Actors in costume weren’t allowed out of the changing tents that had been set up behind the set, so Joy stood next to the stage area by herself and watched Perry Park fill up.

The broad field in front of the stage was filling rapidly with blankets and low chairs. Families and couples unpacked picnic baskets and chatted with their neighbors. Thanks to Krystal’s newspaper articles and Chris’s notoriety, there were more people in the audience than she could ever remember there being, and camera crews from network affiliates in Portland and Salem were arranged on the edge of the crowd.

She had helped Simon settle Victor in a special section toward the center back before the other audience members had begun to filter into the park.

Victor was fading rapidly; he spoke less, he looked like he’d aged several years in just a few weeks, and even small gestures seemed to take an enormous amount of energy. Simon was handling it stoically, but she could see evidence of the strain on him as well. His eyes were tired, and his once cheerful face was set in an almost permanent expression of concern now.

She swept the crowd looking for other familiar faces. Beth and Molly were there; Joy smiled to hear Molly proudly—and loudly—telling people on a neighboring picnic blanket that her daughter was in the play. She spotted Richard next to a pretty blond woman who, from her casual clothing and friendly expression, looked like she might be the polar opposite of his ex-wife; they were surrounded by a surprising number of children. Joy was pleased to see that Richard looked relaxed and happy.

Near the front, she saw Harvey sitting with an attractive woman close to his age. So Harvey had a girlfriend—that was news. Then to her surprise, she saw Taylor join them. The little girl she’d brought with her climbed straight into the older woman’s lap and gave her a hug. Joy looked at them curiously. There was a story there … but it wasn’t hers, so she turned away and looked up at the stage.

It was magnificent. Under Rob’s direction, the cast had assembled a platform stage that could be easily transported to and from the park. Moira, to everyone’s surprise, had taken the lead in designing the set. Under her direction, the cast had painted a backdrop of Grecian-style columns and marble statues to represent the City of Athens, where the first and last scenes took place. At the beginning of Act Two, actors would draw green curtains that had been richly decorated with vines, flowers, and tiny lights over the painted background to represent the magical forest. The stage itself, including two angled platforms, had been entirely covered with the same grassy material they’d used for the float and at the fundraiser. It made the scenery look green and bucolic, and also muffled the actors’ footsteps, which would otherwise have echoed on the hard wooden stage.

Chris had kicked in extra money so that they could justify the elaborate lighting that Rob had set up. Rob had arranged a series of footlights at the edge of the stage and somehow set them to gradually grow brighter as the evening darkened. They’d also invested in a portable spotlight that sat on the ground in front of the stage and could be swiveled to illuminate either the actors or the audience.

There was a lot that could go wrong. Moira’s curtains were heavy, and the rods that held them had been jerry rigged by Luke without enough time to test them thoroughly; Rob had been fussing with the lights up until just a few minutes ago; and Zena was still doing make-up.

Joy glanced back at Victor and Simon and prayed, again, that the performance would go well.

Unable to hold still, she crept backstage to the marquee-style tent where the cast was waiting. The actors were talking in hushed voices but there was an air of palpable excitement. Ten minutes ago, the tent had been a frantic hotbed of activity as people rushed to get ready. Now they were all in costume, anyone who needed a prop had it, and there was nothing to do but wait.

“Time?” asked an anxious voice. Doreen was dressed as Hippolyta now, wearing a toga over her green corset. She looked magnificent, but under the heavy makeup, she was pale.

“Five minutes. You’re going to be fine,” Joy reassured her.

Doreen set her shoulders. “I can’t believe I talked myself into doing this. And I have to do it all over again four more times.”

“Once the matinee next Sunday is done, you can relax. Get yourself a six pack and a floatie.”

Doreen managed an anxious laugh. “Never sounded so good.” She wandered away to talk to Brice.

Then Chris was standing in front of her.

Nerves that had nothing to do with the performance swept her. “Can I do anything more to help?” she asked.

He shook his head. He was smiling a little, but his overall expression was serious. “You get to go enjoy the play now.”

Everyone knew their lines and had their costumes. There were few props, and only one costume change, which Doreen and Brice could take care of themselves. There would be some organizing to be done afterward, and again for the next four performances, but for all intents and purposes, her work was done.

“Good!” she nodded briskly. “I’ll see you after the performance.”

He nodded back. “Joy, do you think—”

“Chris, you’re up,” Rob interrupted in a whisper. “Give me a second to get out to the spotlight then go. I’ll turn it on as soon as you’re center stage.”

“Break a leg,” she whispered, and ran out behind Rob to go find her seat.

“He’ll be leaving us soon, I think.”

The first set of performances had gone off without a hitch. The actors performed well, the scenery held together, the audience had loved it.

Now it was the Wednesday in between the performance weekends, and Joy was helping Charlotte pack as rain sluiced down the bedroom windows. Simon’s voice over the phone was steady but shot through with grief, and Joy’s heart ached for him.

Luke and Chris had helped see Victor home after Friday night. He’d clearly been exhausted, but he’d managed a congratulations and a satisfied smile at the end of the performance. Since then though, Joy knew that he’d been failing quickly, slipping in and out of consciousness. They’d produced the play just in time.

“I’m sorry, Simon. How can I help?”

“He’d like to see you, if you’ve got a few minutes.”

“Of course I do. Shall I come over now?”

“Yes, darling, if you could. I think the sooner, the better.”

As she walked into Simon and Victor’s house twenty minutes later, she remembered being there just three months ago. It had been a glorious spring day. She’d brought flowers, then Simon and Victor had sprung Chris on her before ordering them to go get coffee and talk over the play.

Today her hands were empty, it was pouring rain, and there were no surprises. Just Simon, his face exhausted and grey, and Victor, lying in the hospital bed, looking more frail and shrunken than ever.

She kissed Simon on the cheek in greeting, and he vanished into the kitchen with the promise of tea. Slipping into the seat by Victor’s bed, she gently took his hand in hers, which he squeezed gently in greeting.

“How are you feeling, Victor?” she asked.

His voice was hoarse and barely audible. “Excellent job … so proud of you and Chris and the Players … Thank you.”

She smiled. “Thank you. I enjoyed doing it.” And she had. The purpose she’d found in the play, and the Players, had brought new meaning into her life.

Victor moved his head in an infinitesimal nod. “How are you doing?” he asked.

“Me? Oh … I’m fine.” She smiled reassuringly at him.

He fixed her with a steady gaze until she dropped her eyes. “You’re not fine, Joy,” he whispered hoarsely. “Is it Chris?”

She frowned and bit her lip. “Victor, don’t worry about us. Just rest—”

He waved a weak hand at her in a gesture of impatience. “Don’t condescend to me just because I’m dying. You love him?”

Joy studied the pillow without meeting Victor’s eyes. “Yes … I do love Chris, but ... it’s like living in a fishbowl. Everyone watching you all the time. Talking about you. Gossiping. There’s no privacy. “

Victor was silent for a long moment until she glanced at him, wondering if he’d fallen asleep. “Is that really worth … giving him up for?” he finally said. She had to lean in to hear him.

She sighed. “It’s not that I want to give him up. I just don’t want to live my life wondering what people are saying about us. He’s too young for me, anyway.”

Victor shook his head, so slightly that it barely trembled. “I’m ten years older than Simon … Doesn’t really matter in the long run.”

Joy pressed her lips together. “It’s different.”

Victor’s mouth lifted on one side. “Because ...? It doesn’t matter, Joy. Your age, his age, what people say ... none of it really matters.” He took a deep breath, his eyes on the ceiling. “Did I ever tell you how Simon and I met?”

Joy shook her head.

“He was … my student … when I taught drama at Columbia in the early eighties. I was very much still in the closet, and Simon ...” Victor smiled faintly. “The closet that could hold Simon hasn’t been built yet.” He shook his head again, more forcefully this time. His memories of Simon seemed to be giving him strength. “He was even more flamboyant then than he is now.” He fell silent again.

“Victor, if you’re tired—” Joy started, but he gripped her hand.

“We fell in love. I insisted that he graduate before we started seeing each other, and the minute he did ...” Victor shrugged fondly. “But I still wanted to keep it secret. I didn’t want anyone to know … about us. Simon ...” Victor made a small motion with his hand, “he didn’t like being my secret. He said he deserved better … than to be loved by someone who was ashamed of him.” Victor’s voice was barely audible now. “And he broke up with me.”

“How did you get back together?” Joy asked gently. She had known Victor and Simon for thirteen years, but had never heard this story.

Victor’s expression grew bleak and he was silent for almost a full minute. Joy was about to ask him if he wanted to rest when he continued.

“Not long … after we broke up, I ran into Simon at a funeral. Mutual friend of ours … incredibly talented young man … could have been a great singer if he’d lived.” Victor tilted his head slightly to look her in the eye. “This was … early 1980s, remember. Friends of ours were dying … all the time. None of us knew how much time we had left.”

Victor’s eyes dimmed. He coughed and continued.

“Simon cornered me at Ted’s wake. Told me … I had to stop worrying about what people thought and just live the life I was supposed to live … Said I owed it to Ted … to all the young men who didn’t get that chance.”

“It was a risk, though, wasn’t it? Coming out of the closet back then?”

Victor managed a slight shrug. “Maybe ... but when I look back now … I don’t remember why I was so worried about it.” His weary grey eyes met Joy’s green ones for a moment before she looked away.

“I understand what you’re saying,” she said softly. “But, Victor, to have your photos all over the internet like that, strangers tweeting about you and saying all kinds of things ... it’s horrible. It’s such an invasion of privacy.”

“I know.” He gave her hand a weak squeeze. “No one … likes having their private lives talked about. Believe me, I know. But it’s not worth … missing out on life. If I hadn’t listened … I would have missed a life with the man I love.”

Joy’s eyes stung with tears. Unable to speak, she just nodded.

Victor’s breathing was labored now and she could feel his hand growing limp in hers.

“You’re tired,” she whispered. “I should let you rest.”

“Promise me … Joy … that you won’t … miss out.”

Her tears fell on the sheets next to him, and she dragged a sleeve across her face trying to wipe them away. “I’ll try, Victor. I promise.”

* * *

It was Sunday afternoon and the applause for the final matinee still rang in Chris’s ears. Backstage, the actors high fived and hugged each other.

“That was a phenomenal end to the season, people!” he roared. “Great job!”

“We were damned good, weren’t we?” Doreen laughed loudly and high-fived him.

All around him the bustle continued. Family members had made their way backstage now and were hugging and congratulating members of the cast and crew. Joy’s friend Molly was in tears of excitement as she hugged a red-faced Cat. “It wasn’t even that big a role, Mom,” Cat muttered, but she didn’t look displeased. Rob was directing crew members to begin packing up props, costumes, and lights; they would come back the next day to take away the stage and the larger pieces of scenery.

Joy, with Charlotte’s help, was collecting costumes as cast members shed them, hanging them up on a portable garment rack that could roll straight into the van they’d rented to transport all the equipment. She looked radiant, as pleased as Chris was about the performances.

He’d helped Luke disassemble the backdrop curtains and left him, Moira, and Zena to fold them and hang them carefully over another garment rack. He began to make his way through the crowd toward Joy. She and Charlotte would be leaving the next day for college. Before she got back, he was scheduled to fly out to Arizona for two weeks for some preliminary shooting for Crusaders 2. He wasn’t sure when he would have another chance to talk to her.

He’d taken only a couple of steps when a red-haired woman with a microphone stepped in front of him. Beside her was a cameraman who angled himself to get them both in the frame.

“Chris, are you pleased with the way this performance went?” The red head thrust the mic in his face. He smiled out of habit. A couple of TV station vans were parked on the path by the duck pond, and all around him, it seemed, reporters were flocking toward him, cameras and microphones at the ready.

“I was thrilled. This cast did an amazing job. We had a lot of fun putting this together, and I think it really showed.”

More reporters crowded around him.

“Chris, what was it like doing community theater after Galactic Crusaders?”

“Chris, will you be back again next summer?”

“Chris, what’s your next project going to be?”

Force of habit kept a smile on his face, and he answered questions with polite platitudes, hardly listening to them. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Joy watching the small mob around him, a look of concern on her face.

Was she afraid he’d hit someone again? He wouldn’t. The days of letting his temper get the better of him were over. Was she simply daunted by the press, reminded again of the differences in their lives? There was less he could do about that; as long as he was a star, the press would be part of his life.

He was answering a question about Vanessa and Vince’s engagement as Joy was pulling a phone out of her pocket, and he watched her face fall as she answered it. Over the heads of a dozen milling reporters he caught her eye, and he knew.

“Excuse me,” he said. Politely but firmly he pushed his way through the cameras and microphones and got to her, wrapping his arms around her as she hung up.

“That was Simon,” she said, her voice cracking. “Victor’s gone.”