“Isla.”
He said my name like it hurt. Like a question.
I looked across at Ada’s house. The siding was starting to fade, the wood splinters visible even from where I sat.
“Moni told me you got a great internship. I’m happy for you.”
I nodded. “She always thought you were such a nice boy.” I set my glass on the concrete.
“Yeah . . . so did I.”
I felt him start to lean forward to get up, but he settled back down.
“I wanted to say so much that night, Isla. I really did. But it never came out. And then I looked over at you and you looked so . . . so right. I couldn’t disturb it. I—”
“I heard you’re with someone out west. Cal Tech, was it?”
My words stuffed all of his back into the bottle. He slid his hands over the porch step and stood up.
“She’s studying to be a chemical engineer. Smarter than me.” He let out a laugh that had no verve behind it.
“I doubt it. You’re pretty damn smart, Sawyer.”
He gently pounded a fist in his hand. “You’ve always been a part of my life, Isla.”
“I know.” I turned away. “I know.” I couldn’t face him anymore.
He walked back across the street. Somehow, with the way the back of his head curved, his outline bending, he was a stranger to me.
CHAPTER 33
WREN
1980s
Tonight, their windows glowed like fire, as if a torch had been lit and every move was on fully ignited display.
The weekly class had grown too meager for Wren.
She spent most evenings waiting for the world to settle down. To go quiet and dark so she could observe them hidden in the shadows, each of their windows a different television show for her to watch.
Some nights, the wife would be away. Perhaps out on a business trip. Or he would be absent, an obligation with the university. But tonight—tonight they were together.
They ate quietly this time. There was no banter, or heads thrown back with laughter, a glass of wine in hand. He seemed disinterested and read the paper. She barely touched her plate and got up by herself. There was no fighting. But it seemed worse. It seemed to Wren that someone had dimmed their shared brightness.
She kept her eyes on the wife as she went up the stairs and then saw her reappear in the bedroom. She sat at her vanity and didn’t move until finally reaching up with her hand, tracing her throat and then placing her head down. Her back heaved up and down as if she were crying. But Wren wasn’t certain. She wanted to be there, in that room, to know for sure.
She needed more.
The lecture hall was sparse the next morning. Many of the students had ditched to leave early for Thanksgiving break. She felt exposed and kept her head lower than usual. Patrick seemed less enthused as he went through the motions and followed the syllabus. There was no spark behind his remarks. He was drone-like and disinterested. As soon as the class was over, he hurriedly packed up and made his way to the exit. She had barely gotten up from her seat. She rushed out, bumping into a few other students, and dropped her pencil. She didn’t bother to retrieve it. Scrambling, she burst out the doors to the steps and found him already striding across the quad, dead leaves spraying left and right.
She trailed behind closer than she usually did, afraid of losing him again. He entered a campus coffee shop.
His wife was waiting in a window seat. She looked weak. Neither of them got anything to drink. They stared at their hands and then out the window. Their mouths moved a few times. She couldn’t make out any words. He got up and left, his face taut, eyes narrowed.
Wren let him walk away. She didn’t want to see him like that. She stood still and watched him until he turned the corner of the building and was out of sight. The wind picked up, but she didn’t care to move. She wondered if he would come back, try to make whatever had happened with his wife better. Restored. She needed them to be right again.
“Excuse me,” a quiet voice spoke near her ear.
She was slow to turn around. There was no reason for anyone on this campus to talk to her. At first, she thought it was a mistake. Someone else was being called upon.
“I’m sorry to bother you but . . .”
She turned around and could see the redness around her eyes—a confirmation of what she had speculated the night before. Those were the eyes of someone who had done more than their fair share of crying.
“Can I ask you something?”
Wren stumbled back once. She felt as though she were an escaped prisoner who had finally been caught on the outside. The midday light was suddenly so bright and harsh, she nearly placed her arms up to shield herself from it.
“I need to go,” she said.
She began to run but the woman called after her. “Wait, please! Don’t go.”
Her mind stopped before her body. What would be the point of running? She had been caught. She would have to face them regardless. Admit to her shameless obsessions. She exhaled and turned back. The woman looked relieved.
Wren opened her mouth to explain herself. Apologize. But her voice had turned into a rusted wheel that wouldn’t turn.
The woman stared at her as if she were seeing a painting up close for the very first time. She slowly smiled. It was sad.
