Tonight We Stay Open

Blue painter's tape held the west frame open. Ugly fix. It would do until the glue took, which was the sort of bargain the hall preferred.

The room had been built for elbows and spilled beer, plus one very stubborn kind of damage, and Tessa liked that it kept its scars where anyone could point at them. Scuffed pine floor. Radiator on the left that clicked when it warmed. A stage curtain hemmed in tan thread. Honest damage cost less than pretending.

She pressed her thumb along the seam. The tape bit skin. Good. Pressure meant the joint still had enough fight left in it.

The sash clamp on the bench carried a split in the beech handle, a thin dark line running from the screw seat to the end. Thursday, maybe Wednesday. She had not marked it. She had not marked a lot of things lately.

The side door gave one hard knock against its frame, just enough to wake the spoons in the chipped enamel mug she used for screws.

Imogen Hart came in with a crate of bulbs against her hip, one shoulder lower than the other, hair pinned with a carpenter's pencil stained green at the tip. She paused on the mat, wiped the soles of her boots on the rubber ribs, and stepped over the sawdust line as if the room had earned that small courtesy.

'You're early,' Tessa said.
'You're late,' Imogen said.
'The frame is here.'
'So am I.'

Tessa took the crate from her before Imogen crossed the tape line. She set it by the ladder and slid the bench stool farther back.
Useful. Safe. Out of the way.

Imogen set a hand on the ladder rung to steady herself and brushed the back of Tessa's wrist by mistake. A small contact. Nothing useful. Tessa moved the square under her elbow and did not give the room another chance at it.