nostalgia wasn’t so sweet these days—not where Nantucket was concerned.
Emily stopped at an intersection, and when she looked up, she realized she stood on the corner of Water Street, where the arts center was situated, right in the center of a block.
Unhurried, she walked down the block, still dragging that suitcase behind her.
How many days had she spent in that very building? It had been the place where she’d first discovered a love of theatre, the first time she’d felt truly passionate about something. The first time she learned how it felt to make her mother proud.
She made her way over to the back entrance, which would lead her in to where all the rehearsal rooms were. She could still picture each room, decorated in a different theme. Photos from past shows had lined the walls of the hallways, a sort of “hall of fame,” the kids said. Once upon a time, her face had been on that wall.
When she was a girl, the arts center had bustled with activity. Rehearsals went on at the same time as costume sewing and prop designing. Every classroom was occupied as music and blocking and dance were all taught on a rotation.
The children’s productions put on at the arts center were summer events the entire island supported. Looking back on it now, she didn’t know if it was because their shows were actually good or because the adults on the island simply loved seeing their kids onstage.
It didn’t matter. It was about so much more than that. It was about making friends and having fun, sure, but Emily learned a lot too. She learned how it felt to be a part of something—to belong somewhere.
Now, as she walked down the hallway, she was struck by the quiet. The walls echoed with laughter left over from years gone by, but how long had it been since anyone filled the space with that same kinetic energy she’d known? The building seemed a shell of its former self, perfectly tended yet drained of all life. A remnant of what once had been.
She walked through the empty rehearsal rooms, down a long hallway that ran parallel to the theatre. It led her straight out to the lobby, where there was a podium outside two doors leading to each side of the auditorium.
Emily inhaled the lingering smell of popcorn in the lobby, thankful that after all this time at least that hadn’t changed.
Slowly she opened the house-left theatre door and walked into the space. The stage was bare and the theatre empty, lit only by work lights. She resisted the urge to get up on the stage and recite a favorite monologue—one of Helena’s speeches from A Midsummer Night’s Dream or Mabel Chiltern’s monologue from An Ideal Husband.
An empty stage always had this effect on her. It made her want to jump up there and feel the lights on her face, to try on someone else’s skin for a while. She’d found such comfort in shedding her own when it got too heavy.
Today her skin felt too heavy.
She walked out of the auditorium and into the lobby. Across from the box office was a large bulletin board with posters advertising all kinds of events happening at the arts center and around town—a book chat and signing with a local bestselling author, a culinary demonstration by a world-renowned chef, a French film festival, a concert series. The arts center was alive and well—but where were all the children’s programs?
“May I help you?” A voice disrupted the silence in the empty lobby.
Emily turned and found an older woman with a pouf of white hair staring at her. She wore a pair of oversize black glasses, and though her skin had its share of wrinkles, it was still milky white.
Emily’s skin would not look like that when she was this woman’s age—far too much time in the sun.
“I hope so,” Emily said. “I was wondering where I could find information on your children’s programs.”
The woman removed the glasses and let them hang by a chain around her neck. “Unfortunately, we don’t have much to offer for children these days.”
Emily studied her for a moment. “I thought the arts center had a big show every summer performed by the local kids?”
“It’s been many years since we’ve been able to put one of those productions together, but we have so many other events happening here. Maybe something else might appeal to your little ones? Every other Saturday morning we do a cartoon movie