Lost Sheep

19

That weekend, Dane picked me up at my house and we drove to Willow's so we could all practice our respective scenes with each other. (Reverend Parris was Abigail's uncle, so Willow and Dane had a lot of scenes together, too. This afternoon wasn't a total waste for him.)

"Is that who I think it is?" Patrick Brennan gripped his beer can so hard he could have left thumbprints in the metal. I was feeling like his gaze alone could make strips of skin and shards of bone out of me. 

"Patch, you're not allowed to beat him up - or have that."

"Mom said I could drink in the house."

"Only when she's home - and definitely not when she's out and we have company."

"Honey, I'll finish that off for you." I looked over in the direction of the voice and watched the tall blonde's long neck ripple as she gulped down the rest of his drink. She was even prettier in person than her dashboard picture, but I was mostly just surprised that they were still together. 

"Hi, Lou," said Dane as Patrick joined her in lying on the couch, fitting himself into her arms. She rubbed his thigh with a hennaed hand as he kissed her, and I saw Willow blush. 

"We should probably stake claims on the basement before they can. Can I get you guys water or anything?" 

"I feel like we should just get out of here as soon as possible," Dane said, glancing over at the couch and its occupants, whose canoodling had rapidly progressed - so we did. 

The scene we were working on included our audition piece. I was feeling confident as Dane watched (Parris would enter later; right now he was coaching us while he waited for his cue). 

"Abby, I may think of you softly from time to time - but I will cut off my hand before I'll ever reach for you again. Put it out of mind. We never touched."

"Aye, but we did." Willow spoke her line with a perfect wounded insistence.

"Aye, but we did not."

"Oh, I marvel how such a strong man may let such a sickly wife be -" Her face was lit with wicked joy, and she tossed her hair before I cut her off, defensive.

"You'll speak nothing of Elizabeth." 

"She is blackening my name in the village! She is telling lies about me! She is a cold, sniveling woman, and you bend to her! Let her turn you like a - " We had blocked this next part just a few days ago. I advanced on Willow with a snarl on my lips, shook her shoulder, and said, 

"Do you look for whippin'?" We both paused, 'listening' to the psalm being sung below us. Dane put on a hymn from his iPod to make it more realistic, and Willow couldn't help breaking character to roll her eyes at his new taste. Then, she resumed, gazing at me tearfully.

"I look for John Proctor that took me from my sleep and put knowledge in my heart! I never knew what pretense Salem was; I never knew the lying lessons I was taught by all these 'Christian' women and their covenanted men! And now you bid me tear the light of my eyes? I will not; I cannot. You loved me, John Proctor, and whatever sin it is, you love me yet!"  I was mostly sure she was weeping for real by now. Those last lines were especially hard to hear. I couldn't still....

"John, pity me, pity me," Willow begged, and I had to wonder - did she really want it?

"Oooh, The Crucible - now that's deep theater right there...nothing like this Kinky Boots some brother of yours took me to, Willow." Pat's girlfriend was wearing a light blue blouse that had about a million tiny buttons, and half of them undone. Neither Dane nor I had the nerve to plead that she button her shirt higher; I looked away, while he hid his face in a sofa pillow and blushed.