“I was heading for that park when you hit me. I was planning to sit on one of the benches down there and stare at the river. If you’d parked your Scamp, instead of running me over with it, and come here too, you might have ended up on the next bench over.”
“I used to come here all the time. I can see myself coming here on that particular day.”
Winter looked at him. “Where were you going? I never asked.”
Rob shrugged. “No idea. Just getting away from Lorelei. Maybe I was coming here. Go on.”
Winter pressed a finger along the bridge of her nose. “I’d be sitting there”—she pointed to one of the benches—“and you’d sit down. There.” She pointed to the next bench over. “You notice my puffy red eyes and say something like, ‘Let me guess, you broke up with someone too?’”
“And you look at me, and see my eyes are red, too, and you laugh, and say, ‘Of course. Isn’t this where the support group for people who just got dumped meets?’”
Winter pulled a tissue from her pocket, blew her nose. “You say, ‘If it would help to tell someone about it, I’d be happy to listen. I could use the distraction, actually.’ I invite you to join me on my bench, and we trade stories. You tell me I was too good for Nathan. I ask what you were doing with a narcissistic giantess in the first place. Before we know it, it’s getting dark. You ask if I’m hungry, and I am, which surprises me.”
“I suggest Luigi’s. Comfort food.”
Winter threw a hand in the air; her tissue fluttered in the breeze. “See, and I love Italian. I’ve eaten at Luigi’s at least fifty times.”
Rob laughed. “I wonder if we ever ate there at the same time. Maybe you were at the next table.”
“Why didn’t you come up and talk to me?” Winter whispered.
They watched a squirrel, out late, digging at the ground beside the jogging trail. A screen cruised by.
Rob’s head was spinning, with love, with joy, with grief. She loved him, too. That made it so much better. So much worse. “What happens then?” Rob asked.
“I’m in a T-shirt and sweaty from my run—”
“Good point,” Rob said. “Luigi’s isn’t that casual.”
“So we arrange to meet at Luigi’s in an hour, and we eat a shitload of ziti and drink a bottle of wine. Then you walk me home. We’re both suddenly, miraculously over our breakups, wondering why we’d been so miserable in the first place, because we realize Nathan and Lorelei were just dim shadows, compared to the people we’re with now, standing at the walk-up to my apartment building. But neither of us says that out loud, because we’ve just met.”
“I ask if you want to go for a run tomorrow—”
“And I tell you I’ll meet you by our support-group bench at four.”
“And I can barely sleep, because I’m already falling in love with you.” As soon as the words were out, Rob knew he’d made a mistake.
Winter went on staring at the bench. A boat somewhere out of sight on the river sounded a deep, belching, mournful whistle that was the perfect punctuation to this painful silence.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” Rob said.
Suddenly Winter looked tired, defeated. “I think we’ve let ourselves get into dangerous territory.” She lifted her head and looked at him, her eyes achingly beautiful. “I should have told Veronika I couldn’t make it, but I wanted to see you again. It was a stupid, impulsive thing to do.”
“Veronika and I came up with the whole party idea so I could see you again without looking like a stalker.”
Winter threw back her head and laughed. “Seriously. And here I was thinking you’re incapable of guile.”
Rob shrugged. “I was desperate. I couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep.”
Winter studied Rob’s face, maybe looking for signs he was kidding. “I should not have come. We have to say good-bye, before we get ourselves into serious, serious trouble.”
“Can’t we just—”
He was going to say, “…be friends,” but Winter was shaking her head.
Her voice was low, trembling. “Rob, don’t.” She leaned toward him, kissed his cheek tenderly, and stood. “Good-bye.”
Numb, he watched her disappear through the tunnel. A moment later she was on the sidewalk below, heading back the way they’d come. As she disappeared behind a copse of trees, he saw her lift the tissue to wipe away tears.
There was nowhere to go, nothing to do but stand there. It seemed impossible that Winter had been standing right beside him just now. Already, it seemed impossible she had ever been that close, had ever brushed her lips against his. Rob kept very still, as if by doing so he could put off the anguish that would soon wash over his numb shock.
An old man passed below, walking a black German shepherd. The man was wearing a leg boost that squealed every time it straightened.
Rob looked off at the spot where Winter had been when he last glimpsed her, willing that she be there again, heading toward him. But she wasn’t. He would never see her again, he knew that with a cold certainty.
What was he going to do now?
He pinged Veronika, sending a single word of text. Help.
Veronika appeared in-screen in a matter of seconds. “Oh, sweetie.” She pulled in to get a closer look at him. “You look absolutely crushed. I wish I could give you a hug. Tell me what happened.”
Rob told her, and as the numbness wore off, it was replaced by pain so acute it felt like he’d been slashed by a blade.
50
Veronika
“I don’t get it. It’s nothing but an empty room,” Lycan said, looking all around for the exhibit.
Veronika suspended the art-exhibit feed on her system, looked around the exhibit hall. It was the exact same room. She reactivated the feed, looked around again.
“Is the feed broken?” Lycan asked.
“I’m guessing no. I think the artist is making a point about the relationship between art and reality.” Veronika tried to call up the artist’s statement, but the artist’s statement read, in its entirety, “Artist’s Statement.”
Lorelei pinged Veronika.
Can’t talk, busy, Veronika subvocalized.
“How profound,” Lycan said. He was getting better at sarcasm. Veronika mused that he must be spending too much time with her.
This can’t wait, Lorelei sent.
Later. I’ll contact you asap, Veronika sent.
Lorelei materialized via screen, an entourage of at least two thousand screens squeezed behind her. “Bonjour, Lycan. Vee, we need to talk.”
“I told you, I’ll contact you as soon as I’m done here. Some privacy, please?” She was the rudest woman Veronika had ever met, a complete and utter narcissist.
“Go ahead,” Lycan said, waving. “I’ll be fine.”
“No, she’ll be fine.”
“Kilo is dead,” Lorelei said. “As in, Do Not Revive. Not coming back. And do you know who’s getting all of his money?”
Veronika froze. “It’s not Sunali, is it?”
“Bull’s-eye. Not Sunali.”
“Kilo told her she wasn’t getting anything.”
“Yes, he did,” Lorelei said. “And he kept his word. Do you want to know who he left every last dollar to?”
“I’m guessing it wasn’t you,” Veronika said, “or you’d sound more excited and less bitter.”
“Bridesicle Watch.” Lorelei injected each syllable full to bursting with disdain. “Sunali’s fucking charity. Save the fucking bridesicles.”