Esther winces disapproval, of both the film and Halloween. “And she’sstaying over?”
“He said she’d had a long drive.”
Her expression becomes so pitying it’s almost humiliating. “Please tell me you don’t believe that. This is Piers, all over again.”
“Joel’s not Piers. He couldn’t be more different.”
Esther torments an ice cube with her straw. “Don’t you remember when Piers canceled dinner because his ‘cousin’ was staying over—who turned out to be that girl he met at the golf course?”
I shrug and sip my drink in an effort to soothe the sting of recollection. It doesn’t work as well as I’d hoped.
Esther attempts to squeeze sense into my hand. “I’m just not sure he sounds like a great long-term prospect, Cal.”
“Why not?” I say, desperate for her to come up with a single argument I can convincingly disprove.
She lowers her face to mine in drunken solemnity. “He’s ditched you for a girl who turned up on his doorstep.”
To be honest, I’m quite drunk now too, which makes that doubly hard to argue with.
•••
The next morning I’m out of coffee, but I can’t risk running into Melissa, so I sit down next to my living room window and wait for her to leave. The sky is goose-feather gray, the air rich with late-November rain. From a nearby tree that will blossom in spring comes the drill of a robin’s alarm call. I watch the world begin to wake, lengthen its ligaments. Curtains nudge open and the street stirs with its familiar symphony of footsteps and closing doors, shuddering engines. Silhouettes solidify as the sky grows gradually whiter and lighter, shot through with the steam from flaring boilers.
Sooner than I expected she is there, sidestepping puddles, sugar-brown hair long and loose around her shoulders. She has one of those coats with a faux-fur collar, and a car that probably cost twenty times my monthly rent. Flicking the lock, she climbs straight in without looking back.
I set out as soon as her brake lights wink at me from the end of the road.
•••
Unfortunately, she hasn’t got very far, because I bump into her by the corner-shop chiller cabinet. She’s one of those awful people who don’tneed makeup to turn heads, who seem to have the skin tone and the lashes and the bone structure built in.
To my surprise, she smiles, and it’s a much friendlier smile than the last one she gave me. I’m hoping that’s not because she’s just had the night of her life, though I have to concede it’s a definite possibility.
“Can’t drive without it,” she says, lifting up her carton of iced coffee. I suppose that’s what people do in awkward situations—make small talk about whatever it is they’re in the middle of doing. “He was out of milk, and I hate it black.”
He, I think.No need for a name. We’re both only thinking about one guy.
A beat or two passes, and I realize Melissa’s waiting for me to say something. “Listen, if I’d known you two were—”
“We never said we were serious. That’s not really Joel’s style, if I’m honest.”
I’m unable to tell if she cares. “Right.”
“He hasn’t told you, has he? About his... issues.”
I say no, because I guess I’d know if he had. As Melissa inclines her head and lowers her voice, I feel a lick of guilt because, last night’s events aside, Joel’s been nothing but lovely to me. Yet here I am, helping her gossip about him in absentia. She’s beckoning me forward, teasing me into crossing a line.
I don’t ask, but she tells me anyway.
“He’s a real loner, you know. A bit... disturbed. He’s dead against having any kind of relationship. And have you ever seen that notebook he carries around with him?”
I want to leave, but she’s throwing scraps of information at me now like bait.
“Do you know what’s in it?”
Finally, she’s got me. I bite. “No.”
She hesitates, no doubt by design, and chews on her lip. “Oh, maybe I should let him tell you.”
