I print my letter out on the fake stationery and print myself a fake envelope. Then I lick it and pay my bill at the copy shop. As I drop the letter into the mailbox, I realize that my plan better have a second prong if I’m going to stay unsuspended.
Stop sleepwalking.
I get to Wallingford around four, which means Sam’s at play practice. It’s easy to slip into the Carter Thompson Memorial Auditorium and sit in one of the seats in the back. The lights are dim there, all of them flooding the stage, where the cast are blocking Pippin murdering his dad.
“Stand closer to one other,” Ms. Stavrakis, the drama teacher, says, clearly bored. “And lift that knife high, Pippin. It’s got to catch the light so we can see it.”
I see Audrey standing next to Greg Harmsford. She’s smiling. Even though I
