“You mean thatMelended it? I’m pretty sure I told them when they asked about her love life, and Jen Choi might have, too, but parts of those awful days are such a blur, I don’t remember for certain.”
“That’s understandable, Harry ... Why did Mel break it off, do you know?” I’m trying to sound casual despite how fast my pulse is racing.
“I think she just lost interest. I remember her saying that once you got beyond the fantastic hair, there wasn’t much there. God, remember that hair?”
Yeah, I remember the hair. Thick and shaggy, and the color of burnished gold. I remember the rest, too. When you looked at Jack’s features one by one, there was nothing remarkable about any of them—in fact, his eyes were on the smallish side and his jaw too square—but beauty kismet had arranged them together in a truly arresting way. And they were only enhanced by his broody manner and the slightly petulant curl of his lips.
He had the lead role in several campus plays, including one Mel was cast in during the fall of sophomore year. I only learned of the relationship when Logan leaned over to me during the first act and whispered, “The main guy? He and Mel are an item apparently.” During intermission he explained that he’d wormed the informationout of her when they’d been discussing our plans to drive up from the city for the performance.
I ended up meeting Jack only twice: briefly after that first play, when Mel introduced us outside the theater, and then again the following May, after another campus play they both had roles in. To my shock, she invited him to join us when we went out for coffee later.
“Was he upset about getting dumped?” I ask Harry, still careful with my tone.
“At first, I guess. She said he sulked for a while and badgered her to get back together. But Jack had one of those egos that never lets you categorize yourself in a loser role. According to Mel, he was sure he’d leave college and become the next Robert Pattinson.”
I let out a gust of air, processing all I’ve just learned.Jackwas the one who’d been kicked to the curb. And though he might have seemed only sulky to Mel, it’s possible her decision infuriated him.
“Why are you asking so much about Jack?” Harry asks. “Are you thinkinghecould have done it?”
“Oh no, just putting a few things in perspective. Thank you for all your help, Harry. And it was good to hear your voice again.”
“Let me know if there’s anything I can do—you’ve got my cell number now. And just so you know, I think of Mel so often. I really miss her.”
“That means a lot, Harry.”
We wish each other a warm goodbye. I immediately send Logan a text, telling him what I’ve learned and asking that he update Halligan.
It’s after one o’clock by now, and though I’m not very hungry, I need to eat. I put my coat on again, and since I can’t think of another option—and I’ve had my fill of Brie and grapes—I return on foot to the coffee shop I stopped at earlier. Without bothering to look at the menu, I order a Cobb salad and an iced tea.
Twice while I’m eating, I check to see if Logan’s responded to my text about Jack. Based on what Harry said, there’s a chance the copsnever knew that Mel, not Jack, broke off the relationship, and they need to hear this as soon as possible.
There’s no reply, though. I try calling next, but I reach only voicemail and leave a message for him to phone back as soon as possible. I feel even more in limbo than I did when I woke up this morning.
As I leave the restaurant, I decide to walk for a while, hoping the activity will subdue some of my agitation. Turning right isn’t an option because that will take me south, to the area where Mel and Harry had their apartment junior year. So, I make a left.
Before long I’m walking parallel to the college, and after about six or seven blocks, I reach the corner of Lennox Road, which, from what I recall, is the street that runs along the northern boundary of campus. I keep going. By now I’m in an affluent-looking residential area I vaguely remember driving through years ago. Some of the houses are perfectly preserved Victorians in white, yellow, or gray with gabled roofs, decorative woodwork, and wraparound porches; others are smaller and simpler but well tended. Though the tree branches are still bare, there’s forsythia blooming wildly in many of the yards, a promise of warmer days ahead.
I turn right onto Oak Street and walk for a couple more blocks. It’s been good to stretch my legs, but when I reach the next intersection, I realize I’m too antsy to continue, too eager to track down Logan and see why he’s not responding. As I turn around, ready to head back, I glance up absentmindedly at the street sign above my head to the right: “Birch St.”
How odd to see that word at this moment, with Mel’s haiku top of mind for me.
I stare at the sign a minute more, my curiosity stirred. Is it possible that Mel sometimes took walks in this area, too, walks that gave her time to reflect and conjure up lines of poetry? What if thebirchshe refers to in her haiku is simply a reference to a street she sometimes wandered down and has nothing to do with the Frost poem we read together and loved so much? The thought crushes me a little.
I start to walk again, faster this time, and once I reach the inn, I nearly race to my room. I grab my laptop and open the file with Mel’s poems, scrolling down to the haiku I want.
Will you welcome me?
As I leave a pathless wood
Returning to birch.
The wordspathless woodare a clear reference to the Frost poem, so her haikumustbe about the two of us somehow, not the street. Maybe the street sign was just the universe calling out to me.
I kick off my shoes and lay down on the freshly made bed. Despite how wired I still feel, I somehow drift off to sleep.
My phone rings, waking me, and when I grab it from the bedside table, I see Bas’s name on the screen.
“Hi, is everything okay?” I ask groggily. It takes me a second to remember that it’s not the middle of the night.
