Leaving

  She walked up to one girl and forcefully adjusted her shoulders. “Dancers pay attention to their posture.”

  Bailey straightened more than before. Francesca was on the opposite side of the room, but still … she didn’t want to be next.

  As Suzanne taught the dance, Francesca made her way up and down every row, studying the dancers, sizing them up. When she reached the girl next to Bailey, Francesca stopped. A puzzled look came over her face and she took a step back. For a long while she looked the girl up and down — clearly disapproving of something. Then she stepped up and raised the girl’s headband higher onto her head, off her forehead. “There. Your face looks thinner.”

  Bailey stopped herself from looking shocked. Was the woman serious? She had no problem saying something like that to a girl she didn’t know? In front of all these people? She focused on Suzanne at the front of the room. The choreographer was snapping her fingers. “Run through it! Ready … five, six, seven, eight.”

  Francesca stared at Bailey as the dance began. She’s not standing there, Bailey told herself. Dance for the Lord … shine for Jesus. She threw everything she had into the number, smiling big and making every movement sharp and crisp and full of the rhythm it deserved.

  “You’re Bailey Flanigan … the actress from Unlocked, is that right?” Her words were pointed and loud. Too loud.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Bailey glanced at her and continued dancing. What if one of the other girls heard the director? They’d assume Bailey had an edge, right? She put the thought from her mind. Francesca didn’t smile or acknowledge that the observation mattered whatsoever. And she didn’t straighten her spine or adjust her clothing or order her to stay with the beat.

  That had to be a good sign. But still Bailey didn’t want to win the part because of her role in Unlocked. She wanted to be recognized for her skill, her hard work.

  Half an hour into the audition, the teaching was finished. “This will be a quick audition. If you survive the dance segment, we’ll ask twenty of you to stay and sing. If I tap you, that means we don’t need you for now. If you aren’t selected, please leave. This isn’t your show … it isn’t your day. Before I make cuts, thank you for being here. Musical theater is an art, and it’s not for everyone.” She stopped pacing and smiled at the girls. It was the first time she’d done so since the audition began. Her smile dropped off. “Now let’s take this seriously and see some dancing.” She clapped her hands three sharp times. “Energy … energy … energy!”

  Francesca nodded at Suzanne, and the choreographer hit the play button on the boom box perched on a chair behind her. Music for the Corny Collins song filled the room and Bailey felt her heart soar within her. Sure she was tired and sweaty, but she still had an ocean of energy. This was the show she loved most of all, and the dance was the original Broadway choreography. The number was too fun to waste it being nervous. Besides, God was with her. She could feel Him cheering her on.

  Suzanne shouted above the music. “And five, six, seven, eight!”

  With that Bailey lit into the dance with everything she had inside her. She wasn’t sure if Francesca could even see her from where she walked along the front line, but she danced hard anyway. Out of the corner of her eyes she watched the director briefly survey three girls at a time, and then brutally tap all three. As she did, she shook her head, her expression colored with disgust. The next three girls met the same fate, and Bailey had a feeling Francesca’s first walk-through was more important than she let on. At least with the first row of dancers, the director already seemed to have her mind made up. As the girls were tapped, they quietly excused themselves from the dance floor, gathered their things, and made a hasty exit.

  The second row included two girls who were allowed to stay, and both kept dancing — not willing to accept the pass over as proof they were in. Francesca stepped up to the third row and gave the girls a critical onceover. The song had started again, and Bailey no longer had to concentrate to get the steps right. Instead she put everything into her performance, dancing as if her life depended on it.

  Francesca stopped in front of her, and then Bailey saw something that made her practically shout for joy. In the slightest, most subtle possible way, Francesca smiled at her. She gave a firm nod with her head and moved on to the next girl. And like that Bailey had survived the first round, the dance portion of the audition. Like the other girls who were being allowed to stay, Bailey kept dancing until Suzanne had restarted the music five times, giving Francesca time to work her way through the entire group.

  “That’s all,” the director shouted from the back of the room. “That’s our first cut. Get something to drink, girls. We’ll start again in ten minutes with vocal auditions.”

  The music stopped, and Bailey hugged the girl in front of her — one of those from the second row who’d been allowed to stay. Adrienne’s information had definitely helped this morning. Bailey wanted to be the best performer not only at this audition, but on all of Broadway. That meant she needed to work with the best director in the business, and if that meant dealing with Francesca’s eccentricities, so be it. Bailey was up for the challenge.

  She hurried to the side of the room, found her things, and downed a water bottle. Then she pulled her phone from a side pocket in her purse and texted her mom: Where are you? I made it past the first round!!

  Bailey dabbed her face with a towel from her bag as her mom texted back. That’s great! Can you talk?

  Francesca was meeting with Suzanne at the far side of the room. All around Bailey girls were on their phones, talking quietly. The director hadn’t said anything about not using their phones, so rather than text back, she hit the call button and waited until she heard her mom’s voice. “Bailey?”

  “I’m still in it!” She kept her voice low like the other girls, but there was no way to contain her enthusiasm. “There were so many great dancers, Mom. I think I’m in shock.”

  “Honey, that’s wonderful. So what’s next? Will you sing for them?”

  “Exactly.” Francesca looked their way and checked her watch. Bailey lowered her voice. “I have to run. I’ll call when I’m done.”

  The voice auditions were handled differently. The girls were told that everyone would sing and then the directors would make a decision after they were done. Francesca sat on a panel with two other directors who had arrived during the break. Only once did Francesca blow up at one of the girls auditioning. The girl who riled the director sang the song, “On My Own” from Les Miserables. Whoever she was, she didn’t have much confidence. She was maybe twenty-three, twenty-four — thin with long, wispy pale blond hair and a pretty, frail voice. The other girls who hadn’t sung yet waited off to the side. Collectively they cringed as Francesca stood and marched to the girl. She took her by the arm and led her another twenty yards farther away from the audition area. “There.” Francesca cupped her hands around her own mouth. “Do this.”

  The girl did as she was told.

  Bailey bit her lip, her eyes wide. Truly if Adrienne hadn’t told her about Francesca, this would seem like some sort of joke. All around her she could feel the other girls barely breathing.

  Francesca left the girl standing there, her hands up around the sides of her mouth, then she stormed back to the director’s table. “Now.” She picked up her pen and hovered it over a pad of paper. “Sing with projection.”

  The girl tried, but Francesca waved her off after three bars. “Enough.” She gestured to the door. “Be gone.” She craned her neck and peered at the line of girls yet to sing. “Next. Hurry up, people. Next audition.”

  Bailey planned to sing a song from Last Five Years called, “I’m a Part of That.” When it was her turn, she begged God for favor and then took her place. As she did, a sort of other-worldly peace came over her. She wasn’t auditioning for Francesca Tilly or putting herself in front of a group of strangers to be judged. She was God’s girl, and she was doing what she was born to do.

  The song was part
ballad, part high-energy — the perfect choice for Hairspray, Bailey had decided. The music began and she was in character immediately. Her song lasted just over a minute, and not until it was over did Bailey realize she’d been allowed to finish. Many of the girls had been cut off halfway through their songs.

  One of the directors — a guy with sympathetic eyes — had told them that it didn’t necessarily mean they were out of the running just because they were cut off. But it didn’t take a mind reader to figure out what was going through Francesca’s head when she waved her hand and stopped some of the girls mid-song.

  Bailey grabbed her bag and moved into the hallway in time to see two girls leave in tears, comforting each other as they headed out the door. Bailey hurt for the girls, for whatever their stories were, whatever might have been riding on this audition today.

  “You’re Bailey Flanigan?” A girl with long red hair looked her over. “I heard Francesca … you’re in Unlocked, right? With Brandon Paul?”

  “Yes.” Bailey felt strangely ashamed of the fact. She wanted to tell the dancer her involvement in the movie didn’t give her an edge here. But she wasn’t completely sure.

  “Why’d you bother to show up?” The girl tossed her bag over her shoulder. “You’ll get a part for sure.” She turned and left without another word to Bailey.

  Heat filled Bailey’s cheeks. It wasn’t true. The part wasn’t hers because of her role in Unlocked. She had to work hard at the audition — same as everyone else, right? A part of her wanted to run after the redhead and tell her she was wrong. No one was giving her any favors. But the shame she’d felt a moment ago still lingered and she remained in place.

  She leaned against the wall and pulled out her cell phone, realizing something that was only now hitting her. She had a chance. She really had a chance. Not because of her acting resume, but because she’d made it this far on her own merit, her own hard work. Thank You, God … because of You I left nothing behind. Nothing. She had no idea if she’d get a part, but she knew this much: She had done her best. No, better than that, she had done the best she could in God’s strength.

  Now she could hardly wait to tell her mom.

  Six

  CODY WALKED THROUGH THE LAST SET OF THE SECURITY DOORS at the Indiana Women’s Prison and spotted his mother at a table by herself. For a moment he hesitated, taking in the sight of her. She was thinner than before, her face more lined — the consequences of the hard life she’d chosen the first time she dabbled in drugs as a teenager. He walked to her, and she spotted him. A smile found its way to her face, and her eyes softened.

  She was sober for now, sweet and kind, the mother he’d always wanted. The one she could only bring herself to be when she was behind bars. Cody pulled out the chair opposite her and took her hands in his. “Hi.”

  “Hi.” Her hands were cold, her voice shaky. “Thanks, Cody … for coming. Every week I … I wonder.”

  “You don’t have to wonder.” Cody wouldn’t stop coming. This was why he’d moved from Bloomington to Indianapolis, after all. “I’ll be here.” He smiled, remembering to be compassionate. “I’ll always be here.”

  She smiled, and tears welled in her eyes. “I … I don’t deserve you.”

  Cody felt the sting in his own eyes, and he blinked. He wouldn’t spend the next hour caught in a weepy conversation. If this was the single conversation he’d have with his mother for the week, he wanted it to be at least somewhat normal. “Hey … so I love the job at Lyle.”

  His mom’s shoulders straightened some. Pride filled her expression and eased the lines on her forehead. “I always thought you’d make a great teacher.”

  “It’s weird.” He released the hold he had on her hands and rocked back in his chair. “The kids are so young. I mean, it feels like a lifetime ago that I was in high school. But still they relate to me.”

  “Of course they do.” She beamed at him. “Look at you … so strong and handsome. They probably thought you were a student when you first stepped on campus.”

  Cody grinned and stared out the window for a few seconds. His mom was right. His first week that’s exactly what had happened. On the morning of his third day a girl walked up to him in the hallway and asked if he wanted to go to the Tolo dance with her. “It’s girls ask guys.” She batted her eyes at him. “And since you’re new …”

  “Sorry.” He took a step back. Flattering as it was to be thought he was still in high school, he wanted to make the chasm between him and the girl students as wide as the Grand Canyon. “I’m Mr. Coleman. The new PE teacher.”

  The girl’s face turned redder than Christmas. Her mouth hung open, as if she might say something but no words would come. Then she turned and ran off to catch up with her friends who were laughing ten yards away. Cody chuckled again remembering the scene. “You’re right. They definitely thought I was one of them.”

  “That’s why they’ll look up to you. You’re their age.” His mom folded her hands in front of her. “How about the coaching?”

  “It’s spring league — just passing drills three days a week after school.” He paused. “There’s this one kid, DeMetri Smith. People call him Smitty.” Cody liked this, talking to his mom about life, as if they were any other mother and son, and this were a normal meeting — and not an hour-long visit at a state prison. “Anyway, he comes from a broken home, but he’s a Christian. Spends a lot of time praying.”

  “Hmmm.” Sadness crept into her tone. “Like you … once you found the Flanigans.”

  Cody hesitated. “I guess.” He’d thought about the similarities. It was partly why he wanted to help the kid. In DeMetri, he could see something he saw when he looked in the mirror. The sheer determination to find a path different than the one he’d been raised with. Cody had worked at Lyle High for four weeks. Long enough to understand how things ran — the small town ways and the big-hearted people. But this was the first time he’d shared details with his mom. Again, he was struck by how good it felt, how normal. Usually this hour was about her. Her Bible study. Her remorse.

  Her regrets.

  “Speaking of the Flanigans,” his mom brought nervous fingers to her cheeks, and finding no comfortable position she lowered her hand back to the table. “Have you … have you talked to Bailey?”

  “Mom.” Cody kept his tone in check, but he’d been over this with her before. “We don’t talk about her. I told you that.”

  “I wondered, that’s all. She … she was important to you. For a very long time.”

  “We’ve moved on.” Every word, every syllable scraped like a knife against his heart. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

  “I guess,” she looked down at her hands, her fingers still restless. For a long while she stayed like that, but then her eyes lifted to his. “I sort of hoped you’d find your way back to her. Have a new start.”

  Cody wondered how much heartache a person could take. “You know what, Mom?” For a brief moment, his emotions raced ahead of him. “Why didn’t you think about that before you hooked up with a drug dealer?” He hesitated. “Right? I mean, did you think about how it might affect me to have some … some psycho drug king making death threats against the girl I love?”

  He was breathing hard, his voice louder than he intended. A quick glance around the room told him that he’d caught the attention of other people. He rested his forearms on the table between them and hung his head. Treating her this way would get them nowhere. He looked up. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have raised my voice.”

  “It’s okay.” Tears welled in his mother’s eyes. “You’re right. It’s my fault. You and Bailey … I caused all of this.”

  “Not all of it.” He sighed. “But please, Mom. Don’t ask me about her. What happened is in the past. It’s over.” This time he kept the anger from his voice, but he could do nothing about the defeat. It crept in and spoke louder than his words. The rest of their visit was tainted by the moment, and Cody couldn’t find his way back to the lightheartedness
of earlier in the hour.

  When his time was up, he held his mother’s frail hands and prayed with her, asking God to continue to work in her life and to surround her with people who loved the truth. “There are consequences for walking away from You, Lord, from Your Word … consequences for walking in the darkness.” His tone held no judgment toward her. A long time ago he had been the one risking his life for a night of going against God. He had nearly died of alcohol poisoning before the Lord got his attention. A sad sigh slipped from deep in his lungs. “Please, Father, bring healing to my mom, to our relationship. And show us both what the future is supposed to look like. In Jesus’ name, amen.”

  He stood and hugged his mom. She held on longer than him, same as always. He didn’t mind. His days as a prisoner of war in Iraq had taught him what life was like in captivity. Of course his mother held on as long as she could. It was a long time between Sundays, when every day was a reminder of all that could’ve been, all that might’ve been.

  As he made his way out of the prison, Cody felt like the walls were closing in on him. His mind filled with images of bars and cells and people screaming for a chance at freedom. He blinked, trying to shake the pictures. Not until he was in his truck, the doors shut and locked, did the vision hit him again. This time clearly the scenes in his head weren’t from his mother’s prison.

  They were from his own.

  Crouched in an Iraqi cell … dust crusted in his hair and fingernails and eyelashes. Dirt choking the breath from his throat, the only sound his raspy breathing and the scratching skittering of rats on the floor outside his cell. What was this feeling, the tightness in his chest? His heart pounded like it was looking for a way out, and he couldn’t get enough air, couldn’t shake the suffocation that had come over him like a wet blanket.

  Dear God, why is this happening? Is it the prison? He gripped the steering wheel and let his head fall back against the seat rest. It’s been years since Iraq … so why the flashbacks, Father … why now?