Wishing in the Wings by Mindy Klasky Page A

Treasures you don’t even realize you’re missing!”
    Her enthusiastic words melted into laughter, an infectious joyousness. She wasn’t trying to break the law. She wasn’t going to attract police raids. She was talking about regular plants, legal plants, perfectly ordinary, everyday, green, growing plants.
    I couldn’t help but look over my shoulder, blinking gratefully at the golden flood of an early spring sunset splashed across my living room. “Oh, my!” Dani exclaimed. “Just look at that light! You could start seedlings right now, have everything ready for a mid-April planting! It’s such a joy to see things sprout, to see new life begin!”
    And when she said it, I believed her. Me—I thought about joy. Me—the woman who had spent the entire day wallowing in doom, disaster, and the breakup from Hell.
    I had a fresh beginning. Courtesies of Kira and Teel—and Dani now, too—I had a chance at something new.
    Before I could say anything, though, my cell phone trilled from the pocket of my black trousers. Jenn’s ringtone, probably alerting me to some disaster back at the Mercer. Er, some new disaster back at the Mercer, I amended to myself. I clenched my teeth as all of the day’s disgraces swept back to the front of my consciousness.
    “I’m sorry,” I said to Dani, torn between answering the phone and learning more about guerilla gardening.
    “Go,” my new neighbor said, sharing another smile that warmed me to my bones. “We’ll talk more. Welcome to the building.”
    I grinned and managed to grab the call just before it rolled over to voice mail. “Hey,” I said, slipping into my condo (my! condo!) and closing the door.
    “So,” Jenn said without preamble, as if we were already in the middle of a conversation. “You rushed out of here so fast, I didn’t have a chance to ask if you’re coming to the Pharm.”
    The Pharmacy. The neighborhood bar that regularly provided the Mercer cast and crew with whatever form of liquid medicine they needed.
    I sucked a regretful breath between my teeth. I knew that Hal had conducted rehearsal for the Shepard one acts that afternoon, even though I hadn’t bothered to attend. In fact, he had integrated some substantial changes to the blocking, to where the actors stood when they said their lines. I’d actually been the one to recommend the changes—the new blocking emphasized the common elements among all three of the short plays. Hal had agreed with my suggestions the day before—a lifetime ago, or so it seemed. Nevertheless, he’d predicted that the cast would be on edge, would have a hard time handling so much transition this close to opening night.
    I owed it to him to show up at the Pharm at least. I could take the cast’s temperature, figure out just how traumatic the changes had been. I could explain Hal’s vision again, make clear the reason for modifying things, reassure everyone that the extra effort was worth it so that we could realize the full potential of the production.
    That sort of psychological jiggering was one of my informal, but vital roles. I never would have shirked it, on a normal day.
    “Bec?” Jenn said. “We really need you. This afternoon was rough on everyone.” I blinked hard, thinking about the trauma of the rehearsal, how it must have been compounded by the gossip about Dean. About me. I shivered and tugged at the collar of my sweater. The golden sunset had winked out over the horizon; my incredible new home was now chilly in the grey of early spring twilight.
    “Yeah,” I said, before Jenn could think that I’d gone mad. Or any madder than I’d already proven myself to be. “I’ll be there.”
    “Great! We’re heading out in about fifteen! Ciao!”
    “Ciao,” I said, but I was already speaking to the static of an empty line.
    * * *
    The Pharmacy was even more crowded than usual. Mercer folks were gathered around three tables in the back, and from the sound of things, they were already well into their