“Briana,” I say pleasantly. Is there a crack in my voice? Not at all. “Long time no see. Welcome.”
She doesn’t answer me. She continues to lean heavily against the doorway, regarding me with the dark pits that were once her eyes. She’s grown smaller, paler, in these past weeks. Her little gold cross winks against her frighteningly pale skin. Not wearing her bell sleeves today. Just a drab sweatshirt that hangs on her. The sleeves swallow her small hands, but I see the little white fists bunched inside.
“We’ve missed you,” I say.
Still nothing. Just those eyes. Staring and staring.
“Haven’t we?” I turn to the cast. Ellie looks absolutely horrified. Trevor’s looking away. Guilty, perhaps. Everyone else is just gazing at her in shock. I turn back to Briana and smile.
“Did you come to visit us today?” I ask her. Casual. Play it casual, not surprised. Not horrified in the least by the way she’s still fucking staring at me.
“We’re always happy to have you here, of course,” I continue. “Our door is always open. We’re actually about to start rehearsal so—”
She takes a step toward us then. Stumbles spectacularly. Trevor and Ellie both run to grab her hands, and she collapses into their arms on cue.
I watch them guide her as she limps hideously to the stage. Limps as I used to limp. Same limp. Dragging her right leg, which appears to be quite stiff, locked at the knee. Horror in my heart. Beats to the tune of a black pointed shoe tapping. Yet I’m still smiling, I’m patient, calm as you please as I watch her stumble to the stage. I think of Mark watching me fall. Not calling for help. Just rolling his eyes. Sighing. Give me a break, Miranda.
Everyone gives her a wide berth as she sits there hunched on the edge, still staring straight at me. Trevor and Ellie sit on either side of her, patting her sharp little shoulders. Asking if there is anything else they can get her, anything at all?
“Water,” she whispers, eyes still on me.
Ellie runs to fetch her own bottle from the auditorium seats and runs back and presents it to Briana, practically bowing before her. Briana takes it without thanks. She sips. She smiles darkly at me now, clutching Ellie’s water bottle to her bloodless lips.
“Briana,” I say, “we’re so happy to have you up and about, aren’t we?”
No one says a word. I can feel Grace in shock behind me. All of them just stand there like slack-jawed idiots, looking at Briana hunched crookedly on the stage. Breathing like she’s been for a run.
“So happy we are,” I say. “But we are about to rehearse. Probably not the best place for you to sit and watch with your back to the stage like that. Why don’t you sit in the audience, over by Grace?”
I gesture to Grace, who’s sitting in the auditorium seats with a hand over her mouth. Briana doesn’t move. She just stares with the voids of her eyes.
Thou hast no speculation in those eyes which thou dost glare with!
“I think sitting in the audience would be far more comfortable for you,” I add softly.
“I’m not here to watch, Miranda,” she says at last in a low voice. “I’m here to perform.” Her voice is a husk of itself. Her breath is shallow.
Bolt of electricity down my leg. I feel it like a flash, and then it’s gone.
“Perform?”
“In the play,” she says. “I’m the lead, after all.” Not a question.
Pain flashes brightly across my back. Two wings of fire. I pray for my face not to betray me. Keep smiling, that’s it. “Well, we’ve had to make a few changes.”
“I’m the lead!”
“Briana, do you really think that’s a good idea given…” And here I trail off.
“Given what?” She looks at me. She waits.
“Given how long you’ve been away.” I smile.
She looks at me in my new poppy dress, taking me in as only she can. The S waves in my hair, my legs in their spiked heels, which are not buckling before her for once. Perhaps she can even smell the sex on me, the new life. It hurts her, all of it. The sight of me standing straight smarts her eyes. She even appears to wince.
“Well, I’m back now,” she says. “And I want to be in the play. And I will be in the play.”
She’s gripping the edge of the stage with her fists. A little hysteria in her voice. A pained wobble. A whine I know all too well. It gives me courage.
“It’s the week before tech week, Briana,” I say sadly. “We can’t have you play Helen. We’ve already made other arrangements for the lead, I’m afraid.” Don’t look afraid, don’t look afraid. You are not afraid of this dead-eyed child staring at you like she knows your soul, like you’re guilty of something. Is she going to insist? She can’t insist; look at her. She can barely sit up on the stage. She’s literally holding her body upright by white-knuckling the edge. Lopsided like she’s afraid of the right side of her body, oh god—