I rise from the table to hug him and notice that like last time, his body feels stiff.
“Let me make you a plate, darling,” Ava tells him and begins preparing one.
“Yes, thank you, love, but I’m afraid I’ll have to take it back to my office with me. I need to jump on the phone again.”
“No worries,” she says, handing the loaded plate to him. “But come down for coffee if you can.”
“I’ll try,” he says and turns to me again. “I’m sorry I can’t join you, Kiki, but Ava will fill me in later.”
“Before you go,” Ava says, “Kiki had a question you might be able to answer. Do you know if Jamie had been house hunting up here?”
Vic cocks his head to the side, his eyes pensive. “If he was, he didn’t discuss it with me. He did mention that he’d downsized his rental, and though the new place was smaller, it apparently suited him.”
“Do you know where it was?” I ask, a hint of desperation in my tone. I feel a longing to drive by the house, to see where he was living in his last days.
“I don’t, no. But Liam told me he and Tori helped Jamie’s uncle pack up his belongings early this week. They’re planning to address the Manhattan place next week.”
Ava passes him a glass of iced tea, and with his hands full he turns to leave.
“Vic,” I say, “just one more thing, if you don’t mind. Was...” I hesitate for a moment, finally convincing myself that if there’s anyone I should feel comfortable asking about Jamie’s mood, it’s Vic and Ava. “Do you know if there was some kind of issue that Jamie was dealing with up here—besides, of course, our breakup?”
An odd expression crosses Vic’s face—concern, or annoyance—and then it’s gone in a flash.
“Did someone say that?”
“Uh, not in so many words, but I was wondering if—”
“I know it would be good to have answers right now, Kiki,” he says, cutting me off. “For god’s sake, we all want them. But unfortunately, we’re not about to get any. And we’re only going to prolong the nightmare and drive ourselves nuts if we keep telling ourselves they’re out there.”
“I know, it’s just—”
“For god’s sake, Kiki,” he snaps. “Let itgo.”
His words, along with his cold, blunt tone, send blood rushing tomy cheeks. As he turns and hurries from the room, I slide my eyes over to Ava, sensing she’s taken aback, too, and see that her lips are parted in surprise.
“Kiki, please don’t take that personally,” she says quietly. “As I mentioned, Vic has been badly shaken by this.”
“Don’t worry,” I say. “I can only imagine what this might be like for both of you.”
Ava tries to shift gears, mentioning a trip she hopes to take to Manhattan in September. She also asks if I’ve written to Daphne, her literary agent friend, and I explain that the most I’ve done is send her an email saying that due to a personal situation, I have to delay submitting the proposal.
But I’m still shaken by my exchange with Vic, and I find it tough to maintain any semblance of normalcy throughout lunch.
For dessert Ava brings out a bowl of clementines and a plate of chocolate chip cookies, but I only eat half a clementine and then take my leave, thanking her profusely for being there for me.
I had told myself that some time with Ava would ease my grief a little, but somehow I feel worse than when I arrived.
11
I’D PLANNED TO CHECK OUT THE REST OF THE PROPERTIES ONJamie’s list today, but as I pull out of Ava and Vic’s driveway, I’m overwhelmed with a desire to return to the quiet and peace of the rental house on Ash Street.
Once I’m back, I fill the teakettle with water and open the kitchen windows. From somewhere in the trees comes the shrill, insistent whine of a dog-day cicada, a sound I found mesmerizing as a girl but that feels unsettling today. Maybe Idoneed to let it all go. If I strip away the hurtfulness of Vic’s comments, I realize they echo what Megan said on the phone earlier: looking for answers is often fruitless. But often doesn’t meanalways, I tell myself. Maybe there are answers somewhere, and if I can uncover them, I’ll come to some sort of understanding and acceptance.
I just have to figure out where they’re hiding.
I make a mug of herbal tea and sit with it at the table, trying to decompress. My mom had texted while I was at Ava’s, so I write back with a promise to call her soon. I also scroll through the latest batch of emails from friends and acquaintances, offering their condolences. Most seem genuinely sorry on my behalf and appear to recognize how weirdly complicated the situation is for me, though I’m sure a few are gossiping among themselves, wondering if I’m the catalyst for Jamie’s awful death.
Without warning, I’m ambushed by fatigue. Leaving the mug behind, I wander into the living room, kick off my sandals, and stretch out on the couch. I tell myself I’m only going to rest my eyes for a couple of minutes, but almost immediately I find myself drifting off.
