She pursed her lips and lines formed on her forehead. “Well, I shouldn’t really be the judge. But Madison...doesn’t seem quite ready yet, no.”

“Really?”

She nodded. “She’s had trouble remembering her lines. She seems to miss her marks quite a bit, too.” She bit her bottom lip. “It’s just been a bit rough.”

Even though a small, petty part of me was glad to hear that, the majority of me was not. Not just because I had Dopey and Sneezy in the play, but because as much as I didn’t like Madison, she was still just a kid.  “Oh, wow. That’s not good.”

“No, it’s really not,” she said. “And she and Eleanor have been at one another’s throats.” She shook her head. “I just hope we’re ready for opening night.”

“How are ticket sales?” I asked.

“Actually, pretty good,” she said, but the lines formed in her forehead again. “I’m not sure that’s a good thing, though, now.”

“Why not?”

Her shoulders seemed to sag beneath her coat. “I’ve promised everyone a great show. Everyone I’ve talked to in the last two months, I’ve told them how fantastic the play will be. People who’ve bought tickets are expecting to see an amazing performance.” She winced again. “But now watching Madison on stage...I’m not sure that’s what they’re going to get.” She paused and glanced toward the living room. “I may have made a huge mistake.”

I felt badly for her. She’d gone into the whole production thinking that it might result in permanent employment and now she was worried that her own reputation was at stake.

“Well, it’s not your mistake,” I said gently. “You’re just trying to sell tickets. The production itself isn’t your fault. You have no control over that. You’re not responsible for that.”

It took her a moment, but she finally moved her gaze back to me. “I suppose. It’s just difficult, that’s all. And I’m just afraid it’s not going to all come together in time.”

“Hopefully, it will,” I told her. “You can’t control what you can’t control.”

She thought for a moment. “No, I suppose I can’t.” She forced a smile on her face. “I’ve taken up enough of your time. I should get going. Thank you again for all your work.”

“You’re welcome,” I said.

We said goodbye and I held the door open for her as she ventured back outside. I watched her walk down the steps from the porch and get into her car.

She sat there for a moment, her head on the steering wheel before turning the car on and backing out of the driveway.

I truly felt bad for Joanne Claussen. She didn’t seem like someone who would cry wolf so if she said things were bad, I believed her. I thought about Madison not knowing her lines or her marks, and I painted a vivid mental picture of how that might translate on stage in a play with a cast of over fifty kids. It didn’t look good.

I sighed and poured myself a fresh cup of coffee. If there was anything good about being banished from the theater, it was that I wasn’t going to have to watch the train jump the tracks.

THIRTY TWO

I spent the rest of the morning finishing up the Snow White program. I wanted it done and off my plate so I wouldn’t have to worry about it any longer. My goal was to be free of everything tied to the play, other than watching my girls in the performance.

If I was allowed into the theater.

I finished it, called the printer and let them know I was emailing them the design. We went over the particulars again and the man on the phone assured me he could get the programs done on time and they’d look great. I gave him Joanne’s contact info and told him to let her know when they were done, that she’d arrange pickup and payment. He thanked me and I hung up and breathed a sigh of relief. Done.

With that finished, I headed to the grocery store. With six mouths to feed in our house, I spent nearly as much time at the store as I did in our own home. It didn’t matter if I found everything on my list and brought it all home. We always needed more of something or something different. I’d often joked to Jake that we’d be better served owning our own farm.

I was turning out of the baking aisle and heading for the cereal, staring at my list on my phone, when I bumped carts with another shopper.

I looked up.

Eleanor Bandersand was behind the other cart, frowning at me. Her hair was piled on top of her head and large gold hoop earring dangled from her ears. Her false eyelashes looked more blue than black today, their color eerily similar to the eyeshadow dusting her eyelids. A thick pearl choker encircled her neck and it looked to be a centimeter away from cutting off her circulation.

I didn’t think that would altogether be a bad thing.

“Good afternoon, Daisy,” she said, lifting her chin and gazing down at me.

“Eleanor,” I said. “Sorry. I was reading my list.”

“Yes, I see that,” she said, her frown deepening.

We stood there awkwardly for a moment and then I maneuvered the cart around her. “See you later.”

“Well, probably not,” she said with a chuckle, her red lips curving into a sardonic smile.

I froze. “What did you say?”

If possible, she tilted her chin even higher, her eyes even buggier than normal. “I think you heard me.”

My patience could only be extended so far. I could take being banned from the theater. I could take finishing the programs despite not being allowed near the theater. I could allow my daughters to continue to participate.

But I could in no way, shape or form take being taunted by a ridiculous pants wearing, obnoxious talking, power hungry wanna-be community theater director.

I pushed my cart past hers until I was right next to her.

Her chin stayed in the air and she eyes me with haughty indifference.

“You may not see me later at your little theater,” I said, lowering my voice. I glanced at the bags of chips and frozen dinners in her cart. “But at least I’m not going to bounce a check when I go to pay for my groceries.”

Her buggy eyes nearly burst out of her head. “Excuse me?”

“I’ve tried to excuse you, Eleanor, but you’ve made it nearly impossible,” I said. “I sent the program to the printer before I drove over here. Let him know if you need to post-date the check.”

Her hand flew to her chest and she gasped. “Why, you horrible woman!”

“I’m the horrible woman?” I said I set my hands on my hips. “Really? You kick me out of your little theater because your kid made something up about me and then you make some smart remark about it? After I finished my volunteer work, work that I didn’t have to do?” I leaned in closer and she took a step back. “Give me a break, lady. At least I’m not lying to everyone about my company when it’s really on the verge of bankruptcy.”

“Where did you hear such a thing?” she hissed at me. “That is patently untrue!”

“Big words and fancy phrases won’t make it untrue, Eleanor,” I told her. “But you reap what you sow.” I smiled at her. “I’m thinking I might just start my own theater group when yours goes under.”

She gasped. “You wouldn’t dare!”

“Wouldn’t I? Really?” I leaned in even closer. “And when people start asking for refunds this weekend because your show is a mess, I genuinely hope you have the money to give it back to them.”

“My show will not be a mess!” she cried, shaking her head.

“It’s not your show, Eleanor,” I told her. “It belongs to the kids. Remember? And from what I hear, it is going to be a mess. So good luck with that.”

Her hands were white on the handle of the cart. Her chin shook. Her nostrils flared at me. Her lips were clamped shut and if she’d had a bat, I had no doubt she would’ve swung it at me, given the anger burning in her eyes.

It wasn’t my finest moment. I shouldn’t have confronted her in the aisle of the grocery store. And it didn’t feel good to say those things to her; at least not as good as I’d thought it might. But she’d been rude and imperious to me from the moment I’d met her and I was done taking her garbage.