notices, is wide-ruled, bright pink, spiral-bound—and slightly familiar.
“Mom?” she whispers. “Did you take that from my room?”
Amy looks at her and smiles, matching the level of Sam’s voice with her own so that they don’t disturb the actors. “I did! It was hardly used. Seemed silly to buy something new.”
Sam rolls her eyes. “A notebook would have cost like a dollar fifty from CVS, Mom.”
“But I like this one.” Amy flips pages in reverse until she gets to the front. “Look. Here’s a paragraph you wrote onBecause of Winn-Dixiein third grade.”
“Mom!Tear thatoutand throw it away.” Sam shakes her head. “Please! Third grade.”
“I couldn’t bear to tear it out! You should read it. You have some really cogent things to say about the use of the grocery store as a plot device. You’d be a killer English major, Sam.”
Sam rolls her eyes again. (She loved that book, though. Opal and her preacher father, the plucky dog, and, yes, the grocery store.) “What are you writing?” she asks, to change the subject.
“A to-do list longer than my arm.”
“Let me see.” Amy slides the notebook over to Sam and Sam reads:CURTAIN. Plumber to review bathrooms in theater. Meet with publicist re: early buzz. Online ticketing system. Advertising in Block Island paper? Social media.
Social media. Sam shudders. She keeps reading.Bananas, broccoli, chicken.“Bananas?”
“Yeah. I was making a grocery list at the same time.” Amy shrugs. “I should probably start another page for that. Look at Timmy. He looks happy, doesn’t he?”
Sam looks at her uncle. He’s sitting at the head of the rectangular table, a script in front of him. He’s following along with the actors; when the person speaking comes to the end of a page, they all flip the pages in unison, and an audible rustle goes through the barn. From where they sit Amy and Sam can’t hear all of the actual words, sometimes just the cadence, but they can read the body language. Gertie, who is sitting to Uncle Timmy’s right, is already getting laughs.
“Laughs at the table read!” whispers Sam. “That’s how you know you’re in the presence of a badass.”
“Agreed,” Amy whispers back.
Sam moves her chair a little closer so she can hear more clearly. She had thought she might take the jeep out after the breakfast part, and come back for Uncle Timmy later, but now that she’s here she’s sort of entranced. A cramped rehearsal space in Midtown Manhattan where sometimes you could hear music and tap dancing and singing from adjoining rooms, and an oversize barn on Block Island: these two places are not the same. And yet, and yet. Sam feels a pull of something, and she’s transported back to the table read fromMockingbird—her uncle at the head of the table, Sam to his left. She’d always been able to memorize things quickly, and she’d committed nearly all of her lines to memory before the table read, but everyone else was holding their scripts so she pretended to need hers as well. Plus holding the script gave her hands something to do, so they wouldn’t shake. She remembers how nervous she was—really terrified. Uncle Timmy took her aside before they began and said,Sammy. You got this part for a reason. Because you’re the right person for it. The only person doubting that right now is you.
After that, she could do it.
“What are you thinking about?” her mom whispers. “You have a funny look on your face.”
Sam bristles. “Nothing,” she says.
“Oh. I thought maybe you were thinking aboutMockingbird.”
Is nothing private? thinks Sam. Are my thoughts not even my own?
The table read goes on, all five acts, faster than you would think, and at the end Benedick delivers the final lines: “Think not on him till tomorrow: I’ll devise thee brave punishments for him. Strike up, pipers!”
Everyone claps.
There’s something about the actor who plays Benedick that reminds Sam of Tucker. It’s not specifically his looks, the way it was with the guy outside the coffee shop, but rather something in the way he tilts his head when he smiles. It’s annoyingly charming. Ugh, thinks Sam. Am I going to see an echo of Tucker everywhere I go?
“Well done, everyone,” says Uncle Timmy. “I think we’re off to a fantastic start.”
