“We can walk there,” she said, putting on her sunglasses. A different flicker of discomfort had passed over her face though, and Erik frowned.
“Should we not go?”
She indicated the doors with her head, and they walked out. It was cold, but not agonizingly so, and the sun was shining. Erik put his own shades on.
“Here’s the deal,” Daisy said. “I told Will and Lucky we have been talking. And how it’s been going. I didn’t tell them you were coming here, though.”
“What was their reaction?”
“Lucky wants to kill you,” she said, smiling up at him. “But Will was neutral. Neither joyous nor indifferent.” She stopped and touched his arm. “I’ll take you over to the theater but if those guys are there, I’m going to turn us around and leave. All right? I want you to myself today.”
Erik nodded. “I have shit to work out with Will but not today. Today is just you, me and the nausea.”
They walked along, hands in pockets. Occasionally bumping arms but consciously not touching. Not yet. Erik tried to take in his surroundings but he could barely register anything beyond Daisy’s presence beside him. Eventually he noticed the theater facade up ahead, and the complex of brick buildings attached to the rear of it.
“The theater is used by a community playhouse,” Daisy said, opening one of the doors, “and the Saint John Orchestra. And us. But we have all those adjoining buildings. All the studios and rehearsal spaces connected right to the theater. We only just moved under one roof a year ago. But it’s been great. Feels like a home now.”
The lobby had red carpet and gold moldings, a ticket window at the far end. Three sets of doors into the theater, the middle set was open. Daisy walked over and put her head in, then looked back at Erik and gave him a thumbs-up.
He exhaled in relief and followed her in. She took him all over the complex, from the storage rooms beneath the stage, to the lighting booth in the balcony. The sun-lit studios. The student lounge. The dressing rooms. He asked questions. She showed and told. Her eyes were bright, her face flushed with pride and accomplishment. She had found her Plan B. She was doing what she was born to do.
The tour ended at her office. Small and snug with soft brown walls, plants on the windowsill and hanging prints and posters.
“Hey,” he said, going toward her desk. He had spied the Matryoshka—the Russian nesting dolls he had given her as a Christmas present.
“You still have these,” he said, amazed.
“Of course I do.”
They were un-nested, lined up in size order. He picked up the largest one and something rattled inside. A look of alarm crossed Daisy’s face, she stepped and reached as if to snatch it back. Then she dropped her hand and sighed.
“What?” he asked. “What’s in here?”
“It’s stupid. Don’t laugh. All right fine, laugh. It’s funny now. I was just a lunatic at the time.”
Erik twisted the doll open. Inside was a dollar bill and some change. He looked at her, puzzled.
“Remember when I sent back all your clothes?”
He nodded.
“I went through all the pockets first and I kept whatever was in them. You had a dollar and fourteen cents to your name.”
“I was rich back then,” he said. He opened the next doll and found two washers, a screw, and a guitar pick. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
He picked up another and raised his eyebrows.
“Oh yeah,” she said, smiling. “It gets worse.”
He opened it. Stared a long time. “Lint,” he said.
“It was bad.”
“You went through all the pockets and kept my lint.”
Daisy shrugged.
The next doll held a small lock of hair, scotch-taped. “All right,” Erik said, “as a keepsake, this makes sense. How did you get my hair?”
“Lucky gave you a haircut one time and I kept some.”
“Why?”
She looked at him with mild disbelief. “Because it’s what you do.”