"Nora, you're working—"
"Tomasz is working. I'm asking you a question."
I ran a hand through my hair. "Yeah. I can get there. Wicker Park, right?" I'd never been to Nora's place.
"Yeah, now listen. I'll send it in a text message after we're done talking. You take the Pink Line to Damen, three blocks north, left on Schiller. I'm the green door, 2B." She paused. "Steady enough, or do I need to pick you up?"
She didn't soften the question.
"Yeah," I said. "I'm steady."
"Start moving then. I'll be there when you get there."
She hung up.
I stood in the kitchen for a few seconds and then focused on something simple and immediate. I had one job—get from my place to Nora's. I grabbed my coat off the back of a chair andslipped on my shoes. On my way out the door, I walked past the box on the counter without touching it.
I didn't look back. I pulled the door shut and heard the lock engage.
Martin looked up when I came through the lobby. He took one look at my face, said nothing, and held the door open for me.
"Thanks," I said.
"Take care of yourself tonight, Sully."
The L platform was elevated, and the wind was sharp.
I zipped my coat up to my chin and watched the track. I rocked from heel to toe, and my jaw started to grind.
Three other people stood on the platform. A woman with a tote bag talked into her phone. Two guys in their twenties joked with each other in loud voices.
The train came in, and I found a seat by the window. The car was maybe a third full. I sat for two minutes and then stood, grabbing the overhead bar instead. I couldn't commit to stillness.
He talked about you all the time.
Bryan sat at tables and on couches, saying my name to people I'd never meet. He assumed the same permanence about me as I did about him.
Wicker Park was alive. The bars were doing a steady business, with some customers standing outside in the cold, shivering and talking, while plumes of cigarette smoke drifted upward.
Three blocks north. Left on Schiller.
Nora's building had a green door, just as she had said. I pressed the buzzer for 2B.
She buzzed me up, and her door was open when I arrived. She looked me up and down, then bit her lip.
"Come in," she said.
I followed her inside.
Her furniture didn't match, but it appeared chosen rather than accidental, each piece selected for comfort over coordination. A tapestry covered most of one wall, and a gallery of framed prints covered another. Books filled the shelves and colonized the floor space beside them.
Two lamps that didn't match kept the light low. A half-finished cup of tea sat on the coffee table.
I stood inside the door for a moment, unsure where to position myself. That was genuinely new. I could always figure out where to put myself.
"Sit," she said.
I sat on the couch. She took the chair across from me and didn't immediately offer anything. She looked at me with the full attention she usually reserved for a bar teetering toward chaos.
