44

Scene 3: Night. Late. Rain streaks the glass of the patio door, which is now closed.

Beyond it the pounding of a heavy storm can be heard. Inside the room a single

candle, standing on the dresser behind the glass shield of a hurricane lamp,

illuminates it with a soft glow. Nearby it rests an elaborate tea service—two china

cups, silver cream and sugar containers and an elegant silver teapot, the top of its

cover adorned with a pink bow, all of which is neatly arranged on a large silver tray.

A small note card stands next to it, folded into a tent shape. Nearby there is a stack

of white candles and a box of matches, and a few more hurricane lamps are placed in

various corners of the room. The door opens and Helen enters, drenched to the skin.

The attractive, prim appearance she had left with has been entirely washed away.

Instinctively she flips the light switch, but of course there is no result. She tries again

before noticing the candles and other items on the dresser. She picks up the note,

reads it—and smiles briefly before setting it down. Then she picks up the candles and

matches and circles the room, placing two or three in holders and lighting them.

Gradually the room brightens. When she is finished lighting the last one something

causes her to stop and she looks into the flame. She places her hand around the

glass, and then embraces it with the other as well. For a long moment she holds them

there, looking into the fire, almost cradling it as though trying to draw its warmth and

light into her. She picks up her jacket, reaches into one of the pockets, and takes out

the small gift box. A piece of wrapping paper and mangled ribbon, now little more

than a soggy wadded ball of color, is still attached. She holds it up to the light and

looks at it longingly, delicately fingering the ribbon. The trance is broken when a

chill suddenly runs through her. She visibly shudders, rights herself, crosses to the
 45

closet and strips off her clothes, takes a towel from the bathroom and begins drying

herself from head to foot. But the chill seems to have taken over her entire body and

she continues to shiver uncontrollably. She grabs Olivia's bathrobe from where it

had been hanging and quickly wraps herself in it, running her hands up and down her

sides in an effort to generate more warmth. She crosses the room, trying to work

some warmth into her skin, and as she does so the phone catches her eye. She

pauses, looks at it, but quickly turns away and stands in front of the mirror. She leans

back, inspects herself as though she were posing for an important photograph and

needed to strike as dignified a pose as possible. She runs her hands through her hair,

trying to restore some order to the dripping tangle of locks, but the effect is hopeless.

Instead, she smoothes out the wrinkles in the robe, readjusts the collar, and reties the

belt so the ends hang more evenly. Through all of this she is meticulously, even oddly

controlled, if struggling to remain so. Eventually her attention is once again drawn

to the phone. She steps away from the mirror, paces around the room, moves from

the patio door to the dresser, finally plants herself on the edge of the bed—and looks

again at the phone. She pauses. She begins to reach for it but then draws her hand

away. She sits, quietly for a moment. She is about to pick up the phone again but

hesitates. She reaches for the brandy bottle on the night stand, pours herself a shot,

and sips it. Again she reaches for the phone, hesitates again, but finally breaks down,

picks up the receiver, and dials. She waits. She waits some more. Her anxiety

becomes apparent. She is about to sip from the drink again when—

Helen: Jeffrey?? . . . You're still up?? . . . I wasn't sure. I thought you might be. . . .

(almost playful, trying to make light) Since when do I need a reason to call? . . . Yes,
 46

everything's fine. . . . She's fine. . . . She just went for a walk. . . . She wanted to

stretch her leg. She says it feels better to move around. . . . (awkward) Even on a

night like this. . . . Well, you know Liv. . . . No, I don't need anything. . . . I . . . just

wanted to thank you for leaving the candles out—that was very thoughtful of you. . . .

Please, don't apologize, it's not your fault. It's not anyone's fault. Things happen

sometimes that are out of our control and there's nothing we can do about them.

(She crosses to the tea service, lifts the cover, places her hand on the side of the pot,

holds it there the same way she cradled the hurricane lamp.)

Yes, it's still warm. . . . Thank you. It's just what we need on a night like this—

something soothing and smooth and warm.

(She lifts the covers of the two small dishes, spoons cream and sugar into one of the

cups, sits on the edge of the bed and sips from the cup.)

With cream to make it smooth and sugar to make it sweet. (pause) So, how did you

spend the night. . . . I was just wondering, I don't need permission to ask, do I? . . .

No, it's not the reason I called, it was just on my mind. . . . Because I'm curious, that's

why. . . . Sometimes when I'm in the office I think of you, way out here all alone. . . .

I do. . . You don't have to believe it, but I do. . . . I wonder what you would do on

such a night. . . . Of course we have nights like this in the city, I usually just don't see

much of them. . . . By the time I get home it's eight, sometimes nine, sometimes

later. . . . Why do you ask? . . . (This part starts to become difficult.) I . . . usually put

on the TV. . . . Nothing. . . . I don't watch anything, I just put it on. . . . To let the

sound fill the rooms. . . . To hear the voices. (pause) To hear the sound of the voices

flowing out of the rooms. . . . I . . . close my door. . . . Get into bed. . . . No, not right
 47

away. (Beyond the patio doors the glare of a car's headlights can be seen. They

briefly penetrate the room, streaking across the ceiling and walls, but Helen does not

notice.) I can't go to sleep. . . . I just can't. . . . I . . . lie there for a while. . . . Why do

you want to know? . . . No, not right away. . . . Why do you want to know? . . . I . . .

think back to when I was a little girl. . . . I . . . close my eyes and imagine the

wallpaper that used to hang in my room. (Helen looks at the wall where the glow from

a candle illuminates it, runs her fingers over the paper. Outside the car engine

continues to idle, then shuts off. A car door slams.) It . . . was bright yellow and had

rows of daisies climbing from the floor to the ceiling. . . . On Sundays our family

always had big dinners, and after I was in bed I'd lie awake listening to the voices of

the grownups in the other room and my eyes would climb the wall and I'd imagine I

was one of the daisies. Outside in the hall would be the voices of the rest of the

family, telling jokes and enjoying their after-dinner drinks. . . . I . . . lie in bed and see

myself back in my room. I . . . leave the door a little ajar to let the light from the hall

in, and the sound of the voices from the television. . . . I just listen and look at the

wallpaper. . . . I imagine the voices as petals on the daisies, and then I can usually fall

asleep. . . . What did you do tonight? . . . No, it wasn't a night to go out. It wasn't a

night to go out at all. (pause) You can think you know a place so well and suddenly it

can feel very different. . . . Most of the time when we come up it's sunny and warm

and the beaches are full of color and light. It's the height of the season, the streets are

full in the afternoon, people are sitting in the park, riding bicycles, walking from store

to store, eating ice cream. We think it's always like that—so lively and full of light.

And then on a night like this it isn't the same at all. . . . The night comes on so
 48

quickly. . . . As soon as the sun goes down and the streets are empty, the clouds move

in and the sky grows dark. The beaches are cold and damp, before the dusk has faded

even the seagulls have deserted them. And then there's nothing left to fill the hours

but the sound of the waves and the wind, and on a night like this there's so many of

them to fill. (pause) We had a wonderful evening. Why do you ask? . . . There was

hardly any reason to stay out—you saw how the weather had turned. . . . It was a fine

birthday, as fine as anyone could have hoped for. . . . The dinner was superb. It was a

wonderful evening. . . . There's no accounting for the weather, that couldn't be helped.

(The door opens a little further and Olivia enters. She is also wet but nowhere near

as drenched as Helen. She sees Helen and stops. Helen, too, slowly stops, then

replaces the phone on the receiver. They freeze. Oblivious of the lamps around the

room, Olivia tries the light switch, with the same results. She does not know what to

do next. Caught offguard, she goes to the tea service, pours herself a cup, adds some

cream and sugar, takes a sip, but evidently it is still quite hot. She spills a little.

Flustered, she uses the cover to wipe it up, does not realize what she is doing until

she is holding the damp cover, then does not know what to do with it. She drops it on

the tray. Pause. Helen picks up the box from where she had left it and places it

within Olivia's reach. Olivia looks at it a moment, then picks it up, does not know

what to do with it.)

Helen: I wish you would have said something—

Olivia: I had to stop at the jewelers before I picked you up. (pause) It was the only time I

could get it.

(Pause.)
 49

Helen: I'm sorry.

Olivia: It doesn't matter. (pause) I can have it rewrapped.

Helen: The inner seal is broken.

Olivia: I'll have it engraved. That way they had to open it.

(Pause.)

Helen: It will look nice on her, anyway. The gold will balance her eyes well.

(Silence. Olivia feels she must do something with the box so she opens the drawer to

the night stand, puts it inside.)

Olivia: Have you been here long?

Helen: A few minutes.

Olivia: Who were you talking to?

(Pause.)

Helen: Jeffrey.

Olivia: Did he call or did you?

(Pause.)

Helen: He did.

Olivia: What did he want?

(Pause. Helen picks up the tent-shaped card next to the tea service.)

Helen: He . . . wanted to know if we had an answer to his note.

(Pause.)

Olivia: What does it say?

Helen: (glances at the card, as though reading) It asks about the Fourth of July. (pause)

He says he'll call back.

 50

(Olivia's eyes are drawn to the card in Helen's hand, but Helen does not offer it or set

it down.)

Olivia: Why does he have to know now?

Helen: (short pause, glances at the card) They expect to be overbooked.

Olivia: What did you tell him?

Helen: That we were having such a wonderful time celebrating my birthday that it never

came up. (pause) That I mistakenly opened your daughter's graduation present and

charged away from the table just as our entrees came, knocking them out of the

waiter's hand. That I never got around to asking you about it. (pause) But that when

you got back we would have an answer.

(Helen is about to set the card on the dresser but catches herself and slips it into the

pocket of her robe. She adds more tea to her cup, drops in cream and sugar, stirs the

tea but does not sip it.)

Well? What do we tell him?

Olivia: (with great equivocation) What . . . do you think we should tell him?

Helen: Well, we could say that we're so offended by his lackluster service, the lateness of

his hours, the noisy neighbors, not to mention the intolerable untidiness of the place,

that we're not just staying away for the Fourth of July but we're never coming back

again. Or we could say that we love it so much that we're not just coming for the

weekend but we've decided to move in, and that he should start converting one of the

suites into a luxury apartment, and to add a plasma TV, Jacuzzi, digital toaster, and

sauna. But I a simple yes or no will do.

Olivia: Can't this wait?

 51

Helen: Till when?

Olivia: . . . Morning.

Helen: I told him to calling back tonight. I forgot to mention that.

Olivia: Tonight??

Helen: That's what he said. (pause) He is such a night owl.

Olivia: I . . . really don't know what to say. . . .

Helen: You didn't have much to say at dinner, either. Or at least as much of it as I sat

through.

Olivia: Nothing has been decided. . . .

Helen: That's what we're here to do—decide.

Helen: Yes or no? What could be easier?

(Olivia has edged away from Helen, working her way into a corner of the room.)

Olivia: Helen . . . none of this. . . . It isn't as easy as you think. . . .

(Silence. Helen waits.)

Olivia: I told you, Jack has been talking about going up to the lake.

Helen: Where your book will remain unfinished. If we came up here you could have all

the time you like. (pause) You could even have a room of your own. That way you

could have complete privacy. I will take walks along the beach and leave you to your

Muse.

(Pause.)

Would you like your own room?

(She reaches for the phone.)

Olivia: No!
 52

Helen: You don't want your own room.

(She puts the phone down.)

Olivia: I don't need my own room.

Helen: What do you need? Don't you think you should do what's right for you?

Olivia: (with firmness) Yes, I do.

Helen: What have you finished in the last few months?

Olivia: Who's to say what is finished.

Helen: There was a time—not so long ago—when I would call and you'd be excited to

tell me what you'd been working on. And when it was late and everyone was in bed

you'd read it to me. And when you were stuck we would work it out together. Now

when I do reach you you have to get the laundry in or you tell me what you're going

to fix for dinner or about the cocktail party you and Jack had to go to and then you

have to get off. For a week I didn't even call. I thought maybe I was distracting you,

that you were . . . occupied.

Olivia: I am Helen, I am!

(Pause.)

Helen: All right, we won't come for the Fourth of July. The conference isn't till August.

We'll come back the next weekend. Maybe the week after. That would be even

better. It would be less crowded. (pause) Do you have any plans?

Olivia: Helen . . .

Helen: Then it's decided.

(She reaches for the phone.)

Olivia: (alarmed) What are you doing??

 53

Helen: I'm going to let Jeffrey know.

Olivia: Why??

Helen: So he can put it in the book.

Olivia: I should check with Jack first.

Helen: Why?

Olivia: He's had to go away on weekends. It's supposed to continue through the summer.

(A pause. Helen turn away, stops, then picks up the phone and places it on the

dresser, next to Olivia. Olivia looks at it, then at Helen.)

Helen: Call him.

Olivia: What??

Helen: (more slowly) Call him. Find out

Olivia: Now??

Helen: It's Friday night. He's probably sitting in front of the TV. Waiting for Jennifer to

get in. (pause) You had to call now because . . . you heard about a weekend workshop

to register for. The deadline is tomorrow/

(Olivia backs away.)

Olivia: Helen, this is silly . . .

(Silence.)

It's such a long way off . . . he may not even know . . .

(Helen stares at her, challenging.)

Helen: Call him.

(Olivia is almost shrinking away.)

Call him.
 54

Olivia: No . . .

Helen: Call.

Olivia: I can't. . . .

Helen: Call!!

Olivia: No!!

Helen: Call!!

Olivia: I can't!!

Helen: (pushing the phone at her) CALL!!

Olivia: (knocking the phone out of Helen's hands) I CAN'T!! I CAN'T!! I CAN'T!! Not

anymore! I CAN'T!! I CAN'T!! I CAN'T!!

(Olivia sinks into a chair, avoiding Helen's gaze. Helen moves around the room

aimlessly, uncomprehending.)

Helen: What do you mean . . . ?

(No response.)

You're afraid of his reaction.

(No response.)

Something's made him suspicious.

(No response.)

That shouldn't matter. It's happened before.

(No response.)

Is it Jennifer?

(No response.)

It is.
 55

(Olivia stands up, still avoids facing Helen.)

She knows.

(No response.)

She does.

Olivia: She doesn't know anything.

Helen: She said something about me.

(No response.)

Her friends. Jack—

Olivia: No.

Helen: You're afraid she'll find out. . . . (pause) You're worried about what she'd think.

(pause) We agreed, it would never matter what anyone thought.

(Silence. Helen is groping for new ground.)

Helen: If . . . you need to be away for a while . . . if there's . . . something you have to sort

out . . . with the family . . .

Olivia: Helen. (pause) I can't.

(Silence as Helen struggles to take this in. She takes a Kleenex from her pocket,

wipes up some of the spelled tea on the dresser, tucks it away.)

Helen: Liv? (pause, as she prepares for this) Have you found someone else?

(No response.)

Have you?

(No response.)

Is there someone else?

(No response.)
 56

There is.

(Pause.)

Olivia: Yes.

Helen: Who is she?

(No response.)

Who is she?

(No response.)

Where did you meet?

(No response.)

Is she young?

(No response.)

What does she look like?

(Olivia opens the dresser drawer, takes out one of the college catalogs, removes the

picture inside and puts the catalog back on the dresser.)

She's young.

Olivia: . . . Yes.

Helen: Pretty?

Olivia: Yes.

Helen: What does she think of your poems?

(No response.)

Does she admire them?

Olivia: . . .Yes.
 57

Helen: Do you talk about them with her for hours? Sit up all night on the edge of the

bed, reading the lines?

Olivia: . . .Yes.

Helen: When you look into her eyes you feel . . . your spirit renewed. (pause) The

weariness of the day disappears.

Olivia: Yes.

(Pause, as Helen prepares for this, but she tries to be matter-of-fact.)

Helen: Do you love her?

(No response.)

Do you love her??

Olivia: I love her more than anything else in my life.

(Silence. Helen is crushed, but holding up.)

Helen: Liv, what have I done?

Olivia: Nothing, Helen.

Helen: What have I done?

Olivia: Nothing!

Helen: There's something.

Olivia: No, Helen!

Helen: There must be something.

Olivia: Helen, no!

Helen: Tell me what it is!

Olivia: Helen, stop!

 58

Helen: What haven't I done, then? Tell me and I will do it! There isn't anything I can't

do. I can tell where your thoughts are wandering when you stare out at the ocean.

When you answer the phone I know whether you've had a good day walking in the

woods or your mother's been pestering you about spending more time in the garden. I

can look at one of your poems and recite the last line before I've read it. I know how

many times you had to work it to get it right. I knew something was bothering you

when you closed the gas cap on the car.

Olivia: Helen, there's nothing you can do about this!

Helen: I can!

Olivia: You can't!

Helen: I CAN! What is it?!

(Olivia is about to speak, then turns away.)

Tell me what it is!

(No response.)

Tell me!!

Olivia: Helen, STOP!!

Helen: TELL ME!!

Olivia: You can't be my daughter!

(Silence. Helen is stunned, confused.)

Helen: I . . . don't understand . . .

Olivia: It isn't you, Helen, it's me! For sixteen years I've had a child but I've never known

what it is to be a mother!

Helen: What do you mean? . . . You've been a wonderful mother.

 59

Olivia: Yes, I taught her how to roller skate and wiped her tears and bandaged her knees

when she fell. I took her berry picking in the woods and taught her the names of the

trees. I kept her hair bright and shiny, and since she was three or four I told her that

she was going to grow into a beautiful woman and sang songs until she fell asleep,

and then I looked at her eyes with the glow of the night light shining on them. When

the boys at school pulled her hair I told her how to handle them, and we practiced

lacrosse in the backyard so she could make the team and not feel left out. Yes, I did

all of that. And long before her first drops of blood appeared I told her what was

going to happen so she wouldn't think her life was going to end, like I did. Oh, yes,

Helen, I did everything a mother is supposed to, and probably more because I felt it

wasn't enough. (pause) And now there's nothing more I can do. So I went out and

bought the most expensive bracelet I could find because there's nothing more I can

give her. (She takes the box out of her pocket and throws it on the bed.)

Helen: What more . . . do you want?

Olivia: What's been missing, Helen! (short pause) The whole time she was growing

inside of me it wasn't just my body that was starting to grow. Something else was

happening, and I started to wonder—I wanted to know what my mother felt when she

was young and I was inside of her. I kept wondering, and after she was born I picked

her up and held her and wanted to know what my mother felt when she held me. I

wanted to feel that part of my mother that made her more than a woman. That's what

I wanted—that’s what I wanted more than anything. But I couldn't—something was

telling me that I couldn't. It's something that you could never know, but I knew that if

I gave myself over to it nothing could ever be the same between us. The day she
 60

finally came out of me I heard her cry and that was the closest we ever were. When

she was old enough to take to the park the other mothers would be there pushing their

children on the swings and I didn't feel I had the right to feel what they did because I

wasn't the same.

Helen: But you nursed her, you carried her—

Olivia: It wasn't the same! (pause) Sometimes just the two of us would be playing in the

leaves alone in the yard, or I'd be changing her clothes after she slipped and fell in the

creek, and I could see that we weren't so different—our pleasures were so much alike,

even our bodies were alike. But the world she was growing up in was so different.

Each day I'd walk her to school and watch her pass through those doors and I knew

we could never do that—not without leaving a part of ourselves outside. When she

started to grow and I saw her body taking shape I could see again that we weren't so

different. But late at night she'd be talking to her friends about boys at school and

they’d fix their hair and put on jewelry before going out on dates, and I knew she was

entering a world I did not know, and then I only felt her slipping away. Watching her

growing into a real woman only reminded me of what I wasn't.

Helen: You are a woman!

Olivia: To who?? All our lives we've tried to believe it, but what does it mean? Wife to

a husband? Mother to a daughter? What we've been to each other? Who are we?

Will we ever know? From the time we're born it's nothing but confusion. Woman.

what does that mean? To us? Our own bodies told us one thing but everything we

we’ve been taught told us something else.

Helen: But why now?! Why all of this now?!!

 61

Olivia: Because otherwise it will be too late! (pause) When those catalogs started

arriving it was a warning. In less than a few months she will be gone. I want to help

her pick a major and the names of her children and talk to her about what it means to

be a mother, but how can I do that if I don't know what it means myself? When she

came out of me and I heard that scream I felt she was screaming for both of us. But

for sixteen years I've been silent. Now I want to hear that scream. For sixteen years

it's been stuck inside. My own scream has been stuck inside, and now I want to hear

it. It's been kicking and stirring and I want to hear it to know it's still alive, because

otherwise it will die or smothers what life is between us!

Helen: But what does this have to do with us? Why does this have to affect us?!

Olivia: Maybe you can do everything, Helen. You can make sure the cases are prepared

when the clerks fail you and you can remember to call in the middle of the morning

after Jack has left. And after staying late at the office you can have the car packed

and at dinner you'll remember the wine I liked when I don't. But how can I saw on

your balcony and look at the view and not think about Jennifer and her future? How

can I sit up with her and not think about how many hours you've put in or what you're

doing nights when there's no council meeting or some other reason to get out to see

you? After running back and forth all weekend how do I look at her on Monday and

not wonder whether I've cheated on her or I'm cheating on you? Answer me that,

Helen, and we can go on meeting for lunch. We can come back on the Fourth of July,

we can come back and take the suite for the week after. Answer me that and we can

go on forever, but I don't think you can.

 62

(Silence. Helen appears to be waiting for something, but it is for her own resolve to

mount—nothing from Olivia. She reaches into the pocket of her robe, takes out the

earring, holds it a moment, then slowly twists it in two, drops it on the floor. Olivia

watches.)

Helen: I know. (pause) You're doing this for yourself.

Olivia: No!

Helen: Yes. It's only yourself you're thinking about!

Olivia: No!!

Helen: Yourself!!

Olivia: No, Helen!

Helen: Then what about me!! You've had twenty years to be a wife and now you want to

be a mother, but what can I be except what I've been for you! What about me!!

Olivia: I have thought of you, Helen! I've thought of you more than anyone!!

(But Helen is no longer listening. She has picks up the phone and about to hit a

button when she suddenly slams it down.)

What are you doing?!

(No response.)

What were you calling?!

(No response.)

Who were you calling??

(No response. Helen recoils.)

Who were you calling?!

Helen: No one!
 63

Olivia: Who??

(No response.)

Who were you talking to when I came in?!

Helen: No one!!

Olivia: You were to! You told me!

(Silence.)

Who did you call as soon as we got in?

Helen: I don't know what you're talking about!!

Olivia: Who do you always call?!

Helen: I don't know what you're talking about!!

Olivia: As soon as we arrive you pick up the phone. It’s the first thing you do.

(Helen is no longer listening. She grabs some clothes and begins to change.

Realizing that she had been wearing Olivia’s robe, she disdainfully casts it aside.

She grabs her jacket from the pile on the bed and pulls it on.)

Where are you going?!

(No response.)

Helen!!

(Helen is silent, fumbling awkwardly with her jacket. She spots the car keys on top of

the dresser and grabs them. Olivia has tried to grab them first but Helen has beat her

to them. Olivia winces in pain, stumbles for a moment as Helen moves toward the

door.)

Helen, I want to talk to you!

Helen: You have nothing to say!

 64

(Helen continues to pull her things together.)

Olivia: Helen, it's dark out! There aren't any lights! You can't even see the road!

Helen: (at the door, turns) Good! I like the dark! Why shouldn’t I?! It’s what I’ve

gotten used to!! It's what I see every morning when I wake up. It greets me when I

leave the office and is waiting when I come home. It's all I see out those big picture

windows they told me would let in so much light but all I see is darkness!! Thank

God for the night—some dark and heavy to cover the day!!

Olivia: Helen!!

(She makes a final attempt to lunge for the keys and manages to get hold of Helen's

hand, but Helen's grip is too strong and after another brief struggle she manages to

push Olivia away. Helen grabs her purse and is out the door.)

Helen, come back! (pause) Helen!!

(She tries to pursue her, but Helen is gone. There is the sound of a car engine

starting. Olivia charges to the patio door, only to hear the roar of the engine as the

car pulls away. The phone rings. Olivia pick it up.)

Yes . . . ? (pause) No, everything's fine. . . . She just had to go out. (She wipes her

eyes, smoothes her hair, makes some attempt to straighten herself.) For some things

for morning. (pause) She was just going to the store down the road. If it’s open.

(pause) Jeffrey, I wanted to tell you . . . about the Fourth of July. . . . Oh? . . . When

was this?? (She sits—sags—heavily on the bed.) No. . . . No . . . that's all right.

We’ll straighten it out when she gets back. . . . She . . . told me you would be

calling. . . . Oh? (pause) Well, I’m sorry she woke you. . . . Oh. . . . I’m sure she’ll be
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back soon. . . . Yes. . . . Good night. . . . Yes. . . . Thank you. . . . Thank you. . . . Good

night.

(She hangs up, stares into space, her thought reeling. Then she sees the note that had

fallen out of her robe, lying on the floor. She picks it up, scans it, sits back on the

bed. Then, full of exasperation, frustration, even rage—)

Helen!!

(The lights fade to black.)