A Father at the Empty Theater
Chapter 10 - A Father at the Empty Theater
Adrian visited Mercer Street alone. He asked the site manager for permission to enter and stood beneath the peeling ceiling of the old theater where Lydia had imagined children dancing for free.
He told me later about finding a faded pencil mark on the wall: Lydia's height, recorded when she came with her father to inspect the place at age twelve. His own initials were beside it. He'd forgotten the visit entirely.
“I didn't know I could forget something she remembered so clearly,” he said.
He showed me a photograph. The wall was ordinary, with a crack cutting through the paint. Yet he'd stared at it for an hour.
That day he called the foundation's trustees and proposed a new policy: no family member could approve contracts benefiting businesses they controlled; grant disbursements would be verified directly with schools; beneficiaries could report concerns without fear of losing funding; independent auditors would publish annual findings.
He couldn't repair the past with policies, but the future required more than sorrow.
Meanwhile, the school showcase approached. Sophie wanted to dance but dreaded seeing Celeste in the audience. Ms. Rowan assured her the event was at the community center and the guest list would be limited. Sophie helped make paper tickets and asked to give one to Adrian.
“Only if he wants to come,” she said.
I smiled. “I think he will.”
At rehearsal, she stumbled on a turn and sat down furious with herself.
“I ruined it.”
“You missed a step,” Ms. Rowan told her. “That's something dancers do.”
Sophie looked toward me, waiting for the consequence. I crouched beside her.
“You can try again, or you can rest. Either one is fine.”
She chose to rest. Ten minutes later she tried again. The turn was still imperfect. She grinned anyway.
On the day of the showcase, Adrian arrived fifteen minutes early, carrying a paper ticket carefully in his hand. He sat in the last row and applauded for every child. When Jasmine finished her solo, he wiped his eyes.
Afterward Sophie walked over to him. “Did you see me wobble?”
“I did.”
“Was it bad?”
Adrian smiled. “It looked like you recovered beautifully.”
Sophie accepted that and gave him a small drawing. It showed a girl under a chandelier, surrounded by people holding hands instead of staring.
May you like
He studied it for a long time. “Thank you,” he said.
The next morning an investigator called Rebecca. Someone had located the original backup of a parking-garage camera from the evening Lydia died. The footage might establish where she had gone before the crash—and whether she was alone.
