second time’s easier,” I heard Trey say. And all I could do was gag and believe him.
22
OUR SECOND PERFORMANCE wasn’t quite as clean as our first. With the excitement from the first night still pumping scattered energy through their minds, the actors made a few small mistakes, none of which the audience probably noticed. I walked around in the dark, mobile cocoon of backstage shadows and spoke in soothing whispers to the actors as they entered and exited the stage. There was something magical about the convergence of effort, inspiration, and accomplishment, a magic amplified by the presence of spectators who laughed, gasped, and cried on cue. I felt the performance like a constant hum in my marrow, a low-key intensity of purpose and emotion that was at once galvanizing and calming. I stood in the wings and absorbed it all until I felt swollen with the warmth of achievement and the overflow of gratitude. But my thankfulness was for more than the play. It was for the plenitude of God’s love for me, displayed in human form under the spotlights and in the audience beyond the stage.
When Seth ended his final monologue as transparently and movingly as he had the night before, I felt a sunset-warm fullness I’d seldom experienced before. But the serenity of the moment was short-lived. After their second curtain call, Seth and Kate stepped into the wings, each taking one of my arms, and dragged me into the spotlight with them. I didn’t want to be there. Backstage was my comfort zone. But there was little I could do to quell the surge of their post-performance elation. Seth stepped to the front of the stage and, in the warm-chocolate voice I’d come to love, simply said, “This is Shelby. She believed in us and inspired us, and we want to thank her.”
Kate gave me a bouquet and a long, hard hug, and I did a little half bow, extending my arm toward a cast that had, in many ways, altered my life. They smiled at me with emotions I knew I didn’t deserve, and I hoped my love for them was evident on my face.
Nearly an hour later, when the audience had filtered out of the room and the actors had started to realize that their journey together was truly over, I heard a commotion by the auditorium door and saw Trey, my wonderful, pseudo-French brother, rolling a pièce montée into the room on a metal cart, sparklers pointing out of it like glowing porcupine quills. As much as I loved cheesecake, I loved this French tradition more. Nothing said celebration like a pièce montée.
“Trey . . .” There was such happiness in my throat that I didn’t know how to continue. The actors scattered around the room approached the tall tower made of stacked cream puffs and drizzled with hardened caramel, their appetites suddenly outweighing their melancholy.
Trey wheeled the cart up to me and gave me a quick peck on the cheek. “I figured your finale warranted something special.”
“You’re absolutely right,” I said, my thoughts flashing back to the mushrooms he’d prepared for me earlier that day. I reached around a sparkler to pull off the top cream puff, the brittle caramel around it snapping loudly, and sank my teeth into the decadent treat. I heard someone clear his throat behind me but paid no attention to it. There was a tower of culinary fascination in front of me that had the full focus of my calorie-addicted brain. It was possibly because of my absorption in the pièce montée that I didn’t immediately sense what was going on around me or register the animated silence that fell the second time that same someone cleared his throat.
Someone, as it turned out, was Scott, but it wasn’t until I heard Shayla’s earnest “Are you going to eat it all, Mom?” that I turned and found him standing there, my daughter in his arms.
I didn’t know whether to be delighted or outraged. “Scott, what are . . . ?” Shayla was wearing her Cinderella pajamas and a mile-wide grin. I felt my heart do a cartwheel. Then my mom reflexes kicked in. “What is Shayla doing here?” I said to Scott. “She’s five and it’s going on midnight. Do you see anything wrong with this scenario?”
Trey stepped in to take Shayla from Scott, saying, “She kinda had to be here for this.” He winked at me and moved to stand by Gus and Bev, both of whom