Page 97 of Absolute Certainty
Willa shot a concerned glance in her direction. “You sure?”
“Positive. I think I misstepped yesterday, and I almost tripped just now, so it’s probably trying to calm itself down.”
She left out the part that it’d been bothering herallmorning.
It was Sahar’s day to choose the music, so she opted for the playlist titled “Where the Waves Crash.”The women got ready mostly in silence until Naomi came in to show them a cat video she couldn’t stop laughing about, and Miles stole Willa for a beat to run through a choreography that was brewing inside him.
For the entire cast, the titular number, “Midnights at Pemberley,” featured the most singing and dancing. The rest of the scenes Sahar was in were relatively more mellow. But right as she stepped on the stage in her dance heels for the “Bennet Sisters’ Interview,” it hit her.
Performing today would be a bad call.
Her ankle had no plans to ease up on her.
Shit.The smart thing to do would be to say something, stop entirely, and let Willa go on after Intermission. But Sahar didn’t want to disappoint people. Was it really that awful, or was fixating on it simply making it worse? Perhaps that was it.
She could push through. It’d be fine.
It was not fine.
But time was at least passing. During “Stubborn Bastard,” Sam, as Bingley, came forward to her and pulled her onto his lap. This was where they’d lose themselves in each other while Darcy and Elizabeth fought center stage, followed by Declan’s entrance as Wickham. Sahar willed herself into character, thankful for the chance to sit. Thankful for the few minutes before “Midnights at Pemberley,” which would surely make matters worse.
After Intermission, she would only have to return to the stage for a quick scene at the end of “The Letter,” before everything began with “Jane and Bingley’s Wedding.” Sahar walked carefully to her dressing room, avoiding her friends on the off chance that someone might pick up on what was happening.
She sat in her chair and propped her foot up on the stool that sat in the middle of her and Willa’s seats for anyone else who’d visit the room. Did she slam her ankle into a wall while walking to the bathroom half asleep? How had it gotten so irritated? She’d wrapped it earlier in the day, but she took off her shoe and tightened it again.
The pain made her wince.
Oh, she couldn’t do this. But it was too late to make a fuss of it now. She’d deal with it the second the curtains closed. For now, she’d talk to Sam. If nothing else, he could make some of the movements easier on her.
Sahar rose from the seat and slowly limped to Sam’s dressing room. The door was open while he was lying on the couch, eyes fixed on the ceiling.
Sam sat up the moment he saw her. “Yo,” he acknowledged.
Sahar tried to smile, but she couldn’t even fake it. Sam must’ve caught her expression because he rose off the couch entirely.
“Sam, I need a favor.”
He stepped closer to her. “Of course. What’s up?”
“My ankle. I’m… I think I’m having the flare-up from hell.”
Sam’s eyes filled with worry. “Shit. Are you okay? How long has it been happening?”
“Since I got in. I should’ve called it the second I realized it was getting bad, but I’ve probably pushed it too far now, and it’s too late to say anything.”
Sam nodded automatically. “What do you need from me? What can I do to make sure our numbers are as easy as can be?”
“Can you lift me off the ground? As much as possible during the improv bits in ‘All For You?’”
“Yes, yeah. Of course. Do you want to talk to Dina? We can maybe get a prop chair, something for you to lean on?”
Sahar shook her head. “No, it’s okay. I’ll put all my weight on my right ankle when we stand. As long as I don’t move too much, I should be fine.”
Sam agreed. “And you’ll get it checked out the second we finish?”
“Yes.”
Sam gave her a sympathetic look. “You have to be careful, Sahar. Our bodies are the one thing we always have to be on top of. Better to miss one show than mess yourself up completely.”
