September was "The Month of Hyde." In the weeks before the massive purchase of equipment, several midnight meetings were spent in his office with Leonard and Will, laptops out, brainstorming about the electronic products best suited for the theater. In addition to the standard speakers, colored lights, spotlights, foot-candles and rigging, they also purchased a state-of-the-art soundboard, a thirty-foot theater screen, a DLP digital projector, four LCD televisions, two high definition cameras, a DVD player, and nearly a thousand feet of video and audio cable.

Hyde knew that it was extremely unorthodox to place such a specialized purchase through a small electronics company with no theater experience whatsoever, and he was incredibly grateful to his friend for the opportunity to learn and expand.

The last day in September brought Brandywine it’s first crisp morning and Hyde held the smell of brown leaves in his nostrils, felt that dry breeze on his cheeks, and reveled in the ephemeral memories of childhood autumn. That particular day also brought a woman named Maria Barraza, kneeling outside Will’s stables when Hyde first saw her, with one palm on the tin and the other in a fist. She was dressed in appropriate fall colors, a cider-apple skirt and red button-down sweater with her thick black hair pulled into a ponytail. Perhaps it was none of Hyde’s business, but when he passed the shed and the woman looked to him with damp cheeks, he asked if he could help.

“My boy is sick,” she said in a Mexican accent. “I was told he might find healing here.”

“Who told you that?” Hyde asked.

“A man on my cousin’s softball team. They say God is here.” The woman sat up. Her fist was clenching a pink plastic rosary. A wooden crucifix with a gold-plated Jesus hung around her neck.

“I’ll see if I can find Mr. Carmel,” Hyde offered.

“Thank you, sir, but he is here.” She nodded to the shed, then folded her body back into prayer.

Hyde narrowed his eyes. He put his hand on the wall of the shed and let his fingers drag over the rivets as he made his way around the corner to the front door. It was open, and when his eyes adjusted to the interior darkness, he saw William sitting on a stool with his body arched over a seven-year-old boy laying face up on the dirt.

“He’s sick,” Will said. “His mother brought him.”

Hyde forced a smile and a nod, then saw the wheelchair by the workbench. “This is going to help?” he asked.

“The mother thinks it will.”

The boy wore cutoff jeans exposing limp, chicken-bone legs. Hyde tried to turn but the boy’s head twisted and his eyes caught Hyde’s and his imploded cheeks accentuated the stretching and contracting jaw muscles as his mouth strained to move. “Estoy haciendo fija,” it said.

Hyde never found out if Maria’s son was healed that day, but whether or not a miracle, the shed was never the same. Maria brought her family a week later; friends the day after that. Silk flowers in bunches and bouquets were laid at the foot of the workbench. On top, there were blue candles with Mary and red candles with Jesus and the shrine grew daily with trinkets from sick children and comatose elders. The word spread quickly and by mid-October the visitors weren’t just Latinos and residents from Michigan. From his living-room window, Hyde could see the line--sometimes thirty long--with Janie at the door allowing five in at a time. Will visited Whitaker Electronics and purchased a heavy-duty printer to create new brochures by the ream. When only a handful of people showed up at the groundbreaking ceremony, Hyde scoffed at Will’s hope that the theater seats would be filled on opening night. But when the workbench shrine overflowed, spilling its colorful relics across the foot of the exterior wall, Hyde knew William would have his attendance.

*  *  *

Seven days before the inspection and eight days before the grand opening, Will denounced the threat of a thunderstorm and forced the men installing the black plastic seating to continue their work. The eight-hundred-and-forty-five retractible chairs were bolted in sets of five into the cement base and Will asked himself again why he was supervising someone else’s job when his mind should be on next week’s show.

After business hours, Hyde worked closely with his wife and her dancers to choreograph a simultaneous light and video show with projected photos depicting the construction of the stage and the people involved. Hyde offered to create and execute the show for free, but William said he would compensate them anyway. Janie spent school nights in constant motion as she unconsciously rehearsed Kayla’s moves.

Will’s favorite part of the experience was watching the components come together. When the green satin curtain was dropped and pulled into place, he felt like a kid watching chocolate drizzling on an ice-cream sundae. The fly system also came together with time to spare. He helped place the colossal counterweights that balanced hanging drapery and backdrops from a rope and pulley system. He laughed when the installation company insisted that he take a two-hour training lesson with one of their representatives; back in Chicago, Bill was the King of the stage managers. Fifty bucks was all it took to convince a construction worker to change his name from Saul to William for a couple hours, and Will successfully ducked the mandatory meeting.

Posters were hung, announcements were made, and personal invitations were mailed to key people. Pauline Woodstock already agreed to attend, and Will prayed the opening dance number (with Janie in front) was breathtaking. Pauline was the founder of the multi-million-dollar Sparkle Motion enterprise, the largest dance competition in the world, and she was flying up from Tennessee just for the occasion. Before Will approached the businesswoman with an informal agreement to use his stage as the Sparkle Motion venue for Michigan, Janie helped him with some internet research. The more he read about the company’s small-town origin and Pauline’s ambition to succeed, the more he respected her.

Three days until inspection and the theater was scattered with people, each with his own individual task but all working toward the same collective vision. The landscape was nearly complete with a line of crimson burning-bushes livening up the sidewalk that connected the stairway entrance to the seating area. As tall evergreens were planted against the outside walls by men with Carhartt jackets and gloves, forty-five of Kayla’s students christened the stage with their first rehearsal. Her metronome claps reverberated through the stage and across the grounds and the workers fell in step with the beat. Will cracked a sunflower seed with his teeth and smiled to himself as the kids arrived. Some parents drove their children to the top of the hill and dropped them off in the VIP parking lot. The more curious parents parked on the new gravel lot off Boulevard and accompanied their kids along the boardwalk, up the stairs, and through the pedestrian gate to observe the rehearsal from the new seats.

The concession stand was filled with a rotating pretzel case, popcorn machine, soda fountain, candy bars and all the other ancillary utensils and devices required to feed hundreds. Skilled carpenters finished the detail work on the masonry and interior finish, and the head electrician was called back to figure out why the lights in the stage-left stairwell refused to work. The inspector would notice such an obvious tripping hazard and Will emphasized (again) the importance of perfection.

The chorus room was glorious. Flipping the switch didn’t just turn on the mirror halos, it brought back the smell of Michigan Avenue perfume and the feeling of kinetic creation. Robin’s photo of the groundbreaking crew was enlarged, framed and mounted on the wall. Friday night the room would be filled with anxious children preparing for the opening number.

Extra lumber was stacked against the loading dock. The storage closet was stocked with cleaning supplies. Sixty-pound bags of mortar were piled in a pyramid in the room beneath the hatch.

The evening before the inspection, Janie slept, Sarah thumbed a devotional in bed, and Will studied his face in the bathroom mirror. His eyelids were heavy and the bags drooped lower than usual. He leaned toward his reflection and studied new wrinkles on his brow. He crinkled his face to stretch the skin. He rolled his neck until it cracked, then lathered shaving cream on his cheeks and chin. It was the last time a razor would touch Will’s face for the next year and a half.

*  *  *

Janitors were the only workers lingering on site, sweeping away the constant rain of dust that fell as the building settled into place. Sarah listened to rhythmic swishing of the brooms, dangled her feet off the edge of the stage and admired the colors of hibernating trees. William sat beside her; his feet didn’t swing. He pretended to read his book about directing actors, but Sarah knew he was too nervous to concentrate. The inspector had been puttering around the theater for the last hour, and if anything was wrong, it would need to be fixed today.

William didn’t come out and say it, but Sarah knew he wanted God to validate his work at the grand opening; Field of Dreams with actors instead of baseball players; apparitions (invisible to everyone but the Carmels) would inhabit the chorus room and stairwells and catwalk and stage. 

Sarah wasn’t as hopeful. This wasn’t a movie. God wasn’t going to be so obvious in his plans.

The sound of hurried footsteps made William jump. He stood and Sarah reached up for help, but Will was already meeting the inspector halfway across the stage. Sarah rolled her eyes and pushed herself to her feet.

“How’d we do?” William asked.

“Well, Mr. Carmel,” said the inspector, “we have one major problem. But let’s talk about what you did right before we get into that.”

William didn’t flinch, but Sarah could read the panic in her husband’s eyes.

“Your alarms, exit signs, emergency power sources and extinguishers are positioned properly and in full working order. The annunciator panel, I see, is also working properly. With the major exception that I’ll explain in a moment, your means of egress are clear, barrier free, and safe. This includes all hallways and stairwells that would be used as a means to exit the building. Next, all stairwells, catwalks and mezzanines have appropriate protective guards. The fly system is secure and acceptable. The--”

“Please, Mr. Inspector,” William said with gentle agony. “What did I do wrong.”

“For starters, my name is Mr. Gary Wheaton.”

“Gary, of course. What did I do wrong?”

“The chorus room only has one exit and no windows.”

“The room is underground. We can’t add any other doors or windows. I can assure you, my architect may not have been a theater specialist, but Leonard is.”

Gary curled back the top page on his clipboard. “Who is Leonard?”

“The contractor.”

“I would have a nice long talk with Leonard.”

William seemed too angry to speak, so Sarah took over. “Why exactly does the room need more doors?”

Gary replied with robotic recollection, “A minimum of two escape routes shall be provided in every room where a single exit could be blocked by a fire. The two means of egress shall be arranged in a way that minimizes the chance that they could both be blocked by the same fire or emergency condition.”

“This is ridiculous,” William said and Sarah touched his arm but he pulled away. “The room is surrounded by the loading dock! That’s twenty feet of solid concrete!”

“The room is unacceptable Mr. Carmel, and unless it’s fixed, it’s unusable. I’m sorry, but that’s the law.”

“Unusable?” Sarah said. “There’s nothing we can do?”

“My only suggestion is to find another room that could be converted into a chorus room.”

“There isn’t one,” William said through clamped teeth.

Sarah tried to help. “What about the two changing rooms--”

“They’re too small.” Will snapped.

“I know you’re angry, but this isn’t something that will squeak by our radar. You seem like a good man, and I know you don’t want to imagine a group of kids choking on smoke and flames, all pushing against that single door only to discover it won’t budge. It seems like an extreme scenario, but I’ve seen it happen. You don’t want that kind of tragedy on your hands.”

“I worked in a theater years ago. It had a chorus room identical to mine with only one door and no windows.”

“Many of these regulations came about after those old theaters were built. But I can give you my personal guarantee that if you go back and visit that building today, that room will either have a new door or they use it for storage.” Gary itched his nose. “I don’t want to tell you how to handle your business affairs, Mr. Carmel, but between your contractor and the person who drew up the initial plans, you have a solid case to seek reimbursement for the mistake.”

“I understand.”

“The good news is, as long as you don’t allow people to use the room, your theater passed the inspection with flying colors. Congratulations, Mr. Carmel. I’m looking forward to the show tomorrow night.”

William was a bomb and Gary lit the fuze. The man left. Sarah stayed quiet.

“Fuck,” Will said.

“Shh.” Sarah reached to touch his face, but he batted her hand.

“Don’t ‘shh’ me. I’m allowed to be pissed.”

“Of course you are. But you don’t need to swear. Please don’t make any phone calls until you settle down.”

“I’m settled.”

“Will you sue Leo?”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because he told me about the code. It was one of the first things he brought up when he looked at the plans.”

Sarah narrowed her eyes. “How the hell did it get built wrong?”

“Don’t swear.”

“William!”

“I told him I would accept the consequences, but that I was following God’s plans.”

“Well God screwed up!”

“How dare you. We don’t know his plan for that room.” A wolf-like growl underscored her husband’s words. “Now get off my back.”

“Don’t take this out on me.”

“Give me some time alone.”

“Alone? William, you’re always alone!”

“I’m surrounded by people constantly.”

“I see you for less than ten minutes a day.”

He smiled. Then he laughed.

“Funny?” she asked.

“This argument is just so original! Of course you’re mad at me for working too much!”

“This is the first I’ve mentioned it.”

“Good timing.”

“You don’t spend time with Janie, you don’t eat dinner with your family, you’re not writing, and whenever I ask you where we are financially, you give me some crap about the numbers not being in. Well here we are! It’s done!”

“This is not a discussion I want to have right now; not when I have a don’t have a place for my performers to change.”

“Communicate, Will. How much did it cost?”

“I said--”

“I said how much? and if you don’t answer me right--”

“Three million.”

“Three... three million?”

“This has nothing to do with the actual problem I’m facing--”

“Three million?” she repeated.

“There were other expenses. Security, the fence, weather proofing...”

“Other expenses! Of course! Luckily, we budged for that! Right? What happened to ten-percent for overrun?”

“This isn’t unusual, Sarah. We knew it could be more.”

“When were you going to tell your wife that we dropped an extra two-hundred-thousand dollars on this little project? That was our life savings! We live off that money! And when were you going to tell me that you approved a layout that couldn’t pass inspection?”

“I’ll spend more time with Janie. I’ll give her piano lessons this fall.”

“Your piano doesn’t work, remember? It sits in our living room and you use it as a table.”

“This doesn’t have to be a fight. We’ve been doing so good lately, even with all the craziness and time apart. I’ll fix the piano. I’ll give Janie lessons. We’ll spend more time together as a family. I’ll work toward my creative goals. That’s what all this work was for.”

Sarah sighed and knew that now was an inappropriate time to vent her concerns. William looked devastated. She hugged him. “I’m sorry about this mess. Maybe you’re right. Maybe there’s a reason.”

Will’s arms worked their way around her back and he squeezed.