“What does that mean?” she said.

“Apprehensive?” He was surprised the word hadn’t somehow found its way to her yet. “It just means I’m thinking,” he said. “I’m trying to keep track of some things in my head.”

Celia pondered this notion. Or perhaps another thought entered her mind; Dan would never know. She paused long enough that he assumed they were moving onto something else, but instead she stuck to the topic.

“Thinking about what?” she said.

“I’m expecting an important phone call.”

“From who?”

“From some people in New York. That was Guy. You met Guy before. He’s my producer.”

“What is a producer again?”

Dan was happy to shift into more clear-cut territory. He almost never spoke to her about work, and it offered a comfortable batch of material. “A producer is someone who makes movies. Or TV commercials or Broadway plays. But in this case, movies.”

“Uh huh?” She expected more information.

“You remember how we talked about all the work it took to make a movie?”

“I guess so.”

“Well, making a movie is a big, group effort. It can take hundreds of people sometimes. Some of them make the food, some of them write the music. Some people speak the lines of dialogue. Some people record the lines.”

“A lot of people.”

“Yeah,” he said. “The producer is the person who kind of organizes everything. They make sure everyone knows what’s going on. Actually, some of them just give money. But the one I was just talking to is more creative.”

“It seems complicated.”

“It’s very complicated.”

“And you’re the director,” she said.

“I’m the writer-director,” he said. “That means I write the script, work with the actors, talk to the camera department, the costume person. I’m kind of right in the middle, telling people what to do.”

“I thought that was the producer.”

“It’s both of us. I make the decisions and he carries them out.”

Celia frowned. She was only partly satisfied with the explanation, but she was willing to let things stand for the moment. They arrived at the sidewalk and began down the street, passing a smattering of pedestrians along the way.

“So why were you upset?” she said.

“I told you, I’m not upset.”

“Okay. Why are you apprehensive?”

“I’m waiting to find out if we get the money to make a movie. I might get it and I might not. I should be finding out really soon. And not knowing is hard.”

“I’ll say,” she said. “Not knowing sucks.” Dan figured she must be talking about school.

The smell of wet leaves and moss and cold earth drifted down from the West Hills. Dan took his time walking them through the park. They watched a hacky sack circle. Some skateboarders barreled through, testing their moves on the lip of an amphitheater.