Page 22 of In What World

“Ms. Jenkins!” yells Billy Larsen. “Love the vest!”

I want to come up with a perfectly clever, unaffected remark in response, but I can’t. Because sitting in the front row, already dressed in hisSpring Awakeningcostume, is Dallas.

8

Priscilla

Marlowe screams.

It’s quick. More of a shriek. She told me not to move, but what kind of person would I be if I didn’t react to a scream? There could be a mouse, and I don’t want her to squash it. Or there could be something fun happening. Maybe her students are surprising her with a performance. Call it the millennial in me, but I’ve always been partial to a flash mob.

Dallas’s voice plays in my head the same way it always has. The way I just heard it in the Memory Machine, cueing me in with his “Five, four, three, two, one.Action.”

I put one platform boot in front of the other, wrap my fluffy leopard coat tight around my waist as if a breeze has come through, and becomeCilla Cove—actress, Angeleno, occasional vegan in a non-overbearing way—ready to see what’s got Marlowe so worked up.

It’s…Dallas?

Sitting in the front row of the audience, wearing a high-necked gown and a fluffy wig, he’s positioned with one legcrossed over the other and his index finger and thumb shaped into a shelf, holding up the side of his face.

I’ll give it to Marlowe. It’s a genuine shock to see him, though I know better than to scream. That got trained out of me at a very young age. Everything works out much better for everyone if I take things in stride. Being a good sport is the first role I ever learned in life, and it’s the one I know best of all, though I’d argue it’s also the role for which I receive the least acclaim. Just like they say—no one ever sees therealwork.

Dallas looks relaxed. In his element. In any other circumstance, this would be expected. This stage is his home. I’d have thought forcing all of Garden Meadows, Iowa, to conduct a search for him would’ve perhaps brought on an air of regret or maybe even embarrassment. Unfamiliar emotions for him, but necessary, considering the whole missing person search I was on the cusp of asking Erik to post about on my social media in the hopes of turning it into national news.

Upon seeing me, Dallas opens his arms for a hug. “What a surprise! Our doctor is here!”

“The one and only!” I hop off the stage to greet him. I only play a doctor on TV, and the show’s not even filming anymore, but it’s fine if that’s how he wants to address me. We have more important things to discuss, such as where he went for the last day and a half, or why he’s sitting here acting like it isn’t strange that he’s returned outfitted in his costume like it’s a regular day of dress rehearsal.

“It’s a big deal to get you out here,” he says as he squeezes me.

“Only someone like you could do it,” I tell him, pulling back to kiss both of his cheeks.

“You must be the reason Marlowe’s screaming,” he says. “Some things never do change, do they?”

“Like your handsome face,” I say.

He preens.

“And your perfect skin,” I continue. “And your youthful spirit. And your effortless humor.”

He waves me onward, directing more compliments his way. I steal a glance at Marlowe up on the stage, attempting to share in the weirdness with her.

Marlowe won’t make eye contact. She’s looking beyond me, zoned out into the middle distance. It’s the same blank expression I remember from our junior year fall play,Arsenic and Old Lace. On opening night, in the middle of our first scene together, she not only forgot a line, but she forgot how to exist altogether.

Thinking on my feet, I covered for her by improvising, asking her a series of leading questions until she finally jerked back to reality. For a moment, her eyes softened. Her smile relaxed. She had so much relief and gratitude. Forme.

When we got offstage, she told me in the wings that her mind had gone blank. She couldn’t even remember her own name. And for the first and possibly only time, she thanked me for being there. For saving her.

“Hello! Earth to Marlowe,” I say, trying for reasons beyond my own understanding to save her again.

“She’s been getting like this recently,” Dallas tells me. Nowthisis intel. Marlowe stares off into space a lot? She gets despondent? She ignores people on purpose?

“Has she, now?” I ask.

“Oh yes.” He drops his voice to a whisper. “She’s scared to run the program without me. She will be great, but she doesn’t seem to believe that. You know how serious she is about everything. She wants to get it right. She thinks she can’t take risks without me around to oversee them.”

Since when is Marlowe Jenkins scared of anything to do with risky theater?

Dallas repositions himself so he’s facing the teenagers scattered throughout the seats. “Cast! This is the fabulous Dr. Covington-French,” he announces. “She was class of 2010 with Ms. Jenkins. She came here all the way from Utah to see you!”