Page 35 of My Dead Wife's Ex Will Do
“Okay,” I shift a little closer to his lounger. “I’m not Logan, obviously, but I’m here. Do you want to talk about what might happen with your musical or would you rather we talk about something else to distract you?”
“Do you know anything about producing a musical on Broadway?” he says a little snappishly.
“No, but can you tell me about the process you’ve gone through already?”
Silas takes a shaky breath, then another. He’s obviously trying to calm himself down. He swallows hard and licks his lips.
“I’d like to go get you some water, but I don’t want to leave you alone unless you’re okay.”
“I’m okay.” His knee is still bouncing and he’s still shifting restlessly in the lounger. “Um, water would be good, if it’s not too much trouble.”
“I’m happy to do it,” I tell him. I point to the restaurant bar on the other side of the pool. “I’m going right over there and I’ll be back in a couple of minutes. Take some deep breaths while I’m there, okay? I promise I won’t leave you.”
Silas nods. He inhales deeply through his nose and breathes out shakily through his mouth. I round the pool and request a couple of waters from the bartender, then ask her to send over a tropical smoothie with a scoop of protein powder. I figure a frozen, non-alcoholic drink might hit the spot when Silas calms down a little.
When I return, Silas seems a little better. He’s breathing easier, anyway, and he’s lost the terrified rabbit-about-to-bolt vibe. He thanks me for the water, but doesn’t look at me when I hand it to him. I’ve already twisted off the cap for him and he swigs a couple swallows before letting it rest in his lap.
“I’m sorry for freaking out on you.”
I shake my head. “No apologies necessary. If you want to talk about it, I’d be happy to listen, but it’s also okay if you don’t.”
He downs another gulp of water, then resettles his sun hat on his head and leans back against the lounger. “It’s been such a crazy whirlwind, I don’t even know where to start.”
I sip my own water and listen while Silas tells me about his musical, a queer retelling of the Oedipus myth as a contemporary space opera.
“I know,” he sighs. “Everyone looks at me like that when I describe it. But Logan saw it when it was just my student thesis project and sent it to his friend, who’s this big-time Broadway producer, and yeah, that’s probably nepotism or something, but everyone’s gotta start somewhere, you know? And James legit wants to produce it—we have a contract and everything—except that I wrote it so it has all these polyphonic choral pieces, sort of an homage to the chorus in ancient Greek plays, but modern, right? And the vocal arranger James wants to hire is supposed to help me figure out how many singers we need and the harmonic and melodic lines to give to each singer, stuff like that.”
It’s too bad Jason’s not here. He’d know exactly what Silas is talking about. He might even have some advice for Silas. But right now, Silas probably doesn’t need advice. All I need to do is help Silas realize that his musical isn’t doomed because of this one setback.
“It sounds like a fascinating project.” A resort staff member brings the smoothie I ordered for Silas, who gives me a surprised, but very sweet, smile when she hands the hard plastic cup with a paper straw to him. “When’s the premiere?”
“Oh, not for months, maybe a year. It’s nowhere near ready. We haven’t even decided on a choreographer yet. James has someone in mind, but they’re busy with another show right now, and James says we should talk when we get back to New York about whether we should wait until they’re available or go with someone else.”
“So, there’s time to find a new vocal arranger, too?” I hold my breath, hoping it’s not too pointed a question. I definitely don’t want to suggest to Silas that I think he’s overreacting or that his feelings aren’t valid.
Silas sucks down another long sip of smoothie. Then he sets the cup in his lap and looks off in the distance. “Yeah,” he finally says. “There’s time.” He heaves a big sigh, then his shoulders drop and his hands relax.
Adrienne joins us, fresh from her massage, and within moments of dropping her book, sunglasses, and swimsuit cover-up on the lounge chair on the other side of Silas, looks at me and tilts her head at the pool. “Swim with me, Victor.” It’s not a request.
I look over at Silas. He shrugs. “I’m better now. Don’t worry about me.”
Eighteen
Jason
The mist clings to my skin as I follow the narrow trail deeper into the cloud forest, my tall rubber boots finding purchase on the slick wooden planks of the elevated walkway. A three-wattled bellbird’s call rings out above us, that strange, metallic clang that sounds nothing like a bird should sound. Our guide, Fabio, points toward the canopy, and I scan among the leaves for a chestnut and white bird with three worm-like wattles dangling from its beak.
“Pretty cool, right?” Logan says beside me.
“Yeah,” I say, though I’m paying less attention to the bird than I usually would.
I’m thinking about Victor back at the resort. He’d been asleep when I left this morning. I stood in the doorway of the bedroom for a full minute, watching the rise and fall of his chest, before forcing myself to leave.
Fabio and Logan keep walking, chatting about the flora and fauna surrounding us. Bromeliads hang from every branch, their crimson and orange blooms vivid against the moss. The air is thick with moisture, heavy with the smell of earth and flowers.
Behind me, Kelsey’s footsteps have grown irregular, sometimes quick bursts to catch up, sometimes long pauses where she’s studying the canopy overhead or adjusting her backpack straps when I look over my shoulder at her.
She’s been unusually quiet since we left the resort. She climbed in the van and parked herself in the row behind me, then immediately tilted her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes. She barely spoke on the drive here and she’s said no more than a handful of words since we disembarked from the van.
