Four

David and Stacey live in a two-story, gray-and-white Victorian on Fifth Street, in a section known as the Pioneer District. While the streets up on the side of the hill have fancy names, the streets down here are numbered and form a grid.

It’s the oldest part of town, running along the railroad tracks that used to connect Lithia with cities north and south. The trains no longer run here, but the tracks remain, as if hopeful that they will again.

David insists on calling my new digs The Guest House, but I think of it as The Cottage: it’s cozy, with its one room, small bathroom, and shower. It’s furnished with a double bed, a desk, a chair, and a bookcase. There are storage bins under the bed, which is where I’d put my clothes if I had any. There’s not much room—it wouldn’t fit more than two people—but I’m used to small spaces and I feel right at home. Best of all, it’s quiet and all mine.

The studio has a skylight; in the morning, the sun gleams straight into my eyes and wakes me up. I grab an apple from the tiny fridge below the desk. There are some used paperbacks in the bookcase, and I pick up one as I eat my breakfast. I have an hour before work.

I hear footsteps outside the door, then a knock. “You decent?”

It’s Stacey. I open the door.

“I’ve got extra eggs if you want some,” she says. She’s holding a plate piled high with scrambled eggs and toast.

“Thanks,” I say, “but I try not to eat eggs.”

“Oh?” She seems disappointed. “Allergic?”

“No, I’m a vegan.”

“Ah,” she says. “Well, David will be happy to hear that.”

“Why?”

“He’s vegan, too. He’ll be glad to have you around. Until now, he’s been stuck with me, the recovering vegan.”

I give Stacey a quizzical look.

“I try,” she explains, “but sometimes I fall off the wagon. Like these eggs here. And maybe the occasional burger. David doesn’t need to hear that, though.”

“My lips are sealed.”

“What are you doing after work tonight?”

“Let me check my schedule,” I joke.

“Have you ever seen Hamlet?”

“No.”

“We’ve got an extra ticket with your name on it, if you’re up for a little culture.”

~

As I walk through Lithia Theater Plaza with Stacey and David, I feel as though I’m on a stage myself. That is, I feel as though I’m in costume, playing a role.

Earlier, Stacey had taken me to the consignment shop next door to the running store, and she helped me pick out a dress. An advance on your next paycheck, she said, though she said that before and she still paid me the full amount, even when I protested.

Then, about twenty minutes before leaving for the theater, Stacey called me into the house and sat me down at the vanity in her bathroom. She studied my face, then made me close my eyes, and I felt brushes on my eyelids, cheeks, and nose. She turned me away from the mirror and told me to look at the ceiling, and I felt the tug of mascara on my eyelashes. She fussed with my hair a bit, then turned me back around.

I almost didn’t recognize myself. My hair looked full and shiny, practically the only time I haven’t worn it in a ponytail since arriving in Lithia. And my face looked so polished, almost sophisticated. I was so used to seeing myself either sweaty or dirty, I could hardly believe it was possible to look this nice. Before we went downstairs, Stacey had me try on a couple pairs of her shoes, but they were way too big. But she did loan me a pair of black onyx earrings that dangled low and swayed when I walked.

And now we’re at the theater, crossing through the cobblestoned courtyard, becoming part of a slow crowd shuffling inside. My dress is beautiful—a dark midnight blue, made of a soft organic cotton, and long, going all the way down to my shoes and nearly covering them, which is good because all I have to wear are my new Brooks. But I still feel glamorous.

We find our seats, which are in the fifth row, right in the middle, and after a few moments the theater goes dark.

That’s when I see him, seated on the stage. He’d been there all along, but I was too busy looking around to notice that he wasn’t one of the stagehands. He’s dressed in a fitted black suit—a gorgeous man, with dark hair and a slender build, and tall, even from where I sit, looking down on him.

Hamlet.

Actually, the actor who plays Hamlet. And I’m glad he’s in the leading role because I don’t want to take my eyes off him.

He carries himself with such confidence. I know he’s an actor playing a role, but I’m more focused on the actor than the role. Who is he? Does he live in Lithia? Is he single?

“To be or not to be,” he says to himself, yet he’s looking at me. Directly at me. I stare back and I feel my body burn, my face flush. He continues his soliloquy.

To die, to sleep—

To sleep—perchance to dream: ay, there’s the rub,

For in that sleep of death what dreams may come

When we have shuffled off this mortal coil…

He looks away, and I hear myself exhale. I could’ve sworn he was looking at me. And he paused as he spoke—or was that part of the role? It’s absurd even to think that he’d paused as he looked at me—he’s a professional, after all—but a girl can dream, can’t she?

I feel Stacey shift in her seat to my left, and I realize that she could have been the object of the actor’s attention. I glance over at her. She, too, is focused on Hamlet. We all are. It was my imagination after all.

But as I watch him, this poor lonely character, I feel a bond. I want to reach out and help him, to ease his pain. And as the play ends, as we all stand up and applaud until our hands are numb, again I have to remind myself that this was a performance, that it wasn’t real.

~

“That was amazing,” I say, as we exit the theater into the frigid night. I can feel myself shivering even in the coat I borrowed from Stacey, but I don’t care about the cold. I’m still sitting in the fifth row, staring down at Hamlet. Or whoever it was. “Thank you for taking me.”

“Our pleasure,” David says.

“The evening’s not over just yet, you know,” Stacey says. “We’ve got a party to attend.”

“Really?”

“It’s an annual thing,” David says. “Since we support the theater with big bucks, each year we get invited to the cast party they throw toward the end of every season. A chance to mingle with the actors and directors.”

“And drink outstanding wine,” Stacey adds.

I follow them across the street and into an old brick building. “This was the old elementary school,” David says. “The theater now uses it for meetings and events.”

We enter a large room, decorated so beautifully that it takes me a few minutes to realize that it’s the old gym, with high-arched windows and a child-sized stage at the far end. There are tables covered with black cloths, candles glittering on top of them, flowers everywhere, a huge buffet of food, a bar. People are milling around in much nicer clothes than I’m wearing, and definitely better shoes.

I follow Stacey to the bar, trying to keep my Brooks covered as much as I can. “Chardonnay, please,” she tells the guy behind the bar, and then looks at me.

“Water’s fine,” I say. I think Stacey thinks I’m older than I am, and I don’t want to correct her. Not yet, at least. I can’t let anything jeopardize this: having a home, a good job, wonderful people to look after me. For so much of my life, little has gone the way I hoped. It’s a life no one would want. A mother dead before I got to know her. A father grown mean by loss and failed jobs and alcohol. A budding college career cut short by circumstances that still give me nightmares and probably always will. But I feel like this is my big break, my chance to be happy. At last.

“There’s the director,” Stacey says, pointing to a short, plump man with long curly hair, dressed in jeans and a green sweater. “His name is Gerry Ross. He’s a genius. Could direct anywhere in the world he wants, but for some reason he chooses to stay here in our little town.”

I want to say that I know why he stays, but the room has grown so loud with voices and laughter that I doubt I’ll be heard. “Come on, I’ll introduce you,” she says, but the thought of talking to strangers suddenly makes me nervous. So I ask her where the bathroom is, and I take my time getting back. By the time I return to the party, I can’t see Stacey and David anywhere, so I stand in a corner, watching people, waiting for a glimpse of one of them.

Then I see him.

Hamlet.

He must have just arrived. People crowd around him, shaking his hand, slapping his back. Women hug him, and I find myself feeling jealous, wishing I were one of them. But though he is smiling cordially, I can tell there’s no enthusiasm behind it. I’m surprised he can’t hide it better. He must’ve used up all his acting energy for the play.

I watch him navigate through the crowd until he ends up off to one side of the room, until his back is against the wall and he is alone, just like me. I want to go say something to him, but I don’t want to be like those other women. The women he tolerated and gave only fake smiles.

Maybe he’ll notice me, like he did in the theater. But his eyes don’t wander. They stare straight ahead, as if he’s meditating or just bored. Maybe he’s like me, a bit of a loner, awkward around people. Maybe he’s trapped by his shyness, like I’ve been most of my life.

Before I realize it, I am walking toward him. I feel my heart quickening—I’ve never done anything like this before. I can handle myself well enough and can even be tough, but only if I have to be. I’m never bold, like this. Especially with guys like him. Guys who are so beautiful it’s hard even to stand near them without blushing until you feel hotter than the sun.

And then I’m standing in front of him. “Hello,” I say.

He’s still gazing straight ahead, only he seems to be looking right through me instead of at me.

“I just wanted to tell you that I enjoyed your performance,” I add.

Finally he raises his eyes. He looks at me with curiosity, but he doesn’t say anything, and his silence makes me squirm. Bad idea. This was a very bad idea.

I’ve just turned to walk away when he speaks. “Have we met before?”

I turn back. “I don’t think so.”

“Are you quite sure?”

“Quite.”

He studies me some more, as if he doesn’t believe me. I take a step toward him, as if magnetically pulled in his direction. It’s strange, and a little annoying. I’ve literally never been drawn to a guy this way before. But he seems to have some sort of inexplicable pull on me.

“I suppose you’re right,” he says. “I see so many faces. Too many. What’s your name?”

“Kat.”

“Is that short for Katherine?”

I nod.

“I’m Roman.”

“It’s nice to meet you. You were great tonight.”

“You’re a runner,” he says, as if he hadn’t heard me.

“How did you know?”

“You have a runner’s build,” he says, and I feel my face go warm as his eyes run down the length of my body, snug in my slim-fitting dress. But, I’m surprised to notice, he’s not doing it in that leering way that I’m used to from the men I’d serve at dive bars. Instead, it’s observant, almost clinical. He looks at me the way my childhood cat used to, with mild bemusement, as if he was the keeper of the world’s secrets and I was a mere, lowly human.

“The shoes are another giveaway,” he adds, and I look down to see the toes of my Brooks peeking out from under the skirt of the dress.

“I just moved here,” I say. “Still unpacking.”

“Welcome to Lithia, then. Perhaps sometime we can run together.”

Before I can answer, I feel a hand on my shoulder, and I jump. “Fancy meeting you here,” a voice says.

I turn to see the grocery clerk from the co-op. Instead of jeans and a T-shirt, he’s wearing khakis and a button-down oxford. “I’m Alex.”

“Oh, hi. I’m Kat.”

“Kat who?”

“Just Kat.” And then I turn back to Roman—but he’s gone.

I glance all around but can’t see him anywhere. How could he have disappeared so quickly?

“Did I interrupt?” Alex asks.

“Yes,” I say, my eyes still searching the room. Then I come to my senses. “I mean, no. No.” I force my attention back to Alex. “Hey, thanks again for the other day. I want to pay you back.”

“Forget about it. I can’t resist a vegan shoplifter.”

I smile at him. “That sandwich was amazing.”

“It looks like you’ve done well for yourself,” he says, and he, too, is looking at my dress.

“I’m working at Lithia Runners. Part-time only, but it’s a start.”

“Congratulations. David and Stacey are awesome people.”

“I know.”

“Kat, would you be interested in going out sometime?”

This is a surprise, and I’m not sure what to say. “Um—”

“Anything you want. Dinner? Movie? Petty theft?”

“Very funny,” I say.

The truth is, I’m stunned by the turn of events. In a matter of minutes, two handsome guys have made a pass at me. Maybe there really is something in the water.

Alex is cute, and I want to say yes, but already I can’t get Roman out of my mind. And I probably shouldn’t be bothering with men at all, given the way my luck has turned for the better. I want to keep it that way.

“I’m sorry, Alex. I—I’m just busy getting settled, finding a permanent job.”

“I understand. No worries. Some other time maybe, when things settle down.”

I watch Alex walk away into the crowd, and I wonder if I’ve made a mistake, saying no to a romantic night out in favor of the prospect of a trail run. But I’m a runner. Runners are strange people. Again, I scan the room for Roman, but he’s definitely gone. As if he’d simply vanished.