Page 43 of Comfort Read

Kit glares at her and then, deciding his best defense against this objectively true statement is to say nothing at all, turns back to Sage. “And anyway, it’s not like you told them to come! Or asked them to be rude or invasive! That’s on them. If you asked me to move to Florida and then my house got hit by a hurricane, would that be your fault?”

“Kind of?” Sage says, screwing up his face. “But look, we don’t have to do this now—you have other, more urgent problems, or at least that’s what it sounded like. Weren’t you saying something about riots and being murdered?”

“Oh God, right,” Kit moans, the reality of the situation washing over him again. He feels his gaze turn beseeching against his will. “I don’t suppose you have, like, a one-man educational show for kids in your repertoire? Or a new and unusual willingness to act out all your lines from Humplestiltskin to an adoring audience?”

“Definitely no to that second suggestion.” Sage’s cheery voice is at odds with this ironclad refusal, and he glances around the bookstore with obvious curiosity. “And I can’t say I’ve ever done a one-man show, let alone one for kids. One-man shows, in my experience, are mostly a vehicle for actors to torture their agents. But God knows I’ve done enough auditions and improv that I can probably throw something together. Show me what you’ve got in terms of props, and I’ll see if I can figure it out.”

Kit leads him to the back office, apologizing first for its chaotic state—he hasn’t had the time or the will to tidy it for a minute—and then for the paltry selection of items to choose from. Sage waves these sentiments away, arguing that any prop master would be impressed by both the selection and Kit’s various creative uses of pipe cleaners, and begins choosing things from bins and cabinets. When he’s gathered up a top hat, a tiny fake Christmas tree, a scarf, a few pieces of plastic food, and a decorative cardboard tombstone left over from Halloween, he points at a folded sheet in the corner and asks, “Do you mind if I cut a few holes in that? I think I have an idea.”

Fifteen minutes later, his heart in his throat, Kit welcomes today’s Corner of Knowledge guests into the children’s section. Several of the parents have elected to stay today, too, lingering at the back of the room. This isn’t normal, and Kit blames Allison, who has been telling everyone, with an enthusiasm bordering on mania, that there’s a special guest host for the Corner today. The children all appear confused and eager, but the parents just look excited—they, presumably, are hooked in enough to both local and celebrity gossip to have a pretty good guess as to who that guest is.

Several of them still gasp as Sage walks into the room and stops next to the little pile of props he assembled. “Hello,” he says, not seeming at all cowed to find an audience of both children and adults. “My name is Sage Ballard, and⁠—”

“My friend Riley says you’re Humplestiltskin,” one of the children cries, ignoring her mother’s desperate attempt to shush her. “Is that true? Are you? Are you really him?”

“I did lend my voice to that particular character, yes,” Sage says, managing to only sound slightly pained. “But we’re not going to talk about that today. You guys all know my good friend Kit back there, right?”

“Yes,” the audience choruses—even, to Kit’s amusement, some of the parents.

“Good.” Sage smiles at Kit, the expression warm and threaded with a softness that turns Kit’s knees to Jell-O. “I happen to know he takes teaching you kids very seriously. Humplestiltskin was a lot of things, but I wouldn’t call it super educational. Instead, I thought I’d introduce you all to a different story, one that’s a lot more famous, and a lot more historical. It’s even seasonally appropriate, if you can believe it. Does that sound okay to you?”

“Yes!” This time nearly all the parents join in; Kit hides a smile behind his hand.

“All right,” Sage says, smiling at all of them. Then, in one smooth and, in Kit’s opinion, unfairly hot motion, he flips the top hat onto his head, spreads his hands wide, and says, “Here’s the first thing you need to know, then. Old Marley? He’s dead as a doornail.”

What follows is, to Kit’s amazement, a complete, child-friendly, and surprisingly cogent one-man production of A Christmas Carol. It’s an upsettingly impressive performance, especially for something he’s improvising off the cuff: Sage plays all the parts, with a fair amount of call-and-response engagement with his audience, and without even a moment of hesitation. Also, Kit knows for a fact that Sage hates the work of Charles Dickens, having recently listened to him complain about the man’s wordiness, overly complicated plots, and general inability to get to a point during the recent premiere of a modern adaptation of A Tale of Two Cities.

This hatred, however, does not seem to have stopped him from absorbing the plot of A Christmas Carol well enough to fully render it here in the Sawyer’s Books children’s section. Not only do the kids enjoy it, but the parents seem to as well; Kit certainly does. It’s a better adaptation of the book than the uninspiringly titled London v Paris had been of A Tale of Two Cities, and that had been a multimillion-dollar production with a whole team of writers behind it. Sage does not have a team. Sage has a sheet with holes he’s cut in it to throw over his head whenever he’s acting as one of the ghosts, and a series of interruptions from small children shouting things like, “Oh no, Tiny Tim!”

And yet, somehow, it’s one of the most charming, compelling things Kit’s ever seen. Dazed, he realizes that he’s never actually seen Sage work in person before, setting aside that first day they met, which hardly counted. He hadn’t been acting then, just suffering through an interview he didn’t want any part of; it’s different, to see him like this. His charisma seems to sparkle through every character, turning a story Kit’s always found boring into an engaging, compelling masterpiece. It would almost make Kit sad that Sage wants to walk away from acting, if it weren’t for the fact that the way he puts it together—off the top of his head, and with essentially no notice—proves even more than his proposed concept for the Lanterns books that he’s meant to direct. As good as his acting is, what really shines is the thought he puts into each choice, the way he weaves everything together to communicate with his audience.

The performance is funny, sad, and educational by turns, with little pauses and asides to talk about the historical period and Dickens himself. Overall, it’s masterful. It’s so good that Kit breaks his own rule and—surreptitiously, so none of the parents will see him and call him out for the hypocrite he is—he pulls out his phone and records a few minutes. He’ll be glad to have it later, when Sage is gone from both Cedar Falls and Kit’s day-to-day reality: a little souvenir to remind him that for a few weeks, he had the privilege of Sage’s light in his life.

Sage gets a standing ovation when he’s finished. The noise is so loud that Kit jerks around in surprise: Having not taken his eyes off Sage for the full run of the show, he hadn’t realized that every other person in the bookstore, even those without children, has been filtering in to watch with him. Even Allison’s here, leaning against the far wall. When Kit raises his eyebrows at her, meaning, “If you’re here, who’s manning the desk?” she rolls her eyes at him and gestures broadly around them, meaning, “No one, because all the customers are in here.” Kit, seeing her point, lets it go.

It’s a good day for Sawyer’s Books. The parents are rapturously grateful, all of them clamoring to shake Sage’s hand, and then to thank Kit for bringing him in. The children agree that it was the best Corner of Knowledge ever, which would be a blow to Kit’s ego if they weren’t so absolutely right. They sell out of copies of A Christmas Carol, and then—not having had that many copies of it to begin with—out of Dickens in general. Kit collects no less than a dozen promises from various patrons that all their Christmas shopping will be done at the bookstore, to further thank him for such a wonderful experience.

“How did you do that?” Kit demands, when things have finally calmed down and the store has largely emptied out. “Do you just, like, have that in your back pocket for emergencies all the time?”

Sage laughs, and sounds sheepish as he puts his hand to the back of neck. “Uh… how much would you judge me if I told you I just saw the Muppet version a few too many times as a kid?”

Kit stares at him for a moment, and then bursts out laughing. Melancholy and moping temporarily forgotten, he takes Sage out for ice cream.

SEVENTEEN

A few days later, as they speed away from downtown LA and into the Hollywood Hills, Kit watches with some trepidation as Sage’s fingers drum against his thigh, pressing little divots into his dark gray jeans. He’s been so quiet for the bulk of the drive that Kit would wonder if he was breathing if it weren’t for the slight movement of his classic white Oxford shirt. Only a few weeks ago, Kit might have taken it personally. Now he knows it means Sage is nervous, and so does his best to be a calm, soothing presence, or at least as calm and soothing a presence as a jumpy little man in khakis and his most formal plaid flannel can be. He’s not sure he’s succeeding—he, after all, is nervous himself—but the effort, at least, counts for something.

It might not count for a lot, however, because after about twenty minutes of virtuously biting his tongue and containing himself to innocuous comments about the weather, Kit’s base nature gets the best of him. “Dude, listen: You don’t have to tell me or anything, but, like. I have some questions. One: Do you want to, like, tell me who this Wayne guy is? I feel like I don’t know anything about him, and maybe that’s not optimal for convincing him of, uh. Anything? Also, and more importantly: Are you good? I know there’s a lot riding on this dinner, but ultimately it’s just about funding the movie. The way you’re acting makes me afraid there’s a version of things where we’re each given a cigarette and sent before the firing squad.”

Sage barks out a humorless laugh and runs a hand over his face. “No, sorry—I promise Wayne won’t shoot us. I’m just jumpy, I guess. And I’m realizing I should probably have given you some context on a few things, but it’s too late now.”

“Who says?” Kit tries not to look too eager and is certain, based on Sage’s raised eyebrow, that he fails. “I love context! Context is my best friend, and we’re in the car for at least a few more minutes. Plenty of time for you to tell me everything.”

But Sage is already shaking his head. “No, we’re nearly there, and anyway, it’s a long story. Even if I’d started when I picked you up at LAX, I wouldn’t have gotten through it. Just—if Wayne says anything about someone named Nick, act like you know what he’s talking about, okay?” More quietly, like he’s embarrassed about it, he adds, “And it probably wouldn’t go amiss to seem like you aren’t a fan of the guy.”

“I did read that you’d fired him?” Kit winces at the thunderous expression that flits across Sage’s face. “So I figured he probably wasn’t supposed to be my favorite person.”

“He might be my least favorite person.” Sage sounds as though he’s speaking through gritted teeth. “I don’t want to get into it—it really is a long story—but the short version is, we’d worked together since I was a kid, and then a while ago I found out he was lying to me. As it turned out, he’d been lying to me for a long time.”