William dropped the dirty diaper in a plastic bag, knotted it tightly and carried it out to the garbage pail in the garage. Mary had gambled that the Crofts would be home before Candy would need changing, and she was right. She stood patiently while Shelia went down her check list, accepting her money from William, then waved a cheery good night and left quickly, her ancient Honda grumbling noisily as she drove down the Pathway.

"My poor little darling, did you have to wait for mommy to clean the pooh pooh?" Shelia cradled Candy in her arms, tucking the soft blanket about her chubby legs.

"Everything okay?" William asked, rinsing his fingers under the kitchen tap and drying them on the tea towel.

"Her little bottom was all pink," Shelia pouted in baby talk, "Mary should have changed her earlier."

"Well, she's fine now, aren't you Button?" He chucked his daughter under the chin and kissed her curly hair. "We should be weaning her off diapers anyway, hon."

"She's not ready, Bill. She's only three."

He debated arguing then changed the subject instead. "I thought you were terrific tonight. You have a real flare for acting, Sheel."

"You really think so? I was so nervous when Milo and I were supposed to be arguing. He's very intimidating." She lowered Candy into her crib, checking the locks on the side rails and moving the stuffed toys safely to the bottom.

"Yeah, well that's Milo. If you ask me, he's just playing himself." He gave his daughter a tummy tickle and turned on the combination monitor and night-light. "You want anything before bed?"

"I don't think so." They walked together to the bedroom, splitting to either side of the king-sized bed, and joining again as they crawled under the sheets.

"What did you think of Ti's dress?" She turned to face her husband, resting on one elbow. "If she showed any more cleavage she'd have to polish her knees."

"William laughed aloud at his wife's out of character comment, looking at her with surprise. "From what I gather, her knees get polished regularly."

"William! That's wicked." Shelia giggled, slapping his chest in reply.

"Look who's talking," he countered defensively, "when did you start making such brazen comments?"

She flopped back on the pillow, arms stretched above her head, gripping the headboard. "It is so, not me, isn't it?" She chuckled, searching her mind for an explanation. "I think- maybe playing a role has broken down some insecurities... kind of loosened the gravel around my feet."

What the hell! William stared at his wife's profile with puzzled concern; her eyes glistened with a look of childlike discovery and her lips curled up in a wonderful smile.

THE PLAY

"You look concerned dear," Victoria leaned in the doorway of Nigel's darkened bedroom, "I thought things went quite well." The sudden, angry barking of a dog nearby startled him as he sat fiddling with the mouse by the computer.

"Hah," Victoria grinned, shuffling over to the window. "Sounds like Grouper is after that old raccoon. Grouper's the neighbour's dog next door."

He ignored her statement, moving from the computer to the bed. They both remained silent as the barking turned to growling, finally ending with a loud shout from the neighbour and a painful sounding squeal.

"Well, that was either the raccoon, Grouper, or Mrs. Horowitz." Veronica's smile faded when Nigel lay back on his pillow without responding. "Are we not speaking, Nigel?"

"Some of these scenes are hitting awfully close to home."

She sighed loudly and took over the chair in front of the computer, toying with the ties on her nightdress. "Tell me what's troubling you dear."

He expelled a long weary breath and looked down his body at her questioning face. "I think my problem is that I'm beginning to like some of these people in spite of what they are... and I'm feeling a little..." He sighed and swung his elbows together over his face, "I don't know... guilty, I guess."

"What do you want to do?" Her voice was calm and sincere.

"What can I do?"

"You can do, Nigel, whatever you choose."

"And what if I chose to get out, where would that leave you?"

"Pretty much where I've always been, I suppose. Is that what you want to do?"

"No, I- I don't- aaaaah. I don't know what I want." He rolled to a sitting position, his eyes imploring her shadowy features.

Veronica braced herself with a hand on each knee and spoke softly, "Back in May, when we toasted our partnership, I selfishly congratulated myself on persuading you to join my little vendetta. I really didn't care about your playwriting aspirations beyond my own needs. You were just a tool." Nigel shifted uncomfortably, his face a mask of hurt and disappointment. "As events began developing to my advantage, so did my disregard for the consequences. It wasn't until we were actually rehearsing the sham I led you to concoct that I began to realize how serious you had become about the material... how hard you were trying to make it a real production. I know you hadn't lost sight of what we were doing, but you were losing the why. Nigel, the why doesn't matter any more. My bitter little ploy has taken on a life of its own ... these people won't- they'll never get it- what I was doing to them. They believe they're producing a real play by a real playwright." Through the shadows, he could see the dampness glistening on her cheeks, and his own eyes began to water with empathy.

"This is your play now, Nigel, your chance to do what you came here to do- write and produce a play for the stage. The motives don't matter anymore. Outside of the needs of the piece, the characters don't matter anymore. I don't matter anymore. What matters, is that you fulfill your commitment to produce a play that will be performed, on stage, in the Ashton Hills Playhouse, this summer." Victoria sat back; he could hear the exhaustion in her breathing, and he hung his head, knuckling the dampness from his eyes.

"I don't want to do this without you, Aunt Victoria." The words came out in a wet gargle from his throat.

She sniffed loudly, pulling a crumpled tissue from the pocket of her robe and blowing her nose noisily. "Take some time to think about that, Nigel." Her voice cracked, "I want you to be certain about your decisions from here on in." She lifted herself tiredly from the chair and moved slowly to the door. "I'll see you in the morning, dear."

He stared for a long time at the closed door unable to focus on a single thought; flashes of recent events blinked through his mind like a slide show on fast forward. Nigel didn't remember falling asleep, and when he awoke to the glare of sunshine on the walls of his room, only tattered remnants of his dreams lingered at the edge of his mind.

Victoria lay motionless on the patio lounge, her sun hat resting on her stomach, her eyes closed behind a large pair of orange tinted sunglasses.

"Morning." He muttered sheepishly, stepping through the sliding door with his mug of coffee.

She raised the glasses up onto her forehead and twisted around to look at him. "Morning dear, did you sleep alright?"

"I guess, I don't really remember so I suppose I did." He sank onto the lounge beside her, staring into the circle of beige coffee. "About last night-"

"Let's leave that for a while, shall we?" She lowered her glasses and repositioned her head on the cushion, "I've been watching that Blue Jay near the feeder, he's so busy keeping the others away, he hasn't had a chance to eat anything himself."

Nigel shaded his eyes and searched for the bird among the pine branches. "I smell a moral coming."

She chuckled softly, playing with the brim of her hat, "Yes, well..."

"Let's leave that for a while, shall we?" He turned his gaze on her profile, feeling the pull of a grin as she began nodding her head and smiling.

"Right... let's. Are you hungry? I can fix you some breakfast."

Nigel felt his body relax with a startling swiftness, and he set his mug on the deck between his feet, afraid he would drop it from lack of strength. "You know, I think I am hungry. Yes, that would be nice Victoria. Thank you."

*****