Gentle as Spring

Chapter 3: The Marlowe

I followed Theo through the double doors into the auditorium. The room was mostly dim, with work lights shining on the ceiling. The rows of seats were covered in protective cloth, and the stage held a stack of lumber and a ladder. Dust hung in the light like something made deliberate.

"You're restoring the whole place?" I asked.

"We're trying to make it safe enough to reopen in stages. Roof first, then wiring, then the seats." He gestured toward the ceiling. "The mural needs more work than we thought."

The gold stars on the ceiling were dulled with age, but the artist had painted a faint blue wash between them. I recognized the pattern from years ago, when I'd watched a classic film festival from the back row. The memory carried the sound of the old projector and the smell of buttered popcorn.

"I used to come here with my mother," I said.

Theo glanced at me, then back at the ceiling. "I'm glad you remember it."

"She loved the Wednesday matinees. I was supposed to be too young for some of the movies, which made them feel important."

He smiled. "My grandfather brought me here. He'd fall asleep halfway through every film and wake up to tell me what he thought of the ending."

"What did he think of the ending?"

"He made most of them up."

I laughed. It came out louder than I intended. Theo looked pleased, but he didn't try to make anything of it. We walked to the front row. He told me how they had found water damage behind the screen and how one of the volunteers had uncovered a painted strip of stars on the old ticket booth. I listened. He didn't turn the conversation into a lecture, and I didn't have to work to keep it alive.

That, I realized, was why I was getting nervous.

At a table in the lobby, we sat with our coffee. I had prepared questions on the drive over: what he did for fun, what he liked to read, how long he'd lived in Bellwether. I asked none of them.

"What do you do when you're not here?" I asked instead.

"Mostly build things that take longer than I expect." He rested his hands on the table. His fingernails were clean but marked with small traces of paint. "I work on houses. The Marlowe is a volunteer project."

"I work at Pairwell."

"I know. Celia told me."

I felt my shoulders rise. "What did she tell you?"

"That you help people find each other."

"I do."

"And that you like old movies."

"She told you that too?"

"She did."

"Celia has a lot of information."

"She did not tell me anything that felt private." He paused. "If you want me to stop asking about the job, I can."

"I don't mind talking about work. I just don't want to be here as a demonstration."

His expression changed. Not offended, exactly. More attentive.

"I didn't think you were," he said. "She asked if I'd be interested in meeting you. I said yes because I liked what she said about you. That's all I know."

I searched his face for some sign that I was making a problem out of nothing. He didn't look away. He also didn't lean across the table to make a promise he couldn't keep.

"Okay," I said.

We talked about the Marlowe again. He showed me a photograph of the ceiling before the first cleanup, and I showed him a picture of my mother in the third row, taken when I was about twelve. We spent a few minutes studying the grainy image on his phone. I could see the top of my own head beside her shoulder.

When I noticed the time, an hour had passed.

"I should go," I said. "I've got a grocery list waiting for me."

"Sure."

I expected him to ask when he could see me again. I had heard men do it in Pairwell's stories, usually at the end of a good date. I also expected to feel relieved if he didn't.

He stood and walked me to the east entrance.

"I had a good time," I said. "I'm glad I came."

"So am I."

There was space for a question. I could feel it. I could even name it.

Would you like to do this again?

My mouth stayed closed.

Theo gave me a small, kind nod. "Have a good Saturday, Mara."

I watched him turn back toward the lobby. I could have called after him. I could have said his name. I did neither.

Outside, I walked to the corner and stopped. The Marlowe sat behind me with its tired sign and its boarded windows. I had wanted him to ask. I could have made the next hour easier if I had taken the chance to ask first.

I went to the grocery store. I bought pasta, tomatoes, and a bag of apples. I did not buy anything that required me to admit I was waiting for a message.

That night, Theo texted.

Theo: I enjoyed meeting you. Would you like to see a movie at the Marlowe next weekend, if it's not too strange to go to a theater that's still under construction?

I read it twice, then answered before I could look for a hidden test.

Mara: I'd like that.

He sent a thumbs-up. I almost wished he had written something more romantic. Then I reminded myself I had not written anything more romantic either.

I saved the message and set the phone facedown.