When the scene ended, Carolina called a break and my wife came over to where I sat, she all smiles and pride in her work, and I struggling to suffocate the conflict of feeling that threatened to overwhelm me.
“So, I’m done for the night,” she said. “We can go now if you like.”
I stood up, perhaps too quickly. “Sure thing,” I replied. “We should give these people…” and the right word dangled just out of my reach, “their…privacy?”
Morgana furrowed her brow. “Oh, Hector, they don’t care that you’re here. Anyway. Just come with me to the dressing room so I can gather up my stuff.”
So I followed her out into the hallway and into a small chamber on the left-hand side. It was a cramped room with a row of vanities and stools along one side and a jumble of props and costumes on the other. Morga
