That was okay. Scooping up noodles, she walked to the polished concrete wall, looked down at the busy, busy world below. She’d find her place, eventually. In that busy, busy world or somewhere else. But now, right now, this quiet time, this interlude where she could stay anonymous, where she could walk by a newsstand and not see her own face, or some headline shouting her name, gave her all she needed.

Ireland had given her that as a child. She’d take it from New York now, and because she wasn’t a child any longer, she’d use the time, the interlude to explore her talents, or lack thereof, her abilities, or lack thereof.

Maybe she’d take a photography course, or art lessons, or, or, or.

“I’ll find out,” she murmured as she went back in, closed the glass doors on the rumble of the city.

She settled down with her tablet, did some searching on photography. She did like looking at people, listening to them. She might be good at capturing images.

Freezing a moment, an expression, a mood. She could practice with her phone camera, just play around. She’d walk around the neighborhood in the morning before she headed over to NYU to orient herself a little.

When her phone alarm sounded, she snatched it up.

“Curtain.”

She imagined the curtain rising on the stage in San Francisco, the lights, the set.

“Break a leg, everybody.”

She tried to occupy herself with more research, just couldn’t. She could hear the opening act, the notes, the beats, the dialogue, the voices.

Did the audience laugh here, applaud there? Were they charmed and engaged?

She imagined the whirl of backstage, the costume changes, the warm-ups, the rush to hit the cue.

Rising, she checked the locks, lowered the lights before going into her bedroom. To try to counteract the anxiety in her stomach, the not knowing, she rolled out her yoga mat, started a relaxation session.

She’d have relaxed more, she could admit, if she hadn’t kept checking the time, but she got in thirty minutes.

Trying to stretch out the time as she had her body, she changed into a tank and cotton sleeping shorts, did a long, involved skin care routine.

Made it to intermission.

She switched on the television, flipped through stations until she found a movie in progress. One with car chases and explosions to take her mind completely out of musical theater.

Apparently, the yoga worked better than she’d realized, as she dropped off as Matt Damon’s Jason Bourne disposed of bad guys.

The phone popped her awake. She scrambled for it, and the remote to turn off the TV. “Noah.”

“I woke you up. I knew I should’ve waited until morning.”

“I told you I’d mess you up if you did. I’m awake. Tell me.”

“Some kinks we need to work out.”

She could hear the noise, the voices, the buzz, buzz, buzz in the background. “Tell me,” she repeated.

“It was awesome.” The wondering laugh came through, warmed her. “It was freaking great. Full house, standing O. Twelve curtain calls. Twelve.”

“I knew it! I knew it! I’m so happy for you.”

“We have to see what the reviews say. Jeez, Cate, you should’ve heard the house explode when Lily came onstage. Your grandfather was out front. He’s coming to the cast party. I miss you.”

“I miss you, too, but I’m so happy for you. All of you.”

“Feels like the best night of my life. Go back to sleep. I’ll text you tomorrow.”

“Go celebrate. And when you have your smash opening on Broad-way, I’ll be there.”

“Counting on it. Night.”

“Night.”

She put the phone on the bedside charger, hugged herself. Smiling, she snuggled in, drifted off. When the phone signaled again, she sighed into another smile. “Noah,” she murmured when she answered.

“You didn’t do what you were told.”

The robotic voice shot her up in bed. “What? What?”

Music now. An iconic voice asking: “Are you lonesome tonight?”

Vises closing down her lungs as she fumbled for the light, wheezing as her eyes darted around the room.

Her mother’s voice, whispering: “You’re alone.” Static, a change in pitch. “You can’t hide!”

In a panic, she scrambled out of bed, fell to her knees.

Music again, the upbeat, cheerful sound turned to terror. “Hold on. I’m coming!”

A horror-movie laugh, the kind of greedy laugh that rose out of dark basements, through graveyard fog.

When the phone went dead, she burst into tears.

She didn’t just change her number, she trashed the phone, bought a new one. She struggled over whether or not to tell anyone. Opening night loomed, so the timing couldn’t have been worse. But in the end, she told Noah.

They sat in Café Café, his hands gripping hers. “It happened before?”

“Back in L.A., last winter. It was a recording. I mean, this one was different, but they’re recordings.”

“Why didn’t you tell your dad before?”

“Noah, I’ve told you how he gets, how he worries and tries to basically throw a force field around me. And I thought, really thought, it was just some jerk playing a nasty game.”

“But now it’s happened again. We’ll go to the cops.”

“I trashed the phone,” she reminded him. “Part of the panic, and stupid, but I trashed it. And what would they do anyway? It wasn’t really a threat.”

“Trying to scare somebody is a threat. Do you think it’s your mother?”

“No, not that she wouldn’t do something, but I don’t think she’d have used her own voice. In the first, I know it was from a movie she did. I’m betting this one is, too.”

“Cate, they knew you were alone.”

“Yeah.” She’d had time to think, time to calm and think. “I told you how it works with me. There have been a couple of squibs about me living in New York with G-Lil, even something about me registering for classes at NYU. The out-of-town opening got a lot of play, so . . .”

“You have to tell Lily. I’ll go with you.”

“What? Now?”

“Now.”

“I don’t want to upset her, and she can’t—”

Noah tossed the coffee money on the table. “If you don’t tell her, I will.”

That flipped a switch. “That’s not right. It’s my business, my decision.”

He simply rose, took her hand to pull her to her feet. “You’re going to have to deal with it.”

Furious, she argued, demanded, threatened, but didn’t budge him an inch on the fast walk to the condo. Those golden eyes she loved stayed hard, his face implacable.

Lily’s reaction didn’t make things better.

“Son of a bitch!”

Fresh from her massage, still in her robe, Lily swirled around the living room.

“The second time? And you didn’t tell me.”

“I just—”

“There’s no ‘I just.’ ” Her eyes narrowed as she caught the resentful look Cate tossed at Noah. “And don’t you take it out on him. Noah’s done the right thing.”

“There’s nothing you can do about it,” Cate began.