“Nothing,” Heath said. “That’s the thing. I walked past, and Varga just reached out and straightened Rook’s collar. Didn’t even look at me. Then they both went back to acting normal.”
“Define normal,” I said.
“Varga talked for twenty straight minutes about a podcast no one else had listened to,” Heath said. “Rook didn’t say a word.”
“That tracks,” Pratt said.
Heath frowned, still turning it over. “Yeah, but since when?”
Kieran picked up his glass again. “Since you started paying attention,” he said.
Heath sat back, unsatisfied but outnumbered. “I’m telling you, it was weird.”
“Everything’s weird if you stare at it long enough,” I said.
He pointed at me. “That’s not helpful.”
“I’m not trying to be helpful.”
The server came by to clear plates, and Heath let it go, already halfway back into his story before the glasses were off the table.
I caught Pratt’s eye for a second. He didn’t react, at least not in any way anyone else at the table would have seen.
That tracked too.
The following morning, I looked at my phone.
Heath:good call on the aquarium. ansel says hi.
Sully:tell Ansel he has excellent taste.
Heath:he already knows.
We visited Lexington on Labor Day weekend. Cath opened the door before we reached her porch steps.
I'd warned Pratt on the drive from the airport that Cath Baker was the kind of person who looked at you like she was doing an inventory. It wasn't unkind. It was thorough. He'd said okay. I'd said no, I mean she will actually look at you. He'd said he understood. He was right that he understood.
She looked at Pratt the way I'd described. She started with his eyes, working outward and taking her time. Pratt stood quietly.
Her house was the same as I remembered it. She had a photograph on the wall at the bottom of the stairs of Bryan probably age eight or nine. He was smiling, holding a foot-long fish.
Cath made sandwiches: turkey, sharp cheddar, and mustard on one side of the bread. Pratt asked if he could have mustard on the other side too. She nodded and made it the way he wanted it.
We sat at her kitchen table for two hours. She asked Pratt questions about hockey. He gave carefully considered responses, leaving out the hockey jargon.
When we left, she hugged me at the door. She shook Pratt's hand and held it a second longer than a standard handshake.
"Drive safe," she said.
After leaving, I didn't say anything for about ten minutes. Pratt drove.
"She liked you," I said finally.
"I know."
"How do you know?"
"The mustard on the sandwich. She did it without hesitation."
