Chapter Thirteen

“Remy, sugar? Come here for a minute, will you? ”

I got up from behind the reception desk, putting down the stack of body lotion invoices I’d been counting, and walked back into the manicure/pedicure room, where Amanda, our best nail girl, was wiping down her work space. Behind her was Lola, patting her scissors into her open palm.

“What’s going on? ” I asked, already suspicious.

“Just sit down, ” Amanda told me, and the next thing I knew I was sitting: Talinga had snuck up behind me and pressed down on my shoulders, whipping a hair cape around me and snapping it at the neck before I even knew what was happening.

“Wait a second, ” I said as Amanda grabbed my hands and planted them, quick as lightning, onto the table between us. She spread out my fingers and started filing my nails with quick, aggressive jerks of an emory board, biting her lip as she did so.

“Just a quick makeover, ” Lola said smoothly, coming up behind me and lifting up my hair. “A little manicure, a little trim, a little makeup‑ ”

“No way, ” I said, pulling free from her grip. “You are not touching my hair. ”

“Just a trim! ” she replied, yanking me back into place. “Ungrateful girl, most women would pay big money for this. And you get it for free! ”

“I bet not, ” I grumbled, and they all laughed. “What’s the catch? ”

“Keep your hands still or I’ll cut more than this cuticle, ” Amanda warned me.

“No catch, ” Lola said breezily, and I braced myself as I heard snipping behind me. God, she was cutting my hair. “A bonus. ”

I looked at Talinga, who was testing lipsticks on the back of her hand, glancing at me every so often as she gauged my colors. “Bonus? ”

“A plus. A gift! ” Lola laughed one of her big laughs. “A special present for our Miss Remy. ”

“A gift, ” I repeated, warily. “What is it? ”

“Guess, ” Amanda said, smiling at me as she started applying smooth streaks of red polish to my pinky nail.

“Is it bigger than a bread box? ” I said.

“You wish! ” Lola said, and they all started laughing hysterically, like this was the funniest thing ever.

“Tell me what’s going on, ” I said sternly, “or I’m out of here. Don’t think I won’t do it. ”

They were still tittering, trying to control themselves. Finally Talinga took a deep breath and said, “Remy, honey. We found you a man. ”

“A man? ” I said. “God. I thought maybe I was getting some free cosmetics or something. Something I need. ”

“You need a man, ” Amanda said, moving to my next nail.

“No, ” Talinga said, “ I need a man. Remy needs a boy. ”

“A nice boy, ” Lola corrected her. “And today is your lucky day, because we happen to have one for you. ”

“Forget it, ” I said as Talinga bent down next to me, poking at my face with a makeup brush. “Is this the one you tried to set me up with before? The bilingual one with nice hands? ”

“He’ll be here at six, ” Lola went on, ignoring me completely. “His name is Paul, he’s nineteen, and he thinks he’s coming to pick up some samples for his mother. But instead he’ll see you, with your beautiful hair‑ ”

“And makeup, ” Talinga added.

“And nails, ” Amanda said, “if you stop wiggling around, goddammit. ”

“‑ and be completely smitten, ” Lola finished. Then she did two more small snips and ran a hand through my hair, checking her work. “God, you had some split ends. Disgraceful! ”

“What in the world, ” I said slowly, “makes you think I’ll go through with this? ”

“Because he’s good‑ looking, ” Talinga said.

“Because you should, ” Amanda added.

“Because, ” Lola said, whisking the cape off me, “you can. ”

I had to admit they were right. Paul was good‑ looking. He was also funny, pronounced my name right, had a firm handshake‑ and, okay, nice hands‑ and seemed to be a good sport about the fact that it was such an obvious setup, exchanging a wary expression with me when Lola “just happened” to have a gift certificate from my favorite Mexican place that she was suddenly sure she’d never use.

“Do you get the feeling, ” Paul asked me, “that this is out of our control? ”

“I do, ” I agreed. “But it is a free dinner. ”

“Yes, ” he said. “Good point. But really, don’t feel obligated. ”

“You either, ” I told him.

We stood there for a second while Lola and Talinga and Amanda, in the next room, were so quiet I could hear someone’s stomach growling.

“Let’s just go, ” I said. “Make their day and all. ”

“Okay. ” He smiled at me. “I’ll pick you up at seven? ”

I wrote down my address on the back of a Joie business card, then watched as he walked out to his car. He was cute, and I was single. It had been almost three weeks since Dexter and I had split, and not only was I dealing with it, we’d almost finessed the impossible: a friendship. And here was this nice guy, an opportunity. Why wouldn’t I take it?

One possible answer to this question appeared as I was walking out to my car, digging in my purse for my keys and sunglasses. I wasn’t looking where I was going, much less around me, and didn’t even see Dexter come out of Flash Camera and cross the parking lot until I heard a loud clicking noise and looked up to see him standing there, holding a disposable wedding camera.

“Hey, ” he said, winding the film with one finger. Then he put the camera back up to his eye and bent back a bit, getting me from another angle. “Wow, you look great. Got a hot date or something? ”

I hesitated, and he took the picture. Click. “Well, actually…” I said.

For a second, he didn’t move, not winding the film or anything, just looking at me still through the viewfinder. Then he took the camera away from his eye, then smacked his forehead with one hand and said, “Ouch. Oh, man. Awkward moment time. Sorry. ”

“It’s just a setup, ” I said quickly. “Lola did it. ”

“You don’t have to explain, ” he said, winding the film, click‑ click‑ click. “You know that. ”

And then it happened. One of those too‑ long‑ to‑ just‑ be‑ a‑ regular‑ pause‑ in‑ conversation pauses, and I said, “Okay. Well. ”

“Oh, man, awkward. Double awkward, ” he said. Then shrugged his shoulders briskly, as if shaking this off, and said, “It’s okay. It’s a challenge, after all, right? It’s not supposed to be easy. ”

I looked down at my purse, realizing my keys, which I’d been digging for this whole time, were in fact in my back pocket. I pulled them out, glad to have some kind of task, however stupid, to focus on.

“So, ” he said casually, pointing the camera over my head and taking a picture of Joie’s storefront, “who’s the guy? ”

“Dexter. Really. ”

“No. I mean, this is what friends discuss, right? It’s just a question. Like asking about the weather. ”

I considered this. We had known what we were getting into: eating ten bananas wasn’t easy either. “The son of a client here. I just met him twenty minutes ago. ”

“Ah, ” he said, rocking back on his heels. “Black Honda? ”

I nodded.

“Right. Saw him. ” He wound the film again. “Looked like a nice, upstanding guy. ”

Upstanding, I thought to myself. As if he were running for student council president, or volunteering to help your grandmother across the street. “It’s just dinner, ” I said as he snapped another picture, this one, inexplicably, of my feet. “What’s with the camera? ”

“Defective shipment, ” he explained. “Somebody at the main office left the box out in the sun, so they’re all warped. Management said we could have them, if we wanted them. Kind of like the tangerines, you know. Can’t turn down free stuff. ”

“But will the pictures even come out? ” I asked, noticing now, as I looked closer, that the camera itself was bent, warped, like the VCR tape I’d accidentally left on my dash the summer before. It didn’t look like you could even get the film out, much less develop it.

“Don’t know, ” he said, taking another picture. “They might. Or they might not. ”

“They won’t, ” I said. “The film’s probably ruined from the heat. ”

“Or maybe, ” he said, holding the camera out at arm’s length and smiling big as he snapped a picture of himself, “it isn’t. Maybe it’s just fine. We won’t know until we develop it. ”

“But it’s probably a total waste, ” I told him. “Why bother? ”

He put down the camera and looked at me, really looked at me, not through the lens, or from the side, just me and him. “That’s the big question, isn’t it? ” he said. “That’s the whole problem here. I think they just might come out. Maybe they won’t be perfect‑ I mean, they could be blurred, or cut off in the middle‑ but I’m thinking it’s worth a shot. That’s just me, though. ”

I just stood there, blinking, as he lifted the camera up and took one more shot of me. I stared straight at him as it clicked, letting him know I got his little metaphor. “I have to go, ” I said.

“Sure, ” he said, and smiled at me. “See you later. ”

As he walked away, he tucked the camera into his back pocket, darting between cars as he headed back to Flash Camera. Maybe he would print out the pictures and find them perfect: my face, my feet, Joie rising up behind me. Or maybe it would just be black, void of light, not even an outline of a face or figure visible. That was the problem, after all. I wouldn’t waste the time on such odds, while he jumped to them. People like Dexter followed risks the way dogs followed smells, thinking only of what could lie ahead and never logically of what probably did. It was good we were friends, and only that. If even that. We never would have lasted. Not a chance.

It had been two days since the scene with Don in the front yard, and so far I’d managed to avoid him, timing my trips to our common area, the kitchen, when I knew he was either out or in the shower. My mother was easier: she was completely immersed in her novel, pushing through the last hundred pages at breakneck speed, and hardly would have noticed a bomb going off in the living room if it meant pulling herself away from Melanie and Brock Dobbin and their impossible love.

Which was why I was surprised to find her sitting at the kitchen table, a cup of coffee beside her, when I came home to get ready for my date with setup Paul. She had her head balanced on one hand and was staring up at Don’s naked lady painting, so lost in thought that she jumped when I touched her shoulder.

“Oh, Remy, ” she said, pressing a finger to her temple and smiling. “You scared me. ”

“Sorry. ” I pulled out a chair and sat down across from her, dropping my keys on the table. “What are you doing? ”

“Waiting for Don, ” she said, fluffing her hair with her fingers. “We’re meeting some Toyota VIPs for dinner, and he’s a nervous wreck. He thinks if we don’t impress them they’ll cut back on his dealer perk allotment. ”

“His what? ”

“I don’t know, ” she said, sighing. “It’s dealership talk. This whole night will be dealership talk, and meanwhile I’ve got Melanie and Brock at a sidewalk café in Brussels with her estranged husband fast approaching and the last thing in the world I want to think about is sales figures and cut‑ rate financing techniques. ” She cast a longing look into her study at her typewriter, as if being pulled there by some tidelike force. “Oh, God, don’t you sometimes wish you could live two lives? ”

Inexplicably, or maybe not, Dexter suddenly popped into my head, watching me through a bent disposable camera. Click. “Sometimes, yeah, ” I said, shaking this off. “I guess I do. ”

“Barbara! ” Don bellowed, opening the door to the New Wing. I couldn’t see him, but his voice had no trouble carrying. “Have you seen my red tie? ”

“Your what, darling? ” she called back.

“My red tie, the one I wore to the sales dinner? Have you seen it? ”

“Oh, honey, I don’t know, ” she said, turning in her chair. “Maybe if you‑ ”

“Never mind, I’ll just wear the green one, ” he said, and the door shut again.

My mother smiled at me, as if he was just really something, then reached over and patted my hand. “Enough about me. What’s happening with you? ”

“Well, ” I said, “Lola set me up with a blind date for tonight. ”

“A blind date? ” She looked at me warily.

“I already met him, at the salon, ” I told her. “He seems really nice. And it’s just dinner. ”

“Ah, ” she said, nodding. “Just dinner. As if nothing could happen within three courses and a bottle of wine. ” Then she sat there, blinking. “That’s good, ” she said suddenly. “Oh, my. I should write that down. ”

I watched as she picked up an envelope, an old power bill, and a pen. Three courses‑ just dinner‑ nothing could happen she scrawled on the side of it, capping it off with a big exclamation point, then slid the envelope under the sugar bowl, where it would probably remain, forgotten, until one day when she was totally blocked and found it. She left these scribblings all around the house, folded into corners, on the backs of shelves, acting as markers in books. I’d once found one about seals, which later turned out to be a major plot point in Memories of Truro, sticking out of a box of tampons under my sink. I guess you just never knew when inspiration would strike.

“Well, we’re going to La Brea, ” I told her, “so it’ll probably just be the one course. Even less chance of it working out. ”

She smiled at me. “You never know, Remy. Love is so unpredictable. Sometimes you’ll know a man for years and then one day, boom! Suddenly you see him in a different way. And other times, it’s that first date, that first moment. That’s what makes it so great. ”

“I’m not falling in love with him. It’s just a date, ” I said.

“Barbara! ” Don yelled. “What did you do with my cuff links? ”

“Darling, ” she said, turning around again. “I haven’t touched your cuff links. ” She sat there, waiting, and when he didn’t say anything else she just shrugged, turning back to me.

“God, ” I said, lowering my voice, “I don’t see how you put up with him. ”

She smiled, reaching over to brush my hair out of my face. “He’s not so bad. ”

“He’s a big baby, ” I said. “And the Ensure thing would make me nuts. ”

“Maybe it would, ” she agreed. “But I love Don. He’s a good man, he’s kind to me. And no relationship is perfect, ever. There are always some ways you have to bend, to compromise, to give something up in order to gain something greater. Yes, Don has habits that try my patience. And I’m sure I have plenty that do the same for him. ”

“At least you act like an adult, ” I said, although I knew myself this wasn’t always true. “He can’t even dress himself. ”

“But, ” she went on, ignoring this, “the love we have for each other is bigger than these small differences. And that’s the key. It’s like a big pie chart, and the love in a relationship has to be the biggest piece. Love can make up for a lot, Remy. ”

“Love is a sham, ” I said, sliding the saltshaker in a circle.

“Oh, honey, no! ” She reached over and took my hand, squeezing my fingers. “You don’t really believe that, do you? ”

I shrugged. “I have yet to be convinced otherwise. ”

“Oh, Remy. ” She picked up my hand, folding her fingers around mine. Hers were smaller, cooler, the nails bright pink. “How can you say that? ”

I just looked at her. One, two, three seconds. And then she was with me.

“Oh, now, ” she said, letting my hand go, “just because a few marriages didn’t last doesn’t make it a total wash. I had many good years with your father, Remy, and the best part was that I got Chris and you out of it. The four years I was with Harold were wonderful, until the very end. And even with Martin and Win, I was happy for most of the time. ”

“But they did end, all of them, ” I said. “They failed. ”

“Maybe some people would say so. ” She folded her hands in her lap and thought for a second. “But I think, personally, that it would be worse to have been alone all that time. Sure, maybe I would have protected my heart from some things, but would that really have been better? To hold myself apart because I was too scared that something might not be forever? ”

“Maybe, ” I said, picking at the edge of the table. “Because at least then you’re safe. The fate of your heart is your choice, and no one else gets a vote. ”

She considered this, really thinking about it, then said, “Well, it’s true that I have been hurt in my life. Quite a bit. But it’s also true that I have loved, and been loved. And that carries a weight of its own. A greater weight, in my opinion. It’s like that pie chart we talked about earlier. In the end, I’ll look back on my life and see that the greatest piece of it was love. The problems, the divorces, the sadness… those will be there too, but just smaller slivers, tiny pieces. ”

“I just think that you have to protect yourself, ” I said. “You can’t just give yourself away. ”

“No, ” she said solemnly. “You can’t. But holding people away from you, and denying yourself love, that doesn’t make you strong. If anything, it makes you weaker. Because you’re doing it out of fear. ”

“Fear of what? ” I said.

“Of taking that chance, ” she said simply. “Of letting go and giving into it, and that’s what makes us what we are. Risks. That’s living, Remy. Being too scared to even try it‑ that’s just a waste. I can say I made a lot of mistakes, but I don’t regret things. Because at least I didn’t spend a life standing outside, wondering what living would be like. ”

I sat there, not even sure what to say next. I realized I’d felt sorry for my mother for nothing. All these years I’d pitied her all her marriages, saw the very fact that she kept trying as her greatest weakness, not understanding that to her, it was the complete opposite. In her mind, me sending Dexter away made me weaker than him, not stronger.

“Barbara, we’ve got to be there in ten minutes so let’s‑ ” Don appeared in the kitchen doorway, tie crooked, his jacket folded over one arm. He stopped when he saw me. “Oh. Remy. Hello. ”

“Hi, ” I said.

“Oh, look at your tie, ” my mother said, standing up. She walked over to him, smoothing her hands down the front of his shirt, and straightened it, tightening the knot. “There. All fixed. ”

“We should go. ” Don kissed her on the forehead and she stepped back from him. “Gianni hates having to wait. ”

“Oh, well, then let’s get going, ” my mother said. “Remy, honey, have a wonderful time. Okay? And think about what I said. ”

“I will, ” I told her. “Have fun. ”

Don headed out to the car, keys in hand‑ which I noticed, of course‑ but my mother came over to me as I stood up, putting her hands on my shoulders. “Don’t let your mother’s history make you a cynic, Remy, ” she said softly. “Okay? ”

Too late, I thought as she kissed me. Then I watched as she walked out to the car, where Don was waiting. He put a hand against the small of her back, guiding her into her seat, and in that one moment I began to think I just might understand what she was talking about. Maybe a marriage, like a life, isn’t only about the Big Moments, whether they be bad or good. Maybe it’s all the small things‑ like being guided slowly forward, surely, day after day‑ that stretch out to strengthen even the most tenuous bond.

My luck was continuing. Paul was actually not a bad setup.

I’d been a little wary when he’d picked me up, but was surprised when, actually, we’d immediately fallen into talking about college. Apparently one of his best friends from high school was at Stanford, and he’d been there over Christmas to visit.

“Great campus, ” he was saying as the mariachi band, a La Brea staple, started up yet another rendition of “Happy Birthday” across the restaurant. “Plus the ratio in the classes of professors to students is really good. You’re not just dealing with a TA, you know? ”

I nodded. “I hear it’s pretty rigorous academically. ”

He smiled. “Oh, come on. I know how smart you have to be to get in there. I doubt you’ll have a problem. You probably, like, aced the SATs, right? ”

“Wrong, ” I said, shaking my head.

“I, however, ” he said grandly, taking a sip of his water, “scored in the moron category. Which is why I’ll still be at my fine state school pulling the gentleman’s C, while you head off to lead the free world. You can send me a postcard. Or, better yet, come see me at my postgraduate job, where I’ll be happy to Supersize your order because, you know, we’re friends and all. ”

I smiled. Paul was a charmer, and a rich boy, but I liked him. He was the kind of guy where talking comes easily because he has something in common with everyone. Already, other than Stanford we’d discussed waterskiing (he was terrible, but addicted), the fact that he was bilingual (Spanish‑ his grandmother was Venezuelan), and the fact that once summer was over, he’d head back to school, where he was a brother at Sigma Nu, majored in psychology, and managed what he described as the “all heart, no skills” men’s basketball team. He wasn’t goofy or uproariously hilarious, but then again, he wasn’t clumsy either, and both his shoes were tied. Before I knew it, our food had come, we’d eaten, and we were still sitting there talking, even as they cleared every plate from around us in a subtle hint that we were lingering too long.

“Okay, ” he said, as we made our waiter’s day by finally leaving, “in the interest of full disclosure, I have to say I was a little wary about this. ”

“In the interest of full disclosure, ” I replied, “I would say that you were not alone in that feeling. ”

As we reached the car, he surprised me by unlocking my door, then holding it open as I climbed in. Nice, I thought, as he walked around to the driver’s side. Very nice.

“So, if this had been a total disaster, ” he said as he got in, “I’d tell you I had a great time, then take you home, walk you to your door, and run every stop sign on the way out of your neighborhood. ”

“Classy, ” I said.

“But, ” he went on, “since it wasn’t, I was wondering if you wanted to go to a party with me. Some friends of mine are having a pool thing. You interested? ”

I considered my options. So far, it had been a good night. A good date. Nothing had happened that I would regret, or have to think about too much later. It was all going by the book, but for some reason I couldn’t shake what my mother had said to me from my mind. Maybe I did hold the world at arm’s length, and so far it had worked for me. But you just never knew.

“Sure, ” I said. “Let’s go. ”

“Great. ” He smiled, then cranked the engine. As he started to back out, I caught him glancing over at me, and knew, right then, that already things were in motion. It was funny how easy it was to start again, after only three weeks. I’d thought Dexter would affect me more, change me, but here I was with another boy in another car, the cycle starting all over again. Dexter was the different one, the aberration. This was what I was used to, and it was good to be back on a sure footing again.

“Man, ” Lissa said, dipping a fry into her ketchup, “it’s like you special‑ ordered him or something. How is that? ”

I smiled, sipping on my Diet Coke. “Just lucky, I guess. ”

“He’s totally cute. ” Lissa stuffed another fry in her mouth. “God, all the good ones are taken, aren’t they? ”

“So does this whining, ” Jess asked Lissa, “mean that KaBoom P. J. has a girlfriend? ”

“Don’t call him that, ” Lissa said sulkily, eating another fry. “And they’ve already broken up once this summer. She hasn’t come to a single event, either. ”

“Bitch, ” Jess said, and I laughed out loud.

“The point is, ” Lissa continued, ignoring us, “that it’s just not fair that I’ve been dumped and now the guy I like is unavailable while Remy gets not only fun band boyfriend but now cute college boyfriend. It’s not right. ” She ate another fry. “And, I can’t stop eating. Not that anybody cares, since I’m completely unlovable anyway. ”

“Oh, please, ” Jess grumbled. “Get out the violin. ”

“Fun band boyfriend? ” I said.

“Dexter was nice, ” she told me, wiping her mouth. “And now you have perfect Paul too. And all I’ve got is an endless supply of KaBoom and the appetite of a truck driver. ”

“There’s nothing wrong with a healthy appetite, ” Jess told her. “Guys like a few curves. ”

“I have curves already, ” Lissa replied. “What’s next? Clumps? ” Chloe, the thinnest of all of us, snorted at this. “That’s one word for it. ”

Lissa sighed, shoving her tray away and wiping her hands on a napkin. “I gotta go. I’m due at the Tri‑ Country track meet in fifteen minutes. We’re KaBooming the all‑ state athletes. ”

“Well, ” Jess said dryly, “be sure to wear protection. ”

Lissa made a face. She was over the KaBoom jokes, but they were just too easy.

Back at work, Paul dropped by to see me on his way home from his life‑ guarding job at the Y. I couldn’t help but notice a couple of bridesmaids waiting for prewedding manicures ogle him a bit as he came in, tanned and smelling like suntan lotion and chlorine.

“Hey, ” he said, and I stood up and kissed him, very lightly, because that was about where we were at relationship‑ wise. It had been a week and a half, and we’d seen each other almost every day: lunches, dinners, a couple of parties. “I know you’re busy tonight, but I just wanted to say hello. ”

“Hello, ” I said.

“Hello. ” He grinned at me. God, he was cute. I kept thinking that if only I’d gone out with him way back when Lola had first tried to set us up, the entire summer would have been different. Totally different.

After all, Paul met just about every criteria on my guy list. He was tall. Good‑ looking. Had no annoying personal habits. Was older than me but not by more than three years. Was a decent dresser but didn’t shop more than I did. Fell within the acceptable limits in terms of personal hygiene (i. e., aftershave and cologne yes, mousse and fake tan, no). Was smart enough to carry on good conversation but not an eggbert. But the big whammy, the tipping point, was that he was leaving at the end of the summer and we’d already established that we would part as friends and go our separate ways.

Which left me with a nice, cute, courteous guy with his own life and hobbies who liked me, kissed very well, paid for dinner, and had no problem with any of the terms that so many before him had stumbled over. And all this from a blind date. Amazing.

“So I know tonight is girls’ night, ” he said as I slid my hands across the counter, over his, “but I wondered what the chances were for getting up with you later? ”

“Not good, ” I told him. “Only the lamest women bail their girlfriends for a guy. It’s against the code. ”

“Ah, ” he said, nodding. “Well. It was worth a shot. ”

Across the parking lot, I could see the white Truth Squad van pulling up to Flash Camera. Ted parked in the loading zone and hopped out of the driver’s side, slamming the door behind him, then disappeared inside.

“So what are you doing tonight? ” I asked Paul. “Boy stuff? ”

“Yep, ” he said as I looked across at Flash Camera again, watching as Dexter followed Ted back to the van. They were talking animatedly‑ arguing? ‑ as they hopped in and drove off, running the stop sign that led past Mayor’s Market, toward the main road.

“… some band the guys want to see is playing at that club over by the university. ”

“Really, ” I said, not exactly listening as the white van pulled out into traffic in front of a station wagon, which let loose with an angry beep.

“Yeah, Trey says they’re really good… Spinnerbait, I think they’re called. ”

“Hate Spinnerbait, ” I said automatically.

“What? ”

I looked at him, realizing I’d been in a complete fog for this entire conversation. “Oh, nothing. I just, um, I heard that band kind of sucked. ”

He raised his eyebrows. “Wow. Really? Trey says they’re great. ”

“Oh, well, ” I said quickly. “I’m sure he knows better than me. ”

“I doubt that. ” He leaned across the counter and kissed me. “I’ll call you tonight, okay? ”

I nodded. “Sure. ”

As he left, the two bridesmaids eyed me appreciatively, as if I was due respect simply because such a guy was with me. But for some reason I was distracted, ringing up Mrs. Jameson’s hair streaking as a bikini wax and then charging her fifty bucks instead of five for some cuticle cream. At least it was almost time to go home.

I was getting into my car when I heard someone tap on the passenger window. I looked up: it was Lucas. “Hey Remy, ” he said, when I rolled down the window. “Can you give me a ride home? Dex already left with the van and otherwise I have to hoof it. ”

“Sure, ” I said, even though I was already running late. I was supposed to pick up Lissa, and the yellow house was entirely in the other direction. But it wasn’t like I could just leave him there.

He climbed in, then immediately began to fiddle with the radio as I backed out of my parking spot. This, at one point, would have been grounds for instant ejection, but I let it slide because I was in a decent mood. “What CDs you got? ” he asked, flipping past my main preset to the lower end of the dial and cranking up some experimental‑ sounding, shrieking‑ ish noise on the college radio station.

“They’re in the glove box, ” I said, pointing. He opened it up and shuffled through them‑ they had been arranged alphabetically, but only because I’d had some extra time when stuck in a traffic jam a few days earlier. He kept making clucking noises, low sighs, and mumbles. Apparently my collection, like my presets, wasn’t up to his standards. But I had no need to impress Lucas. Thanks to Dexter I knew not only that his given name was Archibald, but also that in high school he’d had long hair and played in a metal band called Residew. Apparently there was only one picture existing of Lucas wailing on his keyboard in full‑ hair‑ sprayed mode, and Dexter had it.

“So, ” I said, feeling the need to mess with him a bit anyway, “I hear Spinnerbait’s playing tonight. ”

He jerked his head around and looked at me. “Where? ”

“Murray’s, ” I told him as we cruised through a yellow light.

“Where’s that? ”

“Across town, by the university. It’s a pretty big place. ” I could see him in my peripheral vision; he was gnawing on the cuff of his shirt, looking irritated.

“Hate Spinnerbait, ” he grumbled. “Bunch of poser rock assholes. Totally manufactured sound, and their fans are a bunch of pretty‑ boy, frat‑ a‑ tat blondies with good hair driving Daddy’s car with no taste whatsoever. ”

“Ouch, ” I said, unable to help but notice this description, while harsh, did somewhat describe Trey, Paul’s best friend, as well as Paul himself, if you didn’t know him better. Which, of course, I did.

“Well, this is big news, ” Lucas said as I turned onto their street. “But not as big as what else is going on. ”

“What’s that? ” I said, immediately flashing back to the van speeding out of Mayor’s Village earlier.

He glanced over at me, and I could tell by his face he was weighing whether it was even my business. “High‑ level band stuff, ” he said cryptically. “We’re on the brink. Basically. ”

“Really, ” I said. “The brink of what? ”

He shrugged as I slowed down, the yellow house coming up in sight. I could see Ted and Scary Mary in the front yard, sitting in lawn chairs: she had her feet in his lap, and they were sharing a box of Twinkies. “Rubber Records wants to meet with us. We’re going up to D. C. next week, to you know, talk to them. ”

“Wow, ” I said, navigating my way into the driveway, where the van was parked at an angle. Ted looked over at us, mildly interested, and Mary waved as Lucas popped open his door and got out. “That’s great. ”

“Get this, ” he yelled at Ted. “Spinnerbait’s playing tonight. ”

“Hate Spinnerbait! ” Mary said.

“Where at? ” Ted asked as Lucas shut my door and walked around the front of the car.

“Thanks for the ride, ” he said, knocking his hand on my half‑ open window. “I appreciate it. ”

“Man, what is that all about? ” Ted yelled. “They’re invading our territory! ”

“It’s a turf war! ” Lucas said back, and they both laughed.

He started to walk away, but I beeped the horn, and he turned around. “Hey, Lucas. ”

“Yeah? ” He took a couple of steps back toward me.

“Good luck with everything, ” I said, then felt somewhat awkward, seeing that I hardly knew him. Still, for some reason I needed to say something. “I mean, good luck to you guys. ”

“Yeah, ” he said, shrugging. “We’ll see how it goes. ”

As I pulled out, he was dragging up a milk crate to join Mary and Ted’s outdoor picnic as Ted tossed him a Twinkie. I glanced back one last time at the house, where I could see Monkey sitting in the doorway, panting. I wondered where Dexter was, then reminded myself that it wasn’t my concern any longer. But if he’d been home, he probably would have come out and said hello to me. Just because we were friends.

I started down the street, easing to a slow stop at the stop sign. In my rearview, I could see Ted, Mary, and Lucas still sitting there, talking, but now Dexter was with them, crouching down next to the makeshift table, unwrapping a Twinkie while Monkey circled them, tail wagging. They were all talking, and for a split second I felt a pang, as if I was missing out on something. Weird. Then, the car behind me beeped, impatient, and I jerked myself back to reality, shaking off this fog and moving forward again.

When I got home, the house was quiet. My mother was out of town, at a writers’ conference she attended every August, where she taught workshops to aspiring romance novelists, soaking up buckets of admiration for three days and two nights in the Florida Keys. As for Chris, he was basically living and sleeping at Jennifer Anne’s, where the bread wasn’t all butts and he could eat his breakfast staring at prints of cheerful flower gardens instead of fifteen‑ pound neoclassic breasts. Normally I liked having the house to myself, but things were still awkward with me and Don, so I’d taken Lissa up on her offer of sleeping at her house for the weekend, informing Don of my decision with a formal note I wedged under the growing pyramid of empty Ensure cans on the kitchen table.

Now I went into my mother’s office, pushing the curtain aside. On the shelf next to her desk, there was a stack of papers: the new novel, or what there was of it so far. I pulled it into my lap and tucked my legs up underneath me, flipping the pages. When I’d last left Melanie, she’d been facing a cold marital bed with a distant husband, realizing her marriage had been a mistake. That had been about page 200, and by 250, she had left Paris and was back in New York, working in fashion design for a nasty woman with villain written all over her. Apparently, coincidence of coincidences, Brock Dobbin was also back in New York, having been injured during some kind of third world riot while working in his prizewinning career as a photojournalist. At the fall shows, they’d caught each other’s eye from across the runaway, and a romance was reborn.

I skipped to page 300, where things had obviously gone bad: Melanie was in a mental hospital, doped up on painkillers, while her former boss took credit for her entire fall line. Her estranged husband, Luc, was also back in the picture, involved in some kind of elaborate financial scheme. Brock Dobbin seemed to have disappeared entirely, but I found him on page 374, in a Mexican prison, where he was facing dubious charges of trafficking drugs and falling for the charms of a local beggar girl named Carmelita. This, I figured, had to be where my mother was losing her train of thought, but by 400 she seemed to have her steam back, and everyone was in Milan preparing for the fall shows. Luc was trying to reconcile with Melanie, but his intentions weren’t good, while Brock was back on the job, chasing a story about the dirty underside of fashion with his trusty Nikon and a sense of justice that no injury, not even a rock to the head in Guatemala, could quell.

The last sheet in my lap was numbered 405, and in it Melanie and Brock were drinking espresso at a café in Milan.

They only had eyes for one another, as if their time apart had made them hungry for each other in a way that could be conveyed solely by a glance, forbidden to be expressed in words. Melanie’s hands were shaking, even as she wrapped them in her silk shawl, the fabric providing little comfort in the stiff breeze.

“And you love him? ” Brock asked her. His green eyes, so deep and probing, were watching her intently.

Melanie was shocked at his bluntness. But it seemed the time in prison had given him an urgency, a need for answers. He stared at her, waiting. “He is my husband, ” she said.

“ That is not what I asked. ” Brock reached over and took her hand, folding it within his. His fingers were calloused and thick, rough against her pale skin. “Do you love him? ”

Melanie bit her lip, forcing down the sob she feared would escape if she was pressed to tell the truth about Luc and his cold, cold heart. Brock had left her all those months ago with no other choice. She’d given him up for dead, their love as well. He had been like a ghost walking up to her as she sat at the café, crossing over from that world to her own.

“I do not believe in love, ” she said.

Brock squeezed her hand. “How can you say that, after what we had? What we still have? ”

“We have nothing, ” she said, and took her hand back. “I am married. I will make my marriage work because…”

“Melanie. ”

“Because this man loves me, ” she finished.

“ This man, ” Brock said, his voice grave, “loves you. ”

“You are too late. ” Melanie stood. She had put Brock Dobbin from her mind again and again, telling herself that she could make a life with Luc. Luc, so suave and debonair, so steady and strong. Brock was always coming in and out of her life, making promises, the love they shared so passionate, and then just gone, leaving her behind in a cloud of memories and train smoke as he disappeared, heading across the world, chasing the story that would never be theirs. Maybe Luc wasn’t ever going to love her the way Brock had, filling her body and mind with a joy that made the world fall away. But that joy never lasted, and she wanted to believe in a forever. Even one that sometimes left her wanting at night, dreaming of better things.

“Melanie, ” Brock called after her as she started down the cobblestone street, wrapping her scarf around her. “Come back. ”

They were words she knew well. She had said them herself, at the station in Prague. Outside the Plaza, as he’d climbed into a cab. On the deck of the yacht, as his boat sped away, riding the waves. He always did the leaving. But not this time. She kept walking, and did not look back.

Go Melanie, I thought, turning the last page over on the stack on my lap. But I had to admit, it was not typical of my mother’s heroines to turn from a man of passion to a faulty man who provided a steady hand, if not a passionate one. Was my mother preaching settling? It was a discomforting thought. She’d been so quick to tell me I was wrong about love. But it was too early to know: there were always more pages to go, more words to be written, before the story was over.