It also helped that Harriet was a bit of a furnace when it came to body heat. It was like having a personal heater and it could be incredibly soothing in the winter.
Tonight, however, I couldn’t sleep. I lay on my back and stared up at the ceiling, where the light from the outside streetlamps filtered through the curtains to create a soft, almost wavelike pattern. It was like being underwater. Quiet. Peaceful.
Even Harriet’s snoring had its own calming rhythm.
My mind kept wandering to Cal in the next room. The couch was very small, but he’d also looked damned tired, so I hoped he’d fallen asleep.
I must have done the same because at some point, I woke up and was thirsty beyond belief. A glance at the clock told me it was well past four, but I knew I’d never get back to sleep unless I got something to drink.
The floor was cold as I padded to the kitchen. I found a glass and filled it at the sink, drinking the entire thing in one fast, greedy gulp.
I heard the couch shift and squeak as I put the glass in the sink.
“Kathleen?” Cal’s head popped up, backlit by the snowy windows behind him. His hair was all over the place.
“Just getting water,” I said. “Go back to sleep.”
“Ha,” he said. “Back to sleep.”
His voice was hoarse, scratchy.
I knew I should just go back to Harriet’s room, but instead I moved closer to the couch.
“Can’t sleep?”
“Surprisingly, couches stopped being an acceptable sleeping arrangement many years ago,” he said.
“You could have just said no,” I said.
He shrugged.
I came around to the side of the couch. He hadn’t even unfolded the blankets, but he had taken off his pants. He was sitting there in his boxer briefs and a T-shirt. Then again, I wasn’t much more covered up and I wasn’t wearing a bra. He didn’t seem to be cold, but I definitely was, and wrapped my arms around myself both to stay warm and to keep my nipples from taking anyone’s eyes out.
“The snow seems to have slowed down,” Cal said.
He was right. It was still falling, but not at the same rate it had been a few hours ago.
“You’re not thinking of sneaking out in the middle of the night, are you?” I asked.
I couldn’t completely see his face in the half-light, but I was pretty sure there was a guilty expression there.
“No,” he said.
A complete lie.
“Harriet’s up early,” I said. “And I’m assuming rehearsal is canceled for tomorrow. Today.”
Cal looked at his watch. “Yeah,” he said. “I’ll send out a text in a few hours, but I’ll probably go to the theatre anyways.”
We were less than a week away from our first performance.
“No rest for the wicked, huh,” I said.
It was a joke, but Cal frowned.
“There’s a lot to do,” he said.
“I know,” I said. “And you’re doing a good job.”
Why I was stroking his ego right now, I didn’t know. Something about it being nighttime and quiet and peaceful. Like we had stepped out of time—shifted to a different reality where we were friends.
He sighed and put his head in his hands. Just for a moment.
“Ticket sales still haven’t picked up,” he said. “They’re not bad, but they’re not great either. And if we want to go to Broadway, we need great.”
I sat with that for a moment, knowing for certain that Cal had not wanted to tell me any of that.
“I’ve been trying to shake up some publicity to help our ticket sales,” he said.
“That shouldn’t be too hard,” I said. “I’ve heard I’m a big draw.”
I gave him spirit fingers and a smile. His own grin was half-hearted.
“You are,” he said, but there was clearly something more.
“But…” I prompted.
He closed his eyes, squeezed them tight. He looked so tired.
“Everyone wants to interview you,” he said. “But they all want to talk about…” he trailed off.
“Ah,” I said.
“Yeah,” he said. “They want a quote or two from me too.”
“Wow,” I said.
“Exactly,” he said. “And I realize now that I should have asked you, but I assumed that you didn’t want to talk about it—especially to the press—so I keep saying that the topic is off-limits and suddenly no one’s available.”
I didn’t know what to say.
“I should have checked with you first, but it’s not like I want to talk about it either,” he said softly.
We both sat there, knowing that we’d have to find another way to get the word out about the show.
“I guess I could join social media?” I suggested.
“God no,” he said. “Don’t do that.”
It was the only idea I had, but I was relieved he’d vetoed it. I really didn’t want to get on social media.
But I also didn’t want the show to stumble before it could make it to Broadway.
“Promise me something,” I said after a moment of thoughtful silence.
“Sure.”
“If it gets dire enough, tell me,” I said.
He hesitated.
“Cal!”
“I promise,” he said.
“Pinky promise?”
I held out my finger and waited for him to link his with mine.
“Promise,” he said.
We blew on our thumbs. Just like we’d done at camp.
I tried not to notice how warm his hands were.
“Why do we do this to ourselves?” Cal asked.
I couldn’t tell if the question was meant to be rhetorical.
“Do what?” I asked.
“This.” He gestured around himself.
“That doesn’t clarify anything,” I said.
Cal heaved out a sigh and leaned back.
“Theatre, I guess,” he said. “Performing. Art.”
“Ah,” I said. “Simple questions.”
He smiled.
Those dimples.