Heartstopper (41 page)

“Is this thing ever going to start?” Rose suddenly bellowed. “What’s the problem?”

Sandy checked her watch. It was almost ten minutes after eight. She wondered if there was, indeed, a problem, then remembered that Megan had told her Mr. Lipsman liked to start the show a few minutes late because that was the way they did it on Broadway. Megan had also told her that their esteemed director could be found pacing the halls outside the auditorium throughout the performance. That is, when he wasn’t throwing up in the washroom across the hall. Sandy was tempted to join him.

A host of whistles suddenly erupted from the back of the auditorium. Joey Balfour, Sandy knew, without needing to look.

“Quiet down, Balfour, or I’ll toss you in jail,” the sheriff barked, and the auditorium burst into spontaneous applause. It continued until John was forced to stand up and acknowledge the ovation, while his wife basked in the glow of his reflected glory. After all, it was
her
husband who’d calmed the fears of an entire community by putting a cold-blooded killer behind bars.

Unlike
my
husband, Sandy thought, who’d merely titillated that same community by bedding Silicone Sally.

“Way to go, Johnny-boy,” Lenny Fromm said, suddenly emerging from his nap and jumping to his feet. Everyone in the audience immediately followed suit. The only people who remained firmly in their seats were Rose Cruikshank and Ian Crosbie.

When the lights went up at the end of the evening, Sandy was finally able to stand up, unknot the cramp in her stomach, and exhale. “Wow. That was really something.”

“It was wonderful,” Rita concurred. “Megan was just fabulous.”

“So was Brian,” Sandy said, watching Ian out of the corner of her eye as he helped Rose Cruikshank to her feet.

“Yeah. He was pretty great, wasn’t he?”

“You both should be very proud,” Lenny Fromm said before disappearing into the crowd to accept congratulations. He’d slept through most of the second act.

“I was so worried that he’d back out at the last minute,” Rita said. “Or that he’d get stage fright or start obsessing about there being enough oxygen in the auditorium.”

“It’s okay,” Sandy said. “It’s over now.”

“Yes, it is. It’s really over. Oh, God. I’ve been so scared.”

“Scared?” Sandy had been a little nervous for Megan too, but
scared?

“I’m not talking about the play.”

“I don’t understand.”

Rita shook her head, as if to say, Not here. “Do you think we could go to my office for a minute before we see the kids?”

“Of course. Is something wrong?” The two women made their way up the aisle and pushed their way through the crowd milling about the back of the auditorium. Ian and Kerri were already leading Rose toward the dressing rooms. Hopefully by the time she returned, they’d have congratulated Megan and left. “What is it?” Sandy asked again as Rita unlocked the door to her office and they stepped inside.

Rita flipped on the overhead light, locked the door behind her, then burst into tears.

“Rita, what’s wrong?”

“I’m so stupid.”

“You’re
not
stupid.”

Rita grabbed a tissue from a nearby container, blew her nose, then dabbed at her heavily mascaraed eyes. “I’m sure you’ve noticed I’ve been a little standoffish for the last little while.”

Sandy made a face that said, No, you haven’t, and Rita countered with one that said, Yes, I have, and you know it.

“Well, maybe a little,” Sandy conceded. “I assumed you were mad at me about—”

“I wasn’t mad at you. I was mad at myself.” There was a slight pause. Rita raised her hands to her mouth, then lowered them, along with her voice. “I thought he did it.” The words hit the air like pebbles against glass.

“You thought who did what?”

“Brian.” Rita’s voice dropped even lower, so that she was whispering. “I thought he had something to do with Fiona Hamilton’s disappearance. Oh, God. I’ve been feeling so guilty. I actually thought my son might have killed Liana Martin.”

“What?” Sandy repeated, although in truth there were moments she’d thought the same thing herself.

“I’m such an awful person.”

“No, you’re not.”

“What kind of mother thinks her own son might be capable of murder?”

“You had reason to be concerned,” Sandy reminded her, thinking back to the evening of Rita’s frantic phone call. “He’d been acting very peculiar. You found him rinsing blood from his shirt.”

“Yes, I know I had good reason to be concerned. But even after the sheriff told me about Brian’s fight with Joey
Balfour, a part of me still wasn’t convinced. Even after they found those things in Cal’s house and arrested Cal for murder, there was a small part of me that wondered…”

“It was a difficult time for all of us.”

“Ever since Brian’s father died,” Rita began, then stopped herself. “Ever since his father
killed himself,”
she stated bitterly, “and Brian found him hanging there—”

“Rita …”

The tears returned full force. “That selfish son of a bitch. If he wanted to hang himself, why couldn’t he have picked a nice big tree in the middle of the Everglades? Did he have to do it in our bathroom? Did he have to do it where his son would walk in and find him?”

“He wasn’t thinking clearly.”

“He wasn’t thinking at all, damn him.”

“He must have been in tremendous anguish.”

“Fuck that!” Rita said with surprising vehemence. “Fuck his anguish! What about his son? His son who walked into the bathroom and found him hanging there with his tongue sticking out and his face a decidedly unflattering shade of blue. No wonder the poor kid worries about there being enough oxygen!” She collapsed into Sandy’s outstretched arms. “He should have been here tonight. He should have been here for his son.”

They stood in the middle of the small office, Sandy’s arms wrapped around the tiny woman, as Rita cried. After a few moments, the sobs shuddered to a halt, and Rita pushed her shoulders back and lifted her head to smile at Sandy. “But it’s okay now. The nightmare’s finally over. Cal Hamilton is in jail. The murders have stopped. And my son—my beautiful, crazy boy—was great up there on that stage tonight.”

“He certainly was.”

“So what if he’s all fucked-up? At least he’s not a killer. Right?”

Sandy gave her friend another hug. “Teenagers are supposed to be all fucked-up. That’s their job.”

“Do we ever really grow up?” Rita asked, as they headed back down the hallway.

Sandy shook her head. “Beats me.”

“You were fantastic,” Rita gushed, pushing her way through the noisy throng of well-wishers filling the long, narrow corridor to take her son in her arms. Brian allowed himself to be hugged and kissed. “Thanks.”

“Aw, isn’t that sweet?” Joey Balfour said from somewhere nearby.

“You were wonderful, Brian,” Sandy said, shooting Joey a warning glance. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you.” Brian wiped his mother’s kisses off his cheek and glanced toward Perry Falco, who stood in the far corner of the hall, watching him. Brian hesitated, then signaled Perry over. “Mom, there’s somebody I’d like you to meet.”

Sandy excused herself to try to find her daughter. The area was packed with proud parents and assorted well-wishers. Cast members, most still in costume and full makeup, dashed in and out of the four small dressing rooms, accepting accolades and basking in the glow of their success. Sandy looked for Gordon Lipsman, hoping to congratulate him on a job well done. She’d misjudged and underestimated him, she was thinking. He might be prissy and pretentious, but he was also talented. He deserved a pat on the back, maybe even a hug. She didn’t care how many pictures of them ended up on the Internet. “Has anyone seen Mr. Lipsman?” she asked.

“I think he went home,” Victor Drummond said, emerging from the closest dressing room. “Said he wasn’t feeling well.”

Sandy almost didn’t recognize Victor without his white powder. He looked so different. We all look different without our masks, she thought. “You were great,” she told him honestly, feeling a tremendous sense of pride in all her students.

He nodded shyly. “Megan’s in the dressing room down the hall, second to the end.”

“Thank you.”

The hallway was so congested it took Sandy a full minute to get there. On the way, she exchanged superlatives with John and Pauline Weber as well as with the parents of Tanya McGovern and Ginger Perchak. Everyone agreed that everyone’s offspring had done a terrific job. Everyone except Greg Watt’s father, who was conspicuous in his absence. “Greg,” Sandy said, peeking into the middle dressing room where Greg sat alone, removing his makeup with cold cream. He glanced at her through the mirror as she stood in the doorway. “I just wanted to tell you what a wonderful job you did tonight. You should be very proud.”

He smiled. “Sorry about having to kiss your daughter,” he said with a sly grin. “Mr. Lipsman made me do it.”

“Yes, I could see how much you weren’t enjoying yourself.”

Joey Balfour was suddenly at Sandy’s side. “You’re such a faggot,” he yelled through the doorway at his friend.

Sandy thought of objecting, then thought better of it. “Congratulations, Greg,” she said instead, squeezing past Joey and continuing down the hall.

“So where’s the party at?” she heard Joey ask, although she didn’t catch Greg’s reply.

Sandy continued to the last dressing room, found it as crowded with people as the hall. She took a deep breath, prayed that Ian had already left. “Mom?”

Sandy turned toward the voice. “Tim. What are you doing here?”

He nodded toward Amber, who was already out of her costume and into her sweater and jeans, although she was still wearing most of her stage makeup. That makeup probably weighs more than she does, Sandy thought, as Tim shifted from one foot to the other self-consciously. “Amber invited me to the cast party,” he said, his chin down, the words floating into the air from the vicinity of his chest.

“Well, that was very nice,” Sandy said, trying not to sound too surprised. “Where is this party?”

Tim shrugged. “Someone’s house.”

“Good,” Sandy said, the slight sarcasm in her voice absorbed by the noise in the room.

“I’ll wait for you outside,” Tim told Amber, who smiled and fluttered her fingers in the air coquettishly.

Dear God, thought Sandy.

“See you later, Mom.”

“Try not to be too late.” She fought the urge to tell him to keep an eye on his sister.

“Mom, hi!” Megan called, pushing through the crowd to reach Sandy’s side.

Sandy threw her arms around her daughter, hugged her tightly. “Megan! You were so fabulous.”

“Careful. You’ll get makeup all over you.”

“Who cares? I am so proud of you.”

“It was great, wasn’t it?”

“It really was,” Sandy agreed. “I was just amazed. I mean, I knew it would be good, but I didn’t realize it would be
that
good.”

“Wasn’t Greg fantastic?”

“Fantastic,” Sandy agreed.

“Too bad his father wouldn’t come see him. He’s such an …a jerk.”

“I understand there’s a cast party.”

“Yeah, well, it’s closing night and everything.”

“Where is it?”

Megan shrugged. “Somebody’s house.”

“Great.”

“You can stop worrying, Mom. Cal Hamilton’s all locked up.”

“It’s not Cal Hamilton I’m worried about,” Sandy said pointedly.

Megan looked away, her face growing sullen.

“It’s just that it’s easy to get lost in the moment,” Sandy continued quietly.

“I won’t get lost,” Megan said.

“Promise?”

“Hey, Megan! Great job tonight,” someone called from the doorway.

“Thanks.” The smile returned to Megan’s face. “Stop worrying,” she told Sandy. “I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”

Sandy nodded, stroked her daughter’s beautiful long hair. “I know you can.”

“Mom?” Megan called as Sandy turned away. “You look really pretty tonight.”

Sandy’s hand flew self-consciously to her hair. She’d spent half an hour trying to smooth it out with Megan’s ceramic straightener, but the minute she’d stepped into the humidity, she’d felt the curls and ringlets starting to form. And she’d chewed off what was left of her new, peach-colored lipstick during Megan and Greg’s final embrace. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

“Mom …”

Sandy waited.

“I won’t be late.”

Sandy was smiling as she left Megan’s dressing room and started down the corridor. She had two beautiful children, she was thinking: a daughter who was as smart as she was talented, and a son who was as sweet as he was sensitive. Both on the verge of adulthood. Both with bright futures
waiting to embrace them. She had good reason to be proud.

A familiar voice pierced her reveries. “But that’s not fair.” Delilah stormed out of the dressing room at the end of the hall. “Tell them it isn’t fair, Mrs. Crosbie,” she said, catching up to Sandy.

Reluctantly Sandy stopped and turned around. “What isn’t fair, Delilah?” Kerri Franklin entered Sandy’s line of vision, began walking toward her.

“My grandmother isn’t feeling well, so they want me to drive her home and make sure she gets into bed.”

“Delilah, this really isn’t anyone’s business,” Kerri scolded, as Ian appeared in the doorway of the dressing room.

“I’m going to the party,” Delilah insisted.

“You’re taking your grandmother home.”

“Why can’t
you
do it?”

“Because Ian and I have made other plans.” Kerri said this directly to Sandy. “Now don’t argue with me. After you get your grandmother settled, then you can go to the party.”

“Great.” Delilah didn’t move.

“The faster you get out of your costume and get your grandmother home,” Sandy said reluctantly, “the faster you’ll get to the party.” She looked up, saw Ian smiling at her.

“You look terrific,” he mouthed.

Before Sandy had time to digest the remark, he and Kerri had left the hallway.

S
o, a bunch of us are going over to Chester’s for a celebratory drink,” Rita was saying as they walked toward the teachers’ parking lot. “You game?”