When we walk back onto the path, the goat is staring at me. I nod at it and I’m not surprised when it politely nods back. I stifle a giggle as I follow Emilia through to the playhouse, an outdoor amphitheater with stone tiers around the stage and fairy lights laced around each level.
“The kids take most of their classes outside in the tree house. They have a goat-milking rotation,” Emilia informs me as we climb the steps, both of us struggling to keep a straight face. We choose seats near the back, and I can feel the effect of the weed even more now that I’ve stopped moving, a strange, warm feeling of contentedness slipping over me despite myself. I’m just wondering why I never really got into weed when, with the sun still high in the sky, the golden fairy lights flick on and I have to close my eyes because it all becomes too much of a moment. The play starts, and I understand what Emilia meant. The story is hard to keep up with, an elaborate mix of Hanukkah, Christmas and Diwali celebrations, but when I recognize Silver and Ophelia shuffling onstage dressed as two candles in a human menorah, I find that I’m smiling, both corners of my mouth stretching even wider when Silver breaks character to wave at us. For the nativity section, instead of frankincense, gold and myrrh, Jesus is given the gifts of acceptance, equality and kindness, as personified by three small children inexplicably dressed as two mermaids and a lobster. “Oh, sweet Jesus, spare us,” Emilia murmurs under her breath when the older kids, playing the shepherds, start a debate about the immaculate conception, which spitballs into a rap song about women’s reproductive rights over the years. When a boy comes out proudly dressed as a Roe v. Wade newspaper sandwich board, I can feel Emilia finally lose it next to me. She starts to laugh, and, when she lets out a loud snort, I can’t stop myself from grinning too. It could be the weed, but suddenly everything seems so insanely, improbably funny, and we’re both shaking with laughter. People eye us with a mixture of distaste and envy, and I feel like one of the lucky ones for a moment. A woman on the tier below us turns around to shush us, looking horrified. Her face changes instantly when she recognizes me, which only makes us laugh more. It’s the most I’ve laughed in a long time. * * * ? ? ? On the car journey home, I feel weightless, like I did in the swimming pool my first morning back at the glass house. Silver and Ophelia are staying with friends, so it’s just the two of us, and when Emilia turns the radio up loud for a Beach Boys song it feels as if I’m hearing music for the very first time, the harmonies crisp and clear, suspended in the air around us. I sneak a peek at Emilia, stupidly grateful for something I can’t name. My mood isn’t even dampened when Esme rings and I have to fumble to send the call to voicemail before Emilia sees. I tell myself that I’m protecting my sister, but I know I’m just being selfish because I would never be able to answer a single question about Esme without revealing too much of myself. “I actually need to talk to you about something,” Emilia says when we’re nearly back at Coyote Sumac. She looks sheepish, and a flurry of apprehension steals a piece of my high. “I hope you don’t think I’ve been meddling, but you seemed so excited the other day about the John Hamilton project, and I couldn’t resist having a little word with him about it. I don’t know if you know, but he’s a dear friend of the family. He’s actually Silver’s godfather,” Emilia says, grinning like a fool. “And he said that he wants to meet with you. Soon. Do you hate me?” “No,” I say, surprised that I somehow forgot that everyone is a dear friend of anyone in LA. “But I heard they’d already cast the role he wanted me for.” Emilia frowns slightly. “Oh, you know this kind of thing is always changing.” “He figured I was a liability and pulled out,” I say, and Emilia flinches before smiling ruefully. “I think he was just worried, but I’ve spoken to him and he’s excited to meet you. He’s going to call Nathan to arrange it all.” “Thanks, Emilia,” I say, and Emilia waves her hand dismissively, causing the car to swerve slightly. “I did next to nothing, trust me,” Emilia says. “Although once it’s announced, we should get you on a late-night talk show, or maybe Ellen? We need to truly mark your return somehow.” “Why are you doing all this?” I ask before I can stop myself. Emilia pulls up outside my house and turns the engine off, before turning to study me. “If it’s because you still feel guilty about not looking after me when I was younger, then it’s fine. You had the twins, you were busy, the last thing you needed was another charge. I get it.” Emilia shakes her head. “I’m doing this because we’re friends, Grace, like you told Camila the other day,” she says. “And friends help each other out.” I pause, my hand on the car door handle. “Thank you,” I say, turning away before Emilia can notice the stricken look on my face.