Page 46 of Child of Mine

As I pat her on the back and trail her down the hall, I really hope that I’m right.

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HENRY

I haven’t seen or heard from Bella since she showed up at my apartment all hot and bothered Friday. Did I dream her late-night visit? Since I can’t find her phone number, I go by the bookstore Saturday, but she’s not there, just an older woman who has to be her mother, the resemblance is so strong. When I tell her I’m a colleague from WGBH, I learn that her name is Doris and that Bella has shows all weekend. She gives me a brochure for the theater, so Sunday afternoon, instead of taking my dog for a hike outside the city somewhere or finding a pickup basketball game or going to James’s house for a barbecue—in my defense, the thought of eating any kind of barbecue cooked up by a Yankee holds no appeal—or doinganythingthat might lead to meeting new people here in Boston, I go to a play.

It’s just down the street from me. I can ride my bike there. It’s convenient.

I’m not exactly a cultured person. Raleigh supposedly has a decent theater scene, but I wouldn’t know. The two years I lived in New York, I only went to the theater when my mom visited.

But I go to this one. I’m that desperate to see her again.

After locking up my bike and buying a ticket, I find a spot in the temporary bleachers. Others spread blankets and set out picnics on the grass. I enjoy the people-watching until a man sits next to me—a little too close for comfort—and starts talking in what sounds like another language. Edging away, I’m looking for another seat when someone nearby laughs at a guy speaking a similar language.

Scanning the crowd, I notice brightly dressed people pushing their way down the aisles, even stealing food. All of them are speaking what seems to be a made-up language, like Ooobee-Doobee, theBoomlanguage, but even less comprehensible. I’ve never heard of a play where the actors show up in the audience, but like I said, I’m not an expert.

Then I see Bella, and everyone and everything else fades into the background. She’s arguing with a shorter, curvier woman. When the other woman cries, Bella stomps away to pick a fight with someone else. Soon all the actor-people are arguing, and things get louder and more frantic until a blast of trumpets sounds. Everyone—on and off-stage—is silenced.

An elegantly dressed woman steps to the center of the stage and seems to point right at me, but it’s the guy next to me who stands and responds. At her prompting, he tells what is clearly a tale of woe. It’s Shakespearean English now—still Greek to me—but I get the basics. He’s been in a shipwreck and lost his family. This doesn’t seem to please the woman onstage, because a guard comes and takes him away.

After that, most of the action continues onstage. The slapstick humor is entertaining, but I’m not fully engaged until Bella returns. When she throws herself on the floor in a tantrum, I see more of the snarling cat from my bed the other night than the got-her-shit-together woman I’ve worked beside for the past month. The passion that she’s brought to this role rarely flares at the studio, and when it does, it’s about ideas, focused on the work at hand.

Here she splashes each and every raw emotion all over the stage. The rest of the audience loves the goofy servant pranking his master, but I only have eyes for her. I’m as confused by the plot as the characters seem to be, but I don’t care. When it’s all over, I clap along with everyone else, even as all I can think about is kissing her. Making love to her. Convincing her that we’re perfect for each other.

First, I have to find her.

As the rest of the audience gathers up their things while chatting about the show, I keep an eagle eye on the stage. When a sweaty man with makeup only half removed emerges from behind a screened-off area, I conclude that it must be the equivalent of a stage door.

By the time I step off the bleachers, I’ve got some arguments lined up. I just need to persuade her to take a chance—to believe that I can be a support in her life, rather than yet another demand on her time and energy.

Distracted, I almost trip over a little girl who pushes past me. An older woman calls, “Lilah, watch out!” from behind me.

“Sorry,” she says. “She’s a handful.”

“It’s fine, I say.” Recognizing her from the bookstore, I wave. “Doris, good to see you again.”

“Oh, it’s you,” she says.

“Yeah, Henry. From WGBH.” She just nods, so I babble on. “I’m glad you gave me the brochure. I live nearby and it’s a beautiful day, so I thought I’d check out the show.”

“And did you enjoy it?”

We chat for a moment about the play, but she keeps looking over my shoulder. When I follow her gaze, she says, “Sorry, just keeping an eye on my granddaughter.”

Nodding politely, I move out of the way and let her precede me toward the stage, but when we get close enough to see the girl clearly, I stop in my tracks. Daylight is fading, but she may as well be in a spotlight.

Because she’s the spitting image of my twin sister the summer after kindergarten.

Chapter 10

“All the Daytime News: If you’ve been keeping up withAll His Childrenof late, you’ll believe that viewers are shocked and electrified by the latest plot twists. We’re getting letters by the hundreds wondering what those writers will be up to next!”TV Tattler, July 1989

BELLA

When I finally get out of costume for the final show of the weekend, I feel like I could sleep for a week. I can’t do that, but I can go home and enjoy a quiet evening with my family before going to bed early. Lilah’s voice echoing off the scenery prods me to pack up my things faster.Comedy of Errorsmay be Shakespeare’s shortest play but sitting still for two-plus hours is a big ask for a not quite six-year-old.

Propelled by the idea of cuddling with my kid and letting her read me to sleep tonight, I take the corner of the outdoor stage with a smile on my face. My life may be exhausting at the moment, but I’m lucky. I’ve got an amazing little girl, a mom who supports me in so many ways, and now I’m able to literally support her.

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