“You could maybe get her something from a pet store,” he added. “Supplies. A gift card.”
“I often bought her gift cards. During our marriage.”
Will winced. “Don’t do that, then.”
A memory of two weeks, two days ago came back to him, something he’d said to Nora in the dark, confessional solace of her bedroom:I’m not even sure I ever learned how to be a good friend.Definitely he and Gerald Abraham weren’t friends, and definitely Will would never be finding himself in this particular situation—broken up, lonely enough to be coming up with cat-purchasing schemes, looking for advice from the nearest person you knew the name of.
But that didn’t mean he couldn’t offersomething.
“You ought to go see her,” he said, putting his hand on the door handle. He’d help, but then he had to get the hell out of here. This was uncomfortable enough that he thought he might be blushing. “If you—if pets weren’t your thing, I mean. Going to see hers, that would be a nice gesture.”
Abraham tucked his hands in the pockets of his white coat, and Will wondered if he was going to get out his notebook and write this down. Maybe he would, once Will left, but for now he simply looked at Will, gave him a curt nod, and said, “Very good,” as though Will had offered up a satisfactory diagnosis and treatment plan. He added a brief, “Enjoy your evening,” and then turned and walked away.
Will shook his head, pushing out the door. In spite of himself, he felt a smile tug at his lips, thinking about Gerald Abraham getting climbed all over by Quincy and Francis. A rogue urination and follow-up face scream wouldn’t be the worst thing. But as he stepped into the evening air, the smile faded.You ought to go see her, his rash, reckless, cracked-glass heart told him, and he was sotiredof it. Tired of wanting what he shouldn’t want. Tired of missing what he shouldn’t miss.
Tired enough that when he looked up, he thought he might be dreaming.
Because that was Nora Clarke, standing there waiting for him.
“I was pretty sure I missed you.”
It was the first thing she said to him once he’d crossed the parking lot to get to where she stood, her cheeks flushed pink and her hair in that loose braid he liked, the one that made his forearm prickle in remembered awareness. She said it with the kind of frazzled, slightly out-of-breath frustration of a person who’d been dealing with traffic for a while, but he heard it all wrong, of course, and for long seconds all he could think was,I’m sure I missed you.
“I remembered you said you sometimes worked six to six,” she rushed out, obviously discomfited by the long silence, “And so I took a chance on showing up a little after that, but then . . . the truth is, I got lost! I’ve never come down to this side of the city, and”—she broke off, shook her head—“it doesn’t matter. I figured I’d missed you, being so late getting here and all, but then I called and got transferred to a nurse who said you’d left a few minutes ago, and anyway that’s why I’m here! I wasn’t, uh. It’s not like I’ve been standing out here for a long time or anything.”
For the first time, he noticed she was holding something—a thin, square package that seemed to be wrapped in quilting material. She thrust it forward, holding it out to him, her face turning even pinker. “This is still warm, see?”
He looked down at it, shifting to tuck his bike helmet under his arm so he could take it from her. But as soon as he moved, she pulled it back toward her stomach. “Oh! I can hold it! I didn’t . . . if you ride a bike, you won’t be able to—”
“Nora,” he said, because he knew this about her now. That if he said her name this way, she would slow down. She would look up at him.
When she finally did—her lips pressing together, her flush deepening—he could not help his smile.
“You look like you feel better,” he said, which was an understatement. She looked like the best thing he’d ever seen. Fresh and pretty and painted with the pink-orange light of the setting sun.Howhad he not gone to see her? That was the real question.
“You left me all the food that was in your freezer,” she blurted, and that quick, everything between them shifted. Now it was his turn to flush, her turn to smile teasingly—knowingly—at him.
“You told Benny to send me text message reminders for when to take my medicine.”
Benny, Will thought, dropping his eyes to the concrete.A traitor, through and through. Still, Will wondered if he’d been able to get that starter wort going.
“You told Marian I shouldn’t go out for three days, and she basically set up a security checkpoint.”
Marian! Dammit. Though the security checkpoint, that was a good idea. He knew he could count on her. He hoped at least Mrs. Salas had been more dis—
“Mrs. Salas made me mantecaditos.”
Will suppressed a sigh. He hadn’ttoldMrs. Salas to make the cookies. He’d maybe mentioned, when he was bringing up the food he hadn’t eaten from his freezer, that he didn’t have any of them left. Mrs. Salas was the one who’d insisted.
“And I can only assume you asked Jonah to put his air purifier in the hallway for a few days.”
He cleared his throat. “I . . . no.”
That had been the worst, asking for a favor from Jonah. Even after the ball game they’d watched together, Jonah still looked at Will through narrowed eyes. He still called Will “Beanpole,” even when Will was giving him doctor’s orders.
“No?” Nora said.
He scraped the toe of his shoe against the concrete.
