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“Irving, are you okay?” asked Kate.

He breathed out slowly. “Just a little indigestion.”

It looked much worse than indigestion to Kate.

“Sean, can you share the rest of my notes with Kate and walk her back to the Metro? I’d like to sit alone for a minute.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” asked Kate.

“I’m fine. Just go.”

Kate gathered her purse and her coffee cup. Bass didn’t rise to shake hands. She thanked him, which he ignored, still focused on breathing. Sean started down the sidewalk, and Kate walked with him.

“I’m worried about him,” she said.

“Don’t be,” said Sean. “He gets overly dramatic every time he tries to stop drinking. It’s as if he wants someone to tell him, ‘Irv, stop suffering and pour yourself a drink—please.’”

Kate was suddenly thinking of her mother. “The problem is that he doesn’t wantadrink. He wants ten drinks.”

They stopped at the Metro entrance. Sean buried his hands in his pockets, as if unsure of his next words. “I don’t think I can find an active production ofOslo,” he said. “ButTheLittleFoxesis playing at Arena Stage. I was wondering if you’d like to see it.”

“Love Lillian Hellman. I’ll definitely check it out.”

“I meant... see it with me.”

“I know you did,” she said, smiling. “Yes, that would be fun.”

He smiled back. “Great. I’ll check on tickets and shoot you a text.”

“Perfect.” Kate turned and started inside.

“Hey,” said Sean, stopping her. “Your play still doesn’t have a title. What are you going to call it?”

“Don’t know yet. Hope to figure that out before the end of the next act.”

“Looking forward to it,” he said. “The next act, I mean.”

“Me, too,” she said, taking his double meaning, and then she continued into the station.

Kate went home to an apartment full of boxes. The movers were scheduled to arrive on Monday, and then she would be moving south of the National Mall, to the apartment her father had found in the Wharf District. Her decision had pleased him.

“You’re going to love it there,” he’d told her. “And you’ll be very safe.”

Kate had felt perfectly safe in DuPont Circle. She wished he would stop talking as though the family were suddenly under attack.

Packing had been a veritable walk down memory lane. Kate was not a hoarder, but it was amazing how much stuff a single person could accumulate in three years, even in a small one-bedroom apartment. In the middle of the living room were several overflowing boxes of things marked “undecided” on the keep-or-throw-away tick list. Her running shoes were as yet unpacked. She laced them up and headed out the door to clear her mind.

Kate’s usual route was through Montrose Park, near Georgetown, an immediate escape from the city to life among chipmunks, squirrels, and an occasional white-tailed deer. When feeling strong, she’d continue through Whitehaven and Glover-Archbold parks on up to American University. Memories abounded here, too. The way to even lovelier Dumbarton Oaks Park was downhill along Lover’s Lane, the place where Noah—corny as ever—had stopped in the middle of their run to say, “I love you.” They’d known each other for about three weeks. Kate had thought he was joking and laughed. He’d said of course he was kidding and joined in the laughter. Only later did she learn how much her reaction had hurt him.

“Kate?”

She stopped and looked back. It was the runner she’d just passed on the trail. He, too, had stopped, and the two of them were standing in the shade of a chestnut tree.

It was Noah.

Each expressed the same sentiment—how weird it was to run into each other—though in truth it didn’t shock Kate. Noah also lived in DuPont Circle, and technically this washisroute, the one they used to follow. She’d found a new one after they’d stopped dating, but she’d decided to follow the old one, one last time for nostalgia’s sake, before moving. She hadn’t expected to see him. But maybe a part of her had hoped that she would. They talked with hands on hips, catching their breath, as they walked along the trail.

“How’s the play?” asked Noah.

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