The Kind Worth Saving (Henry Kimball/Lily Kintner, #2)(32)

“Good to be home?” I said.

“Always. Good to be away from coworkers. I like talking with you.” She looked at me over the rim of her glass. I’d predicted she would have put on more makeup when she’d disappeared into her bedroom, but it was the opposite. Her face looked freshly washed, and her eyes looked smaller without the shadow around them.

“Now I feel the pressure is on,” I said.

“It is. Say something interesting.”

“I could make up more limericks.”

She laughed, as though she’d just remembered the one I’d come up with at the bar. “Please do, actually. I could listen to those all night.”

“I can’t just keep giving away this talent for free, you know. It’s the only skill I have.”

“I understand.” She smiled her wide smile, and I saw that it was only her two front teeth that were slightly grayer than the rest.

The song switched to what I recognized as a John Mayer song. “Bedtime magic,” I said, tilting my head toward the stereo.

“Oh, you’re making fun of my music now,” she said, still laughing.

“Not really.”

“And you think that I brought you here to seduce you with white wine and slow music, and now I’m feeling very self-conscious.” There was a little alarm on her face, but amusement, as well.

“No,” I said. “I mean, I don’t know what to think. Did you?”

“I don’t know yet. No, I think I just like talking with you, and I’m pretty sure that if I slept with you I would never hear from you again. I’m not fishing to find out if that’s true, or maybe just a little bit. Why did you agree to come here?”

A moment of guilt pulsed through me when I thought of the real reason why I’d come. I said, “I came here because you asked me, and now that I’m here I’m feeling like I’m leading you on or something.”

“Leading me on because . . .”

I thought for a moment. “Because I guess I’m not looking for a relationship.”

Pam smiled, then said, “I guess I’m not either.”

“Why did you smile like that?” I said, although I already knew.

“Because it’s a line, isn’t it? You’re making sure you lay some groundwork down for if and when you spend the night and don’t call me ever again?”

“I don’t know if—”

“I don’t mind. It’s fine. I didn’t invite you back here to become my boyfriend. Just don’t tell me that you’re secretly in love with some unattainable woman and that’s why you can’t commit.”

Lily rushed into my head, as she often did, and it must have shown on my face because she immediately said, “Oh, you actually were going to tell me that.”

“I don’t know if I was going to tell you, but there is some truth to what you said, honestly. I know I’m a cliché.”

Pam set her wineglass down on the glass coffee table next to the TV remote, and said, “No worries. I’m a cliché, as well.”

“Yeah, tell me about that,” I said. “How goes it with your complicated relationship?”

“It’s not an original story,” she said. “He’s married. Unhappily, he tells me. That’s about it.” She tugged at an earlobe, making me think she wasn’t giving me the whole story.

“What does he do?” I said.

“He’s in the real estate business,” she said, picking up her glass again.

“How convenient,” I said, and smiled so she would know I was trying to be funny instead of judgmental.

“Like I said earlier, I’ve decided to end it. Of course, I’ve made that decision before and it hasn’t worked out, but I think it’s different this time.”

“Why’s it different?”

“Because before, when I decided I didn’t want to see him I actually really did. But, right now, I know I’m done with him. It just feels different.”

I nodded and set my own glass down with what sounded like a deafening clink on the coffee table. I didn’t speak, hoping that Pam would need to fill the silence by continuing to talk about her affair with Richard. I was assuming that was who she was talking about, even though she hadn’t confirmed it. But so far nothing she had said had made me doubt Joan’s suspicions. She was sleeping with a married man from her office. She’d told me as much. I did feel a little guilty sitting on her sofa, drinking her wine, hoping she’d confirm the identity of the man she was having an affair with so I could turn around and tell his wife. But it was my job, for better or worse.

“Anyway,” she said. “Let’s talk about anything else but this. It’s bringing me down.”

“Sorry,” I said.

“It’s not your fault.”

“Well, I asked you about him.”

“You did, didn’t you? So it is your fault.”

“Probably.” I finished my wine, and she noticed my glass was empty and asked if I wanted some more. “I should probably go,” I said.

“Are you okay to drive?”

“I’ll be fine,” I said. “I think the pound of dumplings I ate is soaking up the alcohol.”