The brass plate arrived in a brown box just before the curtain call. June opened it backstage and saw her own name cut into the metal.
JUNE BELL COMMUNITY ROOM, it read.
She had drawn the first plan for the old theater's new room. She'd found the first grant. She'd spent two years pulling wires, sanding walls, and asking neighbors for help. The room had gone from a cold storage closet to a warm place for classes and plays.
But Leo had wired the lights. Priya had fixed the roof. Marta had kept the books when the money ran thin. Twelve people had carried chairs, painted walls, and stayed late after their day jobs.
'The name will help us raise the next gift,' Leo said. 'People remember a person. They don't remember a list.'
Marta held the plate in both hands. 'People should remember the list,' she said. 'We built this together.'
June looked through the open door. A group of children was waiting to see the room. Their teacher had promised a play class. A donor had promised to visit next week.
She thought of the first night, when Leo had brought a ladder from home and Priya had worked in the rain. Marta had caught a math error that could have stopped the project. June had led the work, but the room carried all of them.
The children pressed closer to the doorway. One girl pointed at the blank wall and asked whose name would go there.
The theater board had asked June to choose before the sign maker left. She could let the name stay. She could ask for a team name. Either choice would tell the town what kind of work deserved to be seen.
June picked up the drill. The empty wall waited. So did the people who had built the room.