Riley tilted her head at the rock. “Start at the start.” She selected her acrylics and brushes, filled a water jug, and went to work. This rock would look like a rock, no matter the lighting.
Mark hung back as the crowds surged forward to congratulate the actors on a successful opening night. He found a dark corner to the right of the stage stairs to wait. From there, he could see his family—his dad, his older sister, Steph, and her husband, Brian, their baby—Mark’s namesake—and his seven-year-old niece, Ivy.
He could also see backstage, behind the closed curtains, to the backdrop hanging from the last scene. The play had been entertaining, even with the occasional mistake, but the painted scenery had caught his attention. He wondered if the school had bought the backdrops premade, or if they’d hired someone to do them. He knew of a muralist who did work over in Leavenworth, but the style wasn’t his. He wondered if the new art teacher had done them, and if he had the nerve to ask her about them.
“Uncle Mark!”
Only Ivy could make him forget it was difficult to smile. She ran to him, lunging at his waist and squeezing him.
She looked up. “What did you think?”
He pulled out a rose wrapped in cellophane from behind his back. “I think you were the best Tootles ever.”
She beamed and took the flower. “Thanks.” Her smile faded, and she crinkled her nose. “I forgot a line when Wendy was telling us a story.”
“I didn’t even notice.”
Her smile returned.
“Are you ready to do it again tomorrow?” he asked.
Her eyes grew round. “Oh yeah! We do it again!” She nodded. “Maybe I’ll remember my line tomorrow.”
“I bet you will,” he said.
She leaned against his side, smelling her flower.
The rest of the family approached, and his dark corner grew suffocating. He moved along the wall toward the auditorium to create more space.
“Thanks for coming, Mark. You know how much it means to Ivy.” His sister, Steph, pulled the little girl into an embrace.
Mark nodded, keeping one eye on the crowd of people drawing nearer. “Wouldn’t miss it.” He pulled at the hood on his jacket.
Brian ruffled Ivy’s hair. “That’s a pretty rose.”
“Uncle Mark gave it to me.” Ivy turned. “He’s coming tomorrow to watch me remember my line.”
Steph looked at him, surprised. “You’re coming tomorrow, too?”
“Uh . . . I didn’t—” Mark hadn’t planned on coming again. It’d been hard enough to face the crowds tonight. He caught Ivy’s hopeful expression and released a breath. “Yeah, I’m coming.” He poked Ivy in the shoulder. “You better get that line, or else.”
“Or else what?” Her eyes danced.
“Or else . . .” His voice became menacing. “Or else Captain Hook will be the least of your worries.” He made a pretend grab for her.
She squealed and shrank back into her mom, smiling at him. He caught his sister’s eye.
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing.” She smiled. “It’s good to see you.”
Mark sobered.
He glanced at his dad, who shrugged. “I see you all the time.”
Mark rolled his eyes.
A group of people began making their way between Mark and his family, heading toward the exit. He pressed back against the wall, dropping his head, watching his feet, only nodding when people addressed him.
“Hey, Mark.”
“Hi, Mark.”
“Nice to see you out, Rivers.”
They shuffled past.
“Good to see you, Mark.”
His head came up faster than he wanted. He quickly adjusted the angle of his face so the right half was shadowed by his hood. Caylin Clark blinked at him uncertainly. Some guy stood next to her, his arm around her waist.
“H-Hey,” Mark said, hating how his voice halted.
“I saw you from across the auditorium and thought I’d say hi.” Caylin turned to his suddenly reserved family. “Hello.”
They muttered hellos back.
She turned to Mark, and when he didn’t say anything, she shook her head. “I’m sorry, this is Nick. His cousin was Peter Pan.”
Nick nodded. “Good to meet you. Caylin told me what you did, saving those kids. That’s really cool, man.”
Mark never knew how to respond to stuff like that. That day in the fires hadn’t been cool. It had been a nightmare.
Nick glanced between him and Caylin. “Well, take it easy.” He whispered something in Caylin’s ear and left.
Caylin turned back to Mark. “So, what’s it been—a year?”
A year and four months, Mark thought. She’d stuck around a whole two months after he’d landed in the hospital.
“Well,” she continued, as more people shuffled past, “you look great. I mean, really. Look at you. How are you feeling?”
Look at me.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his brother-in-law try to pull the others away, but Stephanie shook her head, handing Brian the baby and placing her hands on her hips. His dad stayed where he was.
How am I feeling?
This girl had been his girl. His future. His anchor. Then the fire burned everything down, including her interest in Mark.
“I’m feeling good, thanks.” He turned his face from the shadows and saw her flinch, ever so slightly. “You look great, too.” It wasn’t a lie, with that strawberry-blonde hair falling past her shoulders and blue eyes to go with it. Same pouty lips. He held out his hand, which was covered by a fingerless compression sleeve. Stephanie had suggested he get black so it looked tough. “Don’t be a stranger.”
She glanced at his hand and hesitated just long enough.
A knot tightened in his chest, and he withdrew his hand. “Still can’t touch me?”
Her face reddened. “I didn’t mean—”
“What? What exactly did you mean?”
Her mouth set in a line, and she glanced at a few more people who excused themselves as they made their way to the exit.
“Hey, Caylin. Mark.” Jeff Cranston mumbled the greetings.
“Hey,” Mark replied.
After they passed, Caylin stepped to his side of the wall. “I didn’t want to cause you more pain. I couldn’t be what you needed. I’m sorry for that.”
He gritted his jaw and steadied himself. “Hey, it’s history. Everyone got what they wanted in the end, right?”
Her
