“？‘Will you be mine, now you are doubly won?’？” Paul says, cuing me one more time. Go on, Princess.
I look at Grace, who is on her knees now. Doubled over. Choking. Holding herself close.
“I can’t,” I say to Paul. “I have to go.”
I pull my face away from his hand and feel a rip in my chest. A chasm in the core of me opening wide.
“Grace! Grace!” But I can’t run to her with Ellie in my arms. I set her down on a small blanket on the grassy floor beside us. To set her down on the grass, to leave her warmth, to empty my arms of her, feels like drowning. The chasm is opening wider and wider inside.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell her. She smiles, looks at me with such love and trust. I wrench myself away from her and rise and turn toward Grace. “Grace!”
But now the corner where Grace stood is empty. The corner is just darkness. No Grace. No one but Paul standing there in the blue light of the living room. Ellie’s gone. The blanket and bassinet are gone. The grass beneath our feet has turned gray. Around us, all the flowers have dried up, wilted. Paul stands there in this ruin, looking at me.
“What’s happened, Paul? Where’s Ellie?” I ask him.
But Paul doesn’t answer. He just stands there on the gray grass. His eyes are sunken and hollow now. His face half-shrouded in shadow.
“Paul, where’s Ellie?”
“You’re right,” he says. “You do have to go.”
“What do you mean? What’s happening?”
“They’re waiting for you out there, Miranda. Can’t you hear them?”
And then I do hear them. A roar of wild, distant applause. Too big for the black box. Too far away. It’s coming from outside, coming from the main stage.
“You better go out there,” Paul says.
Suddenly I’m afraid. I run to Paul. I take his hands. But now they feel slack in mine. Resigned. Ready to let me go. I press my face against his neck, breathe his honey-and-bread scent. I run my fingers through his hair, catching the light. Red-gold like a fish.
“I don’t want to go,” I tell him. “I want to stay here with you and Ellie. Can’t I stay here with you and Ellie? Where’s Ellie, Paul? Where’s Ellie?”
“You have to go. It’s your show, Miranda.”
I look down at Paul’s hands in my hands. No longer holding mine tightly. I’m the one holding on tightly, fiercely now. “Let’s rehearse again,” I say. “Please, Paul, I’m ready now. I’ll say my line now: ‘Will you be mine, now you are doubly won?’？”
I wait for him to speak Bertram’s next line, the line where he admits his love, etched in my soul. If she, my liege, can make me know this clearly, I’ll love her dearly, ever, ever dearly.
Paul smiles sadly. His face begins to blur before my eyes. “？‘And all our yesterdays have lighted fools the way to dusty death,’？” he says.
“What?”
But he just looks at me, so tenderly. “？‘Out, out, brief candle. Life’s but a walking shadow. A poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more.’？”
He smiles. For a second, I think I see his skull flash under his skin. I shake my head, and it’s gone. Just Paul standing on the gray grass, his eyes dark.
I feel the chasm in me opening wider. Black as pitch. “That’s not the line,” I tell Paul. It’s a line from Macbeth. His final speech. Before he’s killed.
Paul kisses me on the forehead. I feel his lips, dry and hot on my skin.
“Paul, did you hear me? I said that’s not the line.”
Paul just looks at me. He knows that’s not the line. The spotlight on him begins to dim.
“Paul, what’s happening?” I grasp his hand more tightly still but he’s slipping from me. The stage lights are dimming. Suddenly my chest feels very tight. Suddenly I can’t breathe. I can see Paul retreating before my eyes. Fading before my eyes.
“You can’t leave your audience waiting, Miranda.” His hands are slipping out of my hands, though I cling and cling to them. He’s getting swallowed by the dark. “Can’t you hear them?”
“I can hear them. I don’t care. Please don’t leave me, Goldfish.”
The stage lights go out. I feel something inside me rip apart. My heart. Ripped out. A pain so sharp and swift it brings me to my knees, it takes my breath away.
“Paul?” I call. “Paul!”