The train cut through the Catskill Mountains, just a few hours outside of Manhattan. The spring sun was already setting, the last traces of orange and yellow relinquishing their celestial ground to the purples and magenta that would usher in the pitch of night’s black. But the stars were already splattered across the sky, much more so than were visible in the city, and the stillness of the dark was a calming cloak, the stress of Manhattan far behind her.

Mitchell Jarvis was waiting at the train station with a big hug and a long, deep kiss. He generally greeted her with a lot of energy, and sitting in that cabin, writing day and night certainly explained why. His short, black hair was well-cut as always, his handsome face clean-shaven. I don’t like the mountain-man look, he’d often say, just the life.

The local tavern was still closed, but Mitchell had prepared a lovely meal of roasted chickens, buttery asparagus spears, and creamy and cheesy potatoes au gratin. The garden salad was fresh and crisp and the white wine was a lovely compliment.

“Delicious as ever,” Kat said, the citrus salad dressing tangy on her tongue.

“Everything tastes better out here, I’m telling you. Not like that shit hole you live in. Brooklyn? Yech.”

“It’s come around a lot in the past few years,” she said, trying to sound convincing.

Mitchell shrugged, shovelling a forkful of chicken into his mouth. “Your clientele, not so much. What did you say—one of them attacked you?”

“No, some homeless guy kind of showed up from out of nowhere. But there was a guy, Hank Matthews, one of the family. He was a bit aggressive, I suppose, but, y’know, that happens sometimes.”

Mitchell shook his head. “Shouldn’t happen ever. But that’s what life in the city gets you.”

Kat looked around the dark Lake Melody, water lapping at the wooden porch, the simplicity and simple beauty of nature all around her. “Maybe you’re right. I don’t think living here would be so bad at all, now that I think about it.”

Mitchell chewed his chicken more slowly. “Living here?”

“Sure. I mean, the next step can go in either direction, right?” Kat considered.

Mitchell finished chewing and sucked down the rest of his wine, quickly refilling it. “Gee, I dunno, hun, I’m not sure if you’d be happy up here. I mean, I’m writing all the time, but…you might be bored and restless. This is a desolate place, nowhere for a vivacious young woman to live.”

She set down her fork. “So, what are you saying?”

“What?—I’m not saying anything.” The color in his face quickly disappeared.

“Mitchell, if you don’t want to move into the city, and you don’t want me to move out here…what is it that you want?” Kat asked point blank, annoyed with his constant wishy-washy attitude.

Mitchell dropped his own fork, then pulled his napkin from off his lap and dropped it onto the table two, as if it were a white flag of surrender. “What’s wrong with things the way they are? We don’t need to see each other every single day, do we? I think that’s one of the things that’s so great between us; we’re a couple, but we’re also both individuals. This way we never crowd the other. I’m telling you, if more people did that there’d be a lot more successful relationships in the world.” Mitchell sat there with a cold, calm expression, not expecting to be contradicted.

“You’re right, Mitchell, it’s fine for now. But we’ve been dating for six months. If we’re going to have a future together, we’re going have to start thinking about that, about what that’s going to look like and be like, and where it’s going to happen.”

“But that’s just it, Kathleen. We’ve only been dating six months; it’s way too early to think about moving in.” She sat in the silence, knowing the effect it would have on him and on the conversation. “I told you, babe, I…I’ve already been through a divorce, it was… I don’t even want to think about it.”

“But you can’t keep reliving that forever, or hiding behind it. Honestly, Mitchell, with the reclusive lifestyle and the brokenhearted thing, I mean…don’t you want to be happy? Don’t you think maybe…just maybe…I could be the one to make you happy?”

Mitchell smiled. Kat could see it in his eyes—his feelings for her were growing; there was a warmth there and, little by little, she wanted to help him see a better way, a brighter future. It began with a kiss, leaning over the table, one hand falling onto the other.

* * *

“I dunno, honey,” Jackie said, climbing out the window while Kat followed her, waiting in the living room while Jackie pulled out a cigarette and lit it, blowing the smoke up and away in the Brooklyn afternoon. “Maybe you should think about finding another man.”

“Oh right, because eligible, handsome, successful men are a dime-a-dozen in Manhattan; everybody knows that,” Kat scoffed, rolling her eyes.

Jackie took another long drag of the Marlboro light, smoke pouring out of her nostrils. “I find a guy almost every night, when I’m not too tired from work.”

“I’ve met the guys you bring home, Jackie. They’re not my type.”

“And this guy is? This neurotic artsy type? You need to find yourself a real man, somebody with a big dick who can really use it!”

“Jackie!” Kat shrieked with laughter.

“I’m sorry, baby, but it’s true; I’m willing to say it for you even if you won’t say it for yourself,” she conceded.

“Well, it’s not true." The two roommates looked at each other, then broke out into a knowing little chuckle. “Mitchell is perfectly fine in bed, it’s not about that.”

“If perfectly fine sounds good to you. But to me, it sounds like a compromise; it sounds like you’re settling. But what it doesn’t sound like…is you, cumming.”

“Jackie!" But another long silence told both women what each already knew, and their familiar laughter pierced that bubble. The truth was plain enough, but what Kat was going to do about it was anything but.

“Okay, listen,” Jackie said, glancing around, “I wasn’t gonna say anything. But a friend of mine called me, in the biz, and she told me about this…this company. I gotta tell you, Kat, I thought of you.”

Kat rolled her head back. “I’m not going to be a phone sex worker, Jackie.”

“I ain’t saying that!” Jackie took another pull of the cigarette butt, flicking the ashes away as the white smoke poured out of her perfectly full, red lips. “And you wouldn’t be a worker…you’d be the client.”

“The—? What are you talking about, Jackie?”

“It’s a company, like I said. My friend says she knows the woman who runs it, and it’s totally legit.”

Kat leaned forward, only slightly intrigued. “A woman runs it? What kind of company is it?”

“Well, it’s…it’s like an escort agency…kind of.”

“So…prostitutes? You want me to…to hire a prostitute? What’s in that cigarette, Jackie?” Kat snorted.

“It’s not like that. It’s an entertainment company, like what you do…kind of.”

"Kind of how?” An expression of utter confusion grew on Kat’s face.

Jackie looked around nervously and took another puff. “Well, it’s…it’s a role-play kind of thing.”

"Again with the role-play—"

“No, sweetie, it’s different… It’s really different. See, a client—a girl like you—let’s say, or a guy even, well, the client pays for a certain service, like a performance. I think sex is optional.”

“Optional? What kind of sex are we talking about, Jackie?”

“I guess that’s up to the client, but…I suppose it gets pretty weird.” Jackie laughed.

“How weird? Jackie, seriously, what’s in that cigarette?”

Jackie cracked a smile. “It’s a kidnapping, girl, a professional kidnapping.” Reading Kat’s astounded expression, Jackie was quick to explain, “I hear it’s all real clean—everybody’s checked out. It’s for rich people so you know it’s gotta be good.”

“Jackie—”

“You sign up for the whole thing; whatever happens is up to you. And, y’know, you get to have a little fun in your life.” Jackie smiled mischievously, and pinched her on the ass.

“No, Jackie—”

“Oh come on, Kat. You can’t tell me you’ve never thought about it: being kidnapped and whisked away somewhere, tied up by some fucking sexy beast of a man—”

Kat’s eyes widened and she shook her head. “Babe, you’ve been spending too much time on the phone.”

“And you’ve been spending too much time up at that cabin. If it’s not gonna go anywhere, you might as well go find something worth wasting your time on.”

“Like some fake kidnapper?”

After a moment of thought, Jackie took one last drag from her cigarette and put it out.

“Well…yeah!”

* * *

Kat sat in her tiny bedroom, laptop on the desk in front of her. Skype had been a blessing, bringing her and her poor widowed mother face to face more often, which in turn had made it easier to be away. Though that was easier at some times than at others, and spring was never easy for either of them.

He’d died in the spring.

“How are you doing over there, dear?”

“Everything’s just fine, Mom,” Kat was happy to report, and happier still to exaggerate.

“They don’t seem fine, honey,” Mrs. Adrienne Le Fleur said, her pale skin aging quickly, her own chestnut mane turning grayer with every Skype call. “You’re still in that awful little apartment.”

“It’s fine, Mom, really. How are you? How’s everybody back in Tucson?”

Adrienne tilted her head, a sad smile plastered on her face. “They’re fine, but…they miss you—Ric and Jeanell—and me especially. I wish you’d come home.” The familiar pangs of love and loneliness kicked in again, and she knew her mother was well aware of the fact. “If you’ve finally given up on being an actor anyway, I don’t see why you don’t just come back. There’s no shame in it, honey.”

Kat was sure to smile, aware of being visible at every turn, and at fairly close range. “It’s not…I’m not ashamed of anything. Why should I be? I run my own company, I make lots of kids happy, I’ve got employees! Well, they’re independent contractors really, but it’s pretty much the same thing. I’m making it in New York City, Mom! I-I thought you’d be proud of me.”

“Oh, of course I am, dear, you know that! I just miss you, that’s all. To think of you in that terrible city all alone—”

“I’m not alone, Mom. I’ve got Jackie and Mitchell and Ben and all the crew over here. I mean, I miss you too, of course I do. But I’m making a life here.”

Adrienne sighed, shaking her head. “If you say so, dear.”

“I do say so, Mom. What else is going on? Has Ric got Jeanell knocked-up yet?”

“Oh, Kathleen, honestly, such language. What a thing to say about your sister!”

Kat broke out in a little secret chuckle, enjoying her freedom in every sense of the word. “I’ll take that as a no.” She crossed her arms in front of her and leaned back in her chair. “How about you? Are you seeing the doctor?”

“I don’t need to see the doctor every week, Kathleen; I’m not some old woman.”

“Okay, whatever you like.” There was one other question to ask, and both women were dreading it. But finally Kat had no choice. “Are you…going back there again this week?”

“Of course I am,” Adrienne said with a snap of contempt. “It’s the anniversary; I always visit him on the anniversary.”

“I know you do, but…do you have to?”

“Kathleen, really!”

But Kathleen was quick to explain, “On his birthday, I get it—that’s something to celebrate. Even your wedding anniversary, but…”

In a low and humorless voice, even colder out of the laptop’s tiny speakers, Adrienne asked, “But what?”

“All I’m saying is that it’s a very sad thing when a person’s death becomes the defining thing about their lives, that’s all.”

Adrienne looked down, off-screen, and Kat was instantly flush with hot regret. “That’s a very cruel thing to say, Kathleen. He was your father! He was my husband and the love of my life!”

“I love him too, and I miss him every day. But he wouldn’t want either one of us to spend the rest of our lives mourning him the way you’re doing. He’d want us to find happiness, have our own lives. That’s…” But she stopped herself, just a bit too late.

“That’s why you left Tucson, I know. But I can’t leave Tucson the way you did. This is my home, this is where…” This time it was Adrienne’s turn to stop herself just a few words too late.

“It’s where he’s buried,” Kat said. “But that’s what I’m talking about, Mom. We’re still alive, and life is for the living. Daddy always used to say that.”

Adrienne tried to nod with some kind of sincerity, but Kat knew it wasn’t easy, it wasn’t natural, and it wasn’t working. “Well, yeah,” she finally said, “he used to say a lot of things.”

“And he meant every last one of them.”

* * *

Kathleen tried to ignore the anniversary of her father’s death which was almost ten years ago when she was just nineteen. She treasured his memory, but tried to avoid the melancholy of that particular anniversary, the same way she suggested her mother do. She could see the effect it was having on her mother, how rapidly she was aging, how sad she continuously seemed to be. But Mom has Ric and Jeanell to take care of her, she reassured herself, and if they can ever manage to give her a grandson, she’ll be just fine.

But what about me?

She thought about her father, Maurice Le Fleur, always ready with a joke and a smile—a man who really did stop and smell the roses: to smile and wave at little babies, to pause and savor the feeling of a fresh breeze or a hot summer rain. Even then, years later, Kat could practically hear his voice in the back of her mind, telling her the story of how he was almost killed in that black hawk crash in Operation Desert Storm. The images were still fresh in her mind even though she’d never actually seen them: the pilot chopped in half by flack from an exploding shell, the helicopter spinning as the earth raced up to meet it.

But he’d survived, and taken the lessons of his survival with him back home, to love those whom he loved to the utmost, to protect and honor his country, to live as though each day was a precious gift, because to him that’s exactly what it was.

And that was a lesson his daughter wouldn’t forget. It had propelled her out of Tucson and to New York City with dreams of glory. She hadn’t made those dreams come true, but she’d made other dreams come true—ones she didn’t know she had and many that weren’t even her own. They were little things, these birthday dreams of happy children and the colorful characters they loved. But making them happy was a way to keep her father’s dream alive—a dream of simple and sweet contentment, little joys, the moments in life that are neither expensive nor replaceable. Like those little animal sculptures, a moment could be captured and treasured, even if just for a precious, short while.

And Kat had to wonder, What about Mitchell and I? Maybe it’s time to shake things up just a little bit. Poor man’s up there right now wrestling with another book, alone, grinding out the stories of lives he doesn’t dare lead. He’s become sheltered, dangerously so. And if I can’t drag him out of that cabin, at least I can make life there a little less predicable and a little more memorable.