If I could live here, could feel Ben in bed with me every night, would I ever leave? I’d give up anything, everything for that. Wouldn’t I?
Did he want me to?
“Where are you right now?” I asked Ethan.
“In my apartment,” he replied. “In the Lower East Side. It’s tiny, but it’s cheap. It came with a pullout sofa, so that’s what I sleep onevery night. I sit on it when the sun is up, then lie down on it when the sun goes down. This thing is so heavy that I don’t think it will ever be moved out of this building. I don’t even know how anyone got it up the stairs.”
I smiled to myself, picturing it.
“So I have a single room, a tiny kitchen, and a bathroom. The main room is my bedroom, my living room, my everything room. I own two plates, four forks, and a plastic bowl with a beer logo on the side. I don’t know why a beer company would make a bowl, so don’t ask. I can hear my upstairs neighbor every time he pees, and my downstairs neighbor smokes a cigarette every hour, on the hour, that comes up through my vents. The garbage truck arrives, very loudly, at six o’clock every Wednesday morning. My parents live in a nice house in suburban Maryland and think I’m insane to live here. They tell me regularly that I’ll regret coming to New York, but it’s been over two years, and I don’t. I keep waiting for the regret, but it never arrives.”
At his words, I missed New York with an ache deep in my body, emanating from my bones. “My apartment has faulty fuses,” I said. “You can’t plug in a lamp and a curling iron at the same time.”
“Sounds perfect,” Ethan said.
“It’s sweltering in summer,” I said.
“Oh yes,” he agreed. “I fill a bowl with ice water and put my feet in it. That’s the only thing that helps on the worst days.”
“I do that, too. I can use a fan in summer, but only if I unplug everything else in the apartment.”
We both laughed.
“It’s too quiet here,” I said. “Too quiet and too creepy.”
“You have to be there for a little while,” Ethan said. “Then come back to New York. And when you do, will you have lunch with me?”
“Lunch?” I asked, surprised at how stung I felt. “Don’t you want a second date?”
“I do, but you won’t say yes to a second date.”
“I haven’t said yes to lunch, either.”
“You don’t need to go on a date,” Ethan said reasonably. “But everyone needs to eat lunch sometime.”
—
After I hung up, I looked around the kitchen, feeling useless again. Then I saw the girl out the window.
It was the neighbor girl—Terri, I remembered. Terri Chatham. An unfortunate name, and the girl had an unfortunate haircut, but otherwise she had seemed sweet. She was walking along the tree line behind our house, looking like she was woolgathering. Wasn’t this a school day? Why was she walking around alone?
It was none of my business. I picked up a dusty can of tomatoes—honestly, when had anyone in this house ever eaten canned tomatoes?—and then I saw the second figure.
It was quick, a shadow flitting between the trees behind Terri. Terri didn’t notice. She kept walking. As I watched, the shadow flitted behind her again, as if following her from a distance.
The can banged down on the counter as I grabbed my coat. The hair stood up on the back of my neck. I strode to the back door and was hurrying toward Terri before I formed a complete thought.Get away from her, whoever you are. Whatever you are.
The girl lifted her gaze and caught sight of me approaching, and I remembered to rearrange my face into something approaching pleasant. “Hi there!” I called out to her, an approximation of a friendly, neighborly greeting. “I’m Dodie. Remember me?”
Terri smiled back at me. “Hi.”
“Hi, Terri.” I was close to her now, and I resisted the urge to grab her by the arm or by the shoulders to move her along. Every alarm instinct was clanging in my gut. “Why aren’t you in school right now?”
Her brow crinkled. “It’s Saturday?”
“It is? Well, what do you know.” I looked around, taking note of the trees. I didn’t see the shadow again, but I could feel it. There was definitely a bad smell in the cool air. “I had no idea. But since it isn’t a school day, let’s do something fun.”
Her brow crinkled further, though she looked—pathetically—a little hopeful. “You and me?”
