That night felt like the right time.
“Why did you reopen it?”
He could have given me the polished answer.
Economic redevelopment.
Historic preservation.
Community investment.
Instead he leaned against the wall.
“Belle.”
I waited.
“My mother used to bring me here,” he said. “I hated it.”
“That seems impossible.”
“I was fourteen. I hated everything.”
“Fair.”
“She made me sweep floors. Carry programs. Set chairs. I thought the place was old and inconvenient and full of adults who asked too many questions.”
“Also fair.”
“After she died, I wanted to sell it.”
“What stopped you?”
“Mara.”
I smiled.
“That also seems likely.”
“She delayed the sale three times. Then Belle was born. When she was four, Mara brought her here.”
He looked toward the auditorium.
“There was no heat. Half the lights didn’t work. Belle walked onto that stage and started singing to an empty room.”
“What song?”
