Read The World is a Stage for Free Online Page B

carnations, still fresh and wrapped in green tissue paper, were placed on the headstone, and the grass clippings and debris had been wiped clear of the markings.
    Baby Hewitt
    March 22
    Rachel reached down and placed her hand on the chilly headstone, holding it there until she could no longer feel her fingers.  
    And that was it. That was all she had to offer. One whole year had gone by, and she still couldn’t find any words to describe the way this cold slab of marble made her feel.
    “I didn’t think you’d remember.”
    Rachel wrinkled her nose and blinked a few times before turning to answer her sister. “Well, you were wrong.”
    Molly blew her nose into an already decrepit-looking tissue and came in for a hug.
    Rachel winced. “I’m super sweaty.”
    “Geez, Rach. Like I care.”
    Part of the reason she’d come so early this morning was to keep things simple. Get in, get out. Avoid messy displays of emotion. But Molly must have been walking on the far side of the cemetery—she did that sometimes. Usually Rachel remembered to keep an eye out for her.
    Her sister’s arms tightened, and Rachel relaxed a little, letting Molly add to the dampness on her shoulder with a sudden rush of tears. She ran her hands over her sister’s hair, up and down, tugging through the curls as she went. It felt awkward at first, almost like petting a dog, but she soon gave in to the rightness of it.
    No matter what else happened, they still had each other.  
    Rachel wished she didn’t have to make a conscious effort to remind herself of that simple truth, but she did. Every day was an affirmation. Every day was her proof that the sacrifice was worth it.
    “She’d be one today,” Molly eventually said, her voice thick. “A whole year.”
    “No. She wouldn’t.”
    The words were automatic, a knee-jerk reaction to a situation that was well outside Rachel’s comfort zone. She was no good at this kind of thing—the laying bare of emotions. The finding a way to talk about what happened.  
    Molly was good at that. Their mother, once upon a time, had been good at that.
    Molly jerked back as if Rachel had punched her, so she tried again, feebly. “I just meant that she wouldn’t have been born in March. You know. If Justin hadn’t… If you hadn’t…”
    “Don’t, Rachel. Please stop.”
    Rachel tried reaching for her sister to resume their hug, but Molly shook her off, stepping back and crushing a few of the carnations under her heel. “You don’t really get it, do you?”
    “I’m trying, Molly. I really am.” And she was. She’d never tried so hard at anything in her whole life. “I know I don’t always have the right thing to say, but—”
    “That’s just it,” Molly said between sniffles, looking down at the grave with a kind of tenderness that made Rachel shift uncomfortably. “It’s not about you.”
    “I know it’s not—”  
    Molly held up her hand. “See? You know. You try.”
    Rachel stood there, her mouth wide open, her mind at a complete blank. Why couldn’t she think of a single sentence that didn’t start with “I”?
    “For once, it would be nice if we could keep you entirely out of the conversation. Today. Just for today—that’s all I’m asking. Yep. Molly is weak and useless and has bad judgment in men. Yep. Molly killed her own baby.” Her eyes filled again. “Can you just allow me the luxury of not feeling guilty for twenty-four hours so I can be sad ?”
    “I didn’t mean to say it like that.”
    Molly let out a scream, one so loud the groundskeeper walking by asked if she needed some help. With gritted teeth, she offered the man a light pleasantry, wishing him a good day and even calling him by name.  
    Rachel wasn’t fooled. There was nothing light or pleasant about her sister in that moment. But she knew better than to try again. Clamping her lips shut, she did her best to stand there, silent and strong or whatever it was Molly wanted her to be.
    “Please go away. I