I looked around and saw the Echo Theater up ahead. There wasn’t a brightly lit marquee like Broadway. The sign out front was small, and the theater was down a set of steps, in a basement. I knew I should go in—knew that I was already cutting this much too close. But the thought of Stevie, sitting alone at her birthday dinner and hoping I’d be there, was too much for me to take. Could I actually sit through this play, knowing she might be there?

I suddenly remembered the original plan for tonight, and that there was a way to do both.

I could see the play—I was here, after all—but I’d leave at intermission. It would give me enough time to get to Josephine’s in case Stevie was waiting there. Because if there was a chance she was there, I couldn’t leave her there alone. I couldn’t do that to her. And I didn’t want to.

I’d leave a note for Mr. Campbell telling him how much I liked it—because of course I would—and then I’d go. And I might not get as much credit as I would have if I’d gotten to stay afterward and talk to him, but it was better than nothing, and it had to help somewhat.

Buoyed by this plan, I took the steps to the theater two at a time. Outside the door was a framed poster I’d seen on the website, and I thrilled a little as I saw the words A new play by Brett Campbell in orange type across the bottom.

I pulled open the door and stepped inside. I’d assumed there would be a box office, that it would look more like the Broadway theaters I was used to, but there was only a small lobby. A bathroom, a threadbare couch, a refreshment stand with paper cups selling wine and sodas. There was a guy behind a card table with a cash box in front of him.

I crossed my fingers that it wasn’t sold out as I approached. There were a few people milling around the lobby, but not many—the rest must be inside already.

“Hi,” I said, as the guy looked up from his phone. “Are there still tickets for tonight’s performance?”

“Um. Yeah,” he said. “Fifteen.”

“Okay,” I said, reaching into my coat, deciding to try one last time. “Can you… break a hundred?”

“No,” he said flatly, looking at me like I was crazy. “I can’t.”

“Okay,” I said, silently thanking Cary as I pulled out his twenty and handed it over. The guy handed me a five, then pushed a photocopied program—black and white—at me. “Do I… get a ticket?” I asked, feeling stupid that I didn’t know how this worked.