She flinched at the unexpected use of her nickname. It was a forcible reminder that Chad knew Tully, too.
"Sit down," Tully said. "I'll go get a waitress." She was on her feet and gone before Kate could stop her.
Kate looked at Chad; he eyed her back, smiling as if at some secret. "This is an interesting place," she said to make conversation.
"It's like a tavern without beer," he said. "The kind of place where you can change who you are."
"I thought change started from within."
"Sometimes. Sometimes it's forced upon you."
His words caused something to darken his eyes, an emotion of some kind. She was reminded of his backstory suddenly, the bright career he'd lost. "They'd fire you—the university—if they found out about you and Tully, wouldn't they?"
He drew his leg back, sat up straighter. "So that's how you want to play it. Good. I like direct. Yes. I'd lose this career, too."
"Are you some kind of risk junkie?"
"No."
"Have you slept with your students before?"
He laughed. "Hardly."
"So, why?"
He glanced sideways, at Tully, who was at the crowded coffee bar, trying to order. "You, of all people, shouldn't have to ask that. Why is she your best friend?"
"She's special."
"Indeed."
"But what about her career? She'd be ruined if word got out that she was with you. They'd say she slept her way to a degree."
"Good for you, Katie. You should be looking out for her. She needs that. She's . . . fragile, our Tully."
Kate didn't know which upset her more—his description of Tully as fragile or the way he saidour Tully. "She's a steamroller. I don't call her Tropical Storm Tully for nothing."
"That's on the outside. For show."
Kate sat back, surprised. "You actually care about her."
"More's the pity, I imagine. What will you tell her?"
"About what?"
"You came here to find a way to convince her not to see me anymore, didn't you? You can certainly say I'm too old. Or the prof angle is always a winner. Just so you know, I drink too much, too."
"You want me to tell her those things?"
He looked at her. "No. I don't want you to tell her those things."
Behind them, a young man with wild hair and ratty-looking pants stepped up to the microphone. He introduced himself as Kenny Gore-lick, then began playing a saxophone. His music was wildly romantic and jazzy; for a few moments the talk in the place died down. Kate felt swept up in the music, transported by it. Gradually, though, it became background music and she looked at Chad. He was studying her intently. She knew how much it meant to him, this conversation, and how much Tully meant to him. That turned the tables neatly; she was surprised by the suddenness of the switch. Now, sitting here, she was worried that Tully would ruin this man, who frankly looked as if he didn't have the stamina to take another hit like that. Before she could answer the question he'd posed, Tully was back, dragging a purple-haired waitress with her.
"So," she said, frowning and a little breathless, "are you friends yet?"
Chad was the first to look up. "We're friends."
"Excellent," Tully said, sitting on his lap. "Now who wants apple pie?"
