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I grunted a response as I stacked chairs.
“But sort of bland, if I’m being honest,” Martin said. “He has a clean-cut earnestness that’s perfect for Laertes.”
“Okay,” I said.
“You don’t think so?”
I shrugged. “You’re the director, Marty. I don’t have a thought about him one way or another.”
“You sure about that?” Martin smiled gently. “I saw you looking at him and Willow—”
“For fuck’s sake—”
“And I saw her looking at you.”
I froze, six chairs in my arms. “What?”
Martin’s smile widened and he shrugged. “I see everything. That’s my job.”
“Whatever,” I said, and carried the stack to the wall. “I’m not in high school anymore.”
“Does that matter?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Baker’s her age. I’m not. He’s got money. I don’t.”
“So you’re interested in her?”
I let a stack of chairs slam down. “Mind your own business, Marty.”
He sighed and shoved his hands in the front pockets of his cords. He wore a kind smile I’d never see on my own father’s face.
“I can’t help it, Isaac. Somewhere along the way, you went from being an actor I admire to a young man I care about.” He shrugged. “I want you to be happy.”
He said ‘happy’ as if it were something you just plucked out of the goddamn air anytime you felt like it.
“I’ll be happy when I get out of Harmony,” I said. “But if you really care about the play, you’ll want me to be miserable. Hamlet’s a tragedy, remember?”
“I’m not worried about the play,” Martin said. “But I am concerned that Willow won’t always have a ride to and from rehearsal. Her father—”
“She has a ride,” I snapped. “Justin Baker’s her ride.” I slammed the last stack together. “I’m done. I have work early tomorrow. Good night.”
“Isaac—”
“Good night,” I called again, already halfway down the stairs.
Martin’s fatherly concern was something I craved and yet it chafed me. I was leaving Harmony. I needed to sever connections, not make them stronger.
Or make new ones with beautiful, talented girls.
I started my truck and let the engine idle. It would only stall if I tried to drive before it was warm. I supposed Justin Baker had a car built in this decade. Something sleek that didn’t freeze up or belch black smoke at stop signs. With heated seats. Willow was probably used to heated seats. Used to guys like Justin, who hadn’t spent a day in their lives worrying about money. Willow would be perfectly comfortable in his car, driving to her big house with a guy cut from the same wealthy cloth.
Good, I thought. Let her find her happy ending with Justin because it sure as hell wasn’t going to be with me.
But as I drove my shitty truck to the shitty end of t
