If a homeless man was given sixty dollars to buy clothes, he might look something like William did on the days he visited Marvin Gibson at the architecture firm downtown Grand Rapids. The cuffs of his jacket were rolled up enough to see his arm hair, and his knees were brown with “real work.” How can people function in such a sterile environment? he wondered as the elevator beeped, signaling the fourteenth floor. It wasn’t a cynical thought--Marvin was a genius and Will respected his work--but what kind of mind functions in a place completely stripped of character? No matter how many times he visited this office, he was never prepared for the sickness he felt when the elevator doors slid back to reveal thin berber, fluorescent bulbs, and the smell of copy-machine toner; things that epitomized failure.

However, if the smell of toner meant failure, what did the vomit stink on his left shoulder say about him? He was going to need to supervise Janie’s dance education... Kayla was dealing with her own demons and couldn’t be trusted to teach.

Marvin’s office was at the end of the cubical corridor. In the corner. Lots of windows. Will pushed his hair behind his ears, gave a polite knock, and stepped inside. 

“What I’m gonna show you is the best anyone could do with the plans you gave me,” Marv said instead of “hello.”

“Not my plans,” Will said.

“God’s plans. Right, right. Like I told you two months ago, God is a damn good architect. The layout you brought me was surprisingly detailed for a sketch on notebook paper.” When Marv spoke, William listened as if he was trying to catch a train on horseback.

The architect pulled out a cardboard tube.

“Is that it?” William asked.

“This is it.” He tapped the end, then pulled out the blueprints. There were seven sheets stacked together and Marv spread his hands to keep them flat on his anally methodized table. “I don’t like to ring my own bell, Will, but not many people could tame your imagination and design something as beautiful as this.”

The prints were beautiful; no one would doubt the source of inspiration. In only twelve meetings, Marv turned a torn piece of yellow notebook paper back into something divine. 

Will ran his hands over the pages and studied every hand-crafted detail. “The chorus room... it’s going to be--”

“Expensive. You’ve got room for forty actors in there. I’m meeting with Leo Sims about the specifics. He’s the general contractor and theater specialist I told you about and we’re going to discuss all the shitty details that I don’t understand because I’m not a theater guy, you know? We’ll go over the plans to make sure that our visions align. We’ll assure the architecture matches the reality of a working theater, and then he can start the bid process.”

“Twenty-five rope pulley system.”

“Right. The pulley system, the sound system, the lights, the piano-hatch, the projection and screen you keep talking about, the orchestra pit, and your silly curtain--”

“I want a curtain.”

“I know. They’re not customary with amphitheaters, especially amphitheaters in Michigan. You’ll need to winterize her like a boat. Take down the curtain, protect the floors... but whatever you want, we’ll make it happen. Anyway, we’ll also have a preliminary conversation about the standard bids too: electric, heat, structure, excavation, plumbing. I’ll be working with him based on our conversations, but he’ll meet with you down the road to discuss specifics. He’s not cheap, Will. You understand? He’s not cheap.”

“Money isn’t an issue.”

“I’m just sayin’... he’s not cheap. You’re going to need to start thinking about maintenance, even outside of the winter months. There’s a reason Michigan doesn’t have many large-scale amphitheaters, you know? You’ll need to consider all types of weather and that’s something I’ll talk with Leonard about and something you should talk to him about too. You’ve got that beautiful wood floor and the hydraulic lift...”

“And a roof designed by my genius architect.”

“With a ten-foot overhang, yeah, we should be good. I’m just sayin’. What about parking? Did you make a decision?”

“I’m talking with the guy who owns the vacants by Big Blues. Thinks he can get more for them. We’ll see.”

“If you have seating for eight-hundred people with twice that many when you include the picnic area... you’re going to need parking for those people.”

“We’ve been over this. We’ll make it work.”

“Don’t pave it. You’re wasting your money. People can park on gravel.”

“That’s the plan.”

“I mean, someday you can pave it, you know. But now I would recommend you just make it dirt.”

“That’s the plan.”

“Okay,” Marvin said.

“Okay,” Will said.

“Are you still planning to break ground in July?”

“That gives us a month and a half--”

“--and four frost-free months of construction.”

“Right.”

“Right.” The men shared a moment of silence, knuckles on the table, eyes scanning the documents beneath them. “Will,” Marv said, “it’s not too late to make this a cement slab with one-hundred-and-fifty seats. Or maybe a nice little bandstand. We could do it for twenty-thousand. It would be great for recitals and plays...”

“I have my mission.”

“Your mission, yes you do. And we’ll get that done for you, Will.” Marv paused. “It’s going to be... a sight to behold.”

“Yeah,” William said. “It is.”

*  *  *

“Stay inside, Janie,” Will commanded with a swift motion of his hand. “Watch through the screen.”

She nodded. “Careful, Daddy.” 

There was “Daddy” again.

Sarah had her hand on Janie’s shoulder and shook her head in disapproval.

Will’s bare feet balanced on a wicker rocking chair. He held a rusty paint can with a few inches of gasoline sloshing around inside. Hyde held the lighter, though his sandals were planted firmly on the porch. 

A beehive was the target with wisps of papery earth concealing the honeycomb inside. Yesterday it was the size of a softball. Today it was a basketball.

“Don’t piss ‘em off,” Hyde said, his arm extended with the lighter and his face turned away.

“Mr. Whitaker said ‘piss,’” Janie giggled.

“He’s an adult,” Sarah said. “You’re a kid.”

“If anything is going to piss ‘em off,” Will said, “this’ll be it.” The bees swung in wide orbits around the nest. “These ninety-degree days are making them anxious. Little bastards.”

“Daddy said--”

“I heard him,” Sarah interrupted. “Dad’s in trouble after he finishes this.”

“Just do it!” Hyde yelled.

“Are you lighting it, or am I?”

“I’ll do it.”

“You need to get your hand up in there. They’ll be pissed after I throw this.”

“Yeah, we covered that!”

“And wait until the gas is completely out of this bucket before you light anything!”

“I know how gasoline works!”

“Okay, ready?”

“Do it!”

“Three. Two. One.” Will tossed the gas on the hive and the bees shot out, tripling the size of the swarm. Some fell to the porch. Most tried to find a clean spot on the hive to land. 

“Light it!” Will shouted and hopped off the chair. He watched Hyde’s eye and knew there was no way he was sticking his arm into that mass of stingers. Just when he was about to grab the lighter to do it himself, Hyde’s brow creased and he struck the lighter with his thumb and shot his hand through the bees to successfully ignite the hive. With a whoosh and mini mushroom-cloud, more bees fell to the porch and flames rapidly devoured their home.

Sarah and Janie clapped from behind the screen. 

Will’s smile was barely visible behind the veil of insects, but he didn’t flinch. “We’ll have that tea now, dear.”

The electric ring of a lone cicada settled the men back into their seats. The show was over and it was time to relax in the fading light of a summer evening.

“I’m going to open a second store,” Hyde said.

“Business has been good?”

“Grand Rapids. Downtown. Next summer. Assuming all goes well.”

“Wish I had more cigars.”

Hyde jutted his pelvis and reached in his back pocket. He pulled out a pack of Pall Mall menthols.

“Didn’t your mother die of lung cancer?”

“Does it bother you? Just one a day.”

“Does Kay know?”

Hyde thumbed the same lighter that killed the bees and lit the cig. “I love the Boulevard Street location, but that damn Best Buy drains so much business. My overhead will skyrocket downtown, but at least I’ll squeeze in where the big guys can’t build.”

“Congratulations. Really, that’s a big step.”

“You’re the only person who knows besides the wife. I want to make sure it goes through before I spread the news.”

“Of course.”

Hyde patted the growing ash onto the porch. “It is a big step, isn’t it?”

“Doesn’t mean it can’t happen. Have you prayed about it?”

“Of course.”

“Well then, good things will happen.”

“Yeah.”

Will detected doubt in Hyde’s voice. “Have faith.”

“I do.”

“I know it’s harder for you.”

“What does that mean?”

“It’s easier to believe when you’ve heard the voice of God. Faith is harder for you because you’re walking blind.”

Hyde didn’t respond, but took another drag of his cigarette.

“Your business will work,” Will said. “My stage will work.”

“I guess it requires a certain amount of faith to believe you too, right?”

William narrowed his eyes and looked at his friend. “I suppose that’s true.”

“I know you’re telling the truth. I believe that you believe. But how do I know what you heard and saw was really what you say it is?”

“What do you think I heard?”

“Do you really trust it? Do you want to risk financial security based on a silly voice?”

“Et tu Brute?”

“We’re friends, Will. Hell, I’m your only friend. If I don’t prod you, who will? Your architect buddy is doing it for the money; he’s not gonna tell you that the idea is nuts. Sarah would follow you anywhere... Just tell me the truth, Will. Are you doing the logical thi--”

“Logic never played a part in this.”

“Did you tell Janie?”

“She knows about the stage. She thinks it’s a fantastic--”

“About the voices.”

“Sarah doesn’t think it’s a good idea to tell her. I agree.”

“Please don’t do it, Will. It’s only been two months. Take a year off and think about it. Go back to the piano bar.”

“Date’s already set for the groundbreaking.”

Hyde sucked on the filter, but the cigarette was nearly gone.

“June four,” Will said.

“In a month.”

“Yeah.”

“I guess I’m too late.” Hyde rubbed the butt out on the arm of the chair. “Congratulations.”

“I want you to be a part of it. Like you said, I don’t have many people to share this with. Also, I’d like to go through Whitaker Electronics for all the equipment. Lights, video, speakers... I wouldn’t bring my business anywhere else. I’m assuming that that a purchase like this will help facilitate the move to a second store?”

“Yeah.” Hyde paused, taking it all in. “Yeah,” he said again.

“I told you, have faith.”

“Dad!” came Janie’s distant voice from the kitchen. “Dinner!”

“Stay,” he said. “Call Kay and tell her to get her ass over here. She’s been stressed and we’re not taking ‘no’ for an answer.”

Hyde stood. “I’m sure she’s still in bed, but I’ll tell her you offered.”

Will remained seated. “You’re sure everything is fine?”

“She was embarrassed today. But the rest of the class went well. She made a joke out of it with the girls--”

“But is she okay?”

“She’s great. She’s so excited about the studio--”

“And you guys are happy?”

“Of course. Why?”

“Family is the nucleus of civilization.”

“Dad!” Janie called again. “Tell Mr. Whitaker to stay!”

“The nucleus calls,” Hyde said.

Will stood and grabbed Hyde’s shoulder. “Last chance. Bring her over?”

“Not tonight. But soon.”

“Dad!”

“Movie at my place this week?” Hyde asked. “I’ve got some new equipment to test.”

Will nodded. “I’ll be there.”

*  *  *

“No Hyde?” Sarah asked when Will entered alone.

“Where’s Janie?” he asked.

“Upstairs washing her hands, why?”

He lowered his voice. “Has Kayla said anything to you about marital problems?”

She shook her head and tossed a pile of napkins on the dining-room table. “No. But I asked.”

“You noticed it too?”

“How could I not? She’s a mess. And Hyde’s been cold.”

“What did she say?” 

“Says she’s fine.” Sarah kept her voice soft. “I wonder if they’re jealous.”

“How?”

“They’re churchgoing people. They had a lot of friends at their old house. They led bible-studies, they were very involved in other organizations... now they come to Brandywine and they’re thrown into a new community. And now their neighbor experiences...” Sarah rolled her eyes. “Maybe it’s stress.”

“Maybe.”

Sarah sighed. “We have a lot to talk about at dinner.”

Will gave her a puzzled look.

She held up a plastic zip-bag with shredded paper inside. “It’s a report card. Found it in her trash. I haven’t had time to piece it together, but there’s at least two Ds.”

Will’s face prickled. “Didn’t you realize the semester was over?”

“Didn’t you? She always gets As. We haven’t asked for her report card in years.”

“How did she--” His question was interrupted by the bounding footfalls of a very-much-in-trouble little girl.

Sarah whispered, “Two weeks without friends.”

“Or phone.”

“Deal.”

Sarah and Will sat down at the table and Will slid his notebook--stuffed with stage details--from the center of the table to the empty chair. He would never set it with the other notebooks even though they were identical to this one. That stack, he knew, was creative limbo; where ideas go to die.

“Let’s eat, I’m starvin’!” Janie twirled her chair away from the table.

“You’re not sitting with us?” Sarah asked as she folded her hands and placed them in front of her like an apathetic inquisitor.

“Need to stretch. Practicing all night.” Janie lifted her leg above her head and wrapped her arm around it.

“Janie,” William asked. “Did you go for a run today before dance?”

“Uh huh. Always do. And I never leave the neighborhood so you don’t have to be mad.”

“I know you don’t. You’ve been going on these runs for a couple months now?”

“Uh huh.” She twirled and took a bite of her sandwich.

“Did you get the mail today?” he asked.

“I get it every day. Just tryin’ to help out.”

“Just trying to help out...” he repeated. 

Sarah’s unblinking eyes never left Janie. 

“And was there any mail with our names on it that you may have forgotten to give us?”

Janie stopped chewing and swallowed hard.

“You know I hate lies,” Sarah said.

“You have Ds in two classes,” Will said. “Next time you should flush the evidence. It’s safer.”

The stretches were over. Janie pulled her chair back to the table and looked at her plate of sandwich triangles and chips.

“I can’t believe your teachers didn’t try to contact us,” Sarah said.

Will cocked his head and smiled at his daughter’s genius. She never could lie, but she was fantastic at getting herself into a position where she wouldn’t need to. “Janie... when a student does poorly at your school, how do they contact parents?” he asked. “I mean, during the semester, before the report cards.”

Janie pulled the bread off her sandwich flicked off some lettuce. “Mail.”

William looked to Sarah, doing his best to hide his smirk. “She’s been collecting her progress reports too.”

“What were you going to do if we asked you for your report card?” Sarah said.

“You never have before, but if you did ask, I’d say they’re doing it online this year. I know you guys don’t know how to use a computer.”

William said, “So what now? What’s your contingency plan?”

“I don’t have one,” she said. “I just want to say I’m sorry.”

Sarah looked at William, “It’s too easy. What do you think?”

“I think you’re right.”

“Well,” Janie said, “I was thinking... maybe I’ll do better next year if I get paid for my As.”

“Ah,” Will said, “There it is! Always thinkin’. The apple doesn’t fall far, does it?”

Janie smiled. 

Sarah didn’t. “What went wrong this year, honey? How did this happen?”

“Is it a boy?”

“I just don’t care,” Janie said and took another lettuce-free bite of sandwich.

“What do you mean, ‘you don’t care?’”

“The subjects don’t have any baring on my future. My teachers don’t know how to teach. I can learn more from books and real life than I can from them. I don’t need a bell to tell me when and where to go.”

“You’re twelve!” Sarah said.

“Twelve is the new sixteen, Mom.”

“Don’t talk to your mother that way.”

“You guys need to chill.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said--”

“Two weeks without friends or phone,” Sarah said.

“Dad!” Janie pleaded.

“You heard her. This is a big deal.”

“Two weeks? Two weeks?” Janie stood from her chair and slammed her fists on the table. “How about two months?” She marched out of the room.

“Janie!”

She returned ten seconds later toting a backpack. She dropped the bag on her plate, unzipped the front pocket and removed a folded piece of paper.

“In this one, you look like Moses.” She unfolded a crude comic-strip drawn in colored pencil and spread it out in front of Will. “You have a staff and beard and everything. See these big letters in the sky that say, ‘Follow your dreams. Murder your daughter?’ That’s God telling you what to do.” She unzipped the pocket further, and twenty more comics fell out.

“I have another one where a dog tells you to build an outhouse on the hill, and another one where a talking hamburger tells you to stab yourself in the eyes with pencils and you do. It’s pretty bloody. Mom wouldn’t like it.”

William couldn’t speak.

Sarah stood and moved around the table until she was reading over his shoulder. 

Will managed, “Why didn’t you show us?”

“In this one I’m dancing on a stage and you’re praying, ‘Please make my daughter a good dancer.’ It’s a real nice drawing. They got the color of the scar just right. It was taped to my bedroom window last week.”

Sarah shook her head. “Where do kids get this stuff...”

“Janie,” William said, taking her hand. “You should have told us.”

“Oh, right! Then I can be the girl with the scar, the girl with the Dad who hears voices, and the girl who rats out bullies! It doesn’t bother me at all. They can go fuck themselves.” Janie threw her backpack to the floor and the comics flung wildly across the table. She bolted upstairs.

William didn’t have time to reprimand his daughter for using that word. But after seeing those folded comics and imagining the scenes they depicted... he couldn’t blame her for blurting out an obscenity.

Sarah didn’t speak. She didn’t need to.

Will felt like an ice-sculpture, frozen in his seat and melting slowly. “I’d stop if I could,” he said. “I would stop all of it if I could. But we’ve already put too much money and work into the architecture. We’re breaking ground on--”

“I’m not telling you to stop.” Sarah said and moved elegantly to the living room couch. “I know you wouldn’t if I asked. You went against my request. You told those people at work.” Sarah was a dark figure in the unlit room but her eyes reflected the yellow light from the kitchen chandelier. “I know you’re sorry, Will. I know you don’t want this for our daughter.”

William stood, walked to the couch and sat beside his wife. “Thank you,” he said then raised his hands to touch her shoulder, but she shied away.

“Fix this,” she said.