Summer Sons(70)

“Maybe I’ll be able to unearth that, whatever it was,” Andrew said.

“One hopes,” she said. “Please come to me, as you continue. I’d like to avoid unduly influencing the dissertation you’d create, but I’m familiar with Edward’s intentions and approach.”

“And you’d like to guide us toward something usable,” he acknowledged. For your own sake went unsaid.

The ghost of a smile returned to her mouth. A dramatic flick of the wrist that seemed to encompass yes and don’t mention it was all he received in response. Instead, she said, “This land and the stories people tell about it are fascinating. Hauntings, massacres, dark magic—all that bloody business lingers underneath the surface of respectability. It’s a grim, delicious contradiction. I appreciate those contradictions and what they reveal about us as humans.”

Andrew hated that whole business, but he offered her the only agreement he could: “Eddie appreciated it, too.”

“I know,” she said. “He was an interesting young man.”

Andrew let himself out and closed the door behind him, his nerves doing uncomfortable flips. He checked his phone. Two missed calls and a text, all from Riley. The text just said call me asap.

He headed for the parking garage absorbed in his thoughts, cognizant of the tightrope he had put his feet on. Eddie must’ve found something, stumbled on it like the eager stupid boy he was, but Andrew had no idea what that thing could even be. He was one step ahead of Troth at least, in knowing that Eddie wasn’t so much interested in folklore as in explaining his own secrets to himself.

He texted Sam, if I had a list of names could you tell me if they’re people you know

No response.

The lights were on at Capitol. He parked on the street in front and took the porch steps two at a time, Troth’s folder pinched shut in his grip to keep the papers in. Holding it had started to make his palm twinge. He jiggled the knob to unlatch the door and shouldered his way inside. Riley jolted an inch in his seat on the couch, slopping water from a pint glass over his lap.

“Andrew,” said Del from the other sofa.

“I’m going to go,” his roommate said as he stood.

Del had her hair knotted up in a loose bun, like the one girl he’d seen at Sam’s party. She held a full glass of water in both hands, elbows on her bare knees. Riley grabbed his shoes from next to the door, made frantic eyes at Andrew, and slipped outside. The soft click of the latch shut him in with her. He slapped the folder onto the side table and shrugged his bag off. She took a sip from the glass, staring at a point past his left ear.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“I needed to see for myself—this place, how you were living. If you were all right,” she said.

Crossing the room to sit on the other couch was like swimming through syrup. Andrew picked up Riley’s glass for a fortifying swallow of tepid water. The tendon that ran from Del’s shoulder into her neck was taut as a whipcord. He stretched his legs, knees apart, and dropped his head back. The chastised feeling didn’t dissipate as he waited in silence for her to speak.

“Remember why we broke up?” she asked.

“Because of the tattoo,” he said.

She snorted and set the glass down with a click. He glanced at her as she rubbed her arms, then her legs, her familiar nervous tic. “No, that wasn’t the reason. It was a symbol of the reason. The reason was Eddie and you, you and Eddie. And here we are with that again.”

His thumb pressed to the ink on his wrist bone. Del flicked his hand and he let go. She took his wrist in her fingers, long and thin, to trace the band of faded dots. The touch was clinical. She edged closer and sighed a stranger’s sigh, the briefest exhalation. The lamplight on her face cast her cheekbones in hard relief. In high school, people had treated her as one of the guys because of her butch face, because of her preferred companions, because of her oft-contested spot on the baseball team, a hundred other petty reasons. He’d been one of those people, and so had Eddie, until the three of them figured out another, more intimate option.

“The funny thing is I haven’t missed you since you left, and I’m sad as fuck he’s dead, but until then I hadn’t missed him either,” she said.

She dropped his wrist and he crossed his arms over his lap.

“Then why come?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Because I already lost you to him once, when it might have mattered more,” she said. “And I guess because I needed closure. This time I’m here for me, not for either of you.”

Andrew’s phone buzzed in his pocket, twice. His hand twitched to check if Sam had responded before he made himself relax, forced himself to keep considering her face. The separation had made them alien to one another, or maybe that had been happening for years and he’d ignored it. He’d kissed that mouth more times than he could count. He’d watched Eddie do the same.

“I wasn’t the one who ended things,” he said.

“I saw those fucking tattoos and all I could think was that he’d marked you. The three of us were supposed to be … working on something together, but neither of you would’ve ever thought to give me a goddamn tattoo. Neither of you really gave a shit about me except as a conduit for the feelings you weren’t going to talk about.” She heaved a breath and let it out. “You still don’t, Andrew. So I guess I came to say goodbye.”