gone to couples therapy, the therapist had finally said, “What are you afraid will happen if you open yourself up to him completely?” And Fiona, already crying, had shouted: “He would die!” It clearly wasn’t what the therapist had expected to hear. He hadn’t been a very good therapist.)
She said, “I’ll be here at least that long, to see his show. I’d like for you to come home with me, but—” she put up a hand to stop Claire’s wide-eyed protest “—if that’s not an option, I’d like to stay a while. Maybe I can help with the baby. Will you give me your number at least?”
“She’s not a baby. She’s three.”
“I’d love to help, sweetie.”
Claire would not give Fiona her number, but Fiona could come by again in two days, they agreed, and they’d take things from there.
The woman behind the bar called to Claire, pointed at her watch, and Fiona wondered if this wasn’t prearranged: Call me back after six minutes unless I give you the signal.
Claire said, “I don’t mind you being here, but we’re fine.”
“I know you’re fine. I can tell. You were always going to be fine.”
Part of her actually meant it.
1986
Yale kept wishing Julian would leave the apartment, but Julian didn’t want to risk being seen. He wanted to hide here till Sunday, when his flight would leave for Puerto Rico. He had a high school friend out there to stay with—and after that he wasn’t sure, except that it would be somewhere warm. “Maybe Jamaica,” he said, and Yale said, “Julian, they kill people like us in Jamaica.” And Julian, disturbingly, had shrugged.
Julian spent most of his time locked in the master bedroom, or else working out in the Marina City gym in exercise clothes he’d dug out of Allen Sharp’s dresser. As far as Yale could tell, he was staying clean—but then he didn’t know what went on during the day. At 6:30 each evening, Julian would appear in the living room to turn on Wheel of Fortune, which Yale wondered if he even enjoyed; he never made any effort to guess the answer. When the winner went shopping in the little showcase after each round, Julian would wonder aloud if the person would choose the Dalmatian statue. That was the extent of his engagement.
* * *
—
After work on Tuesday, Yale saw Asher Glass at the Hull House pool. Asher was already toweling off when Yale got there. Yale jumped in and talked to him from the water. He felt scrawny next to Asher, pale, and the water was a good cover. Asher had heard that Yale was living down in River North. Yale said, “In the corncob towers. I keep trying to think of a good cornhole pun, but I’ve got nothing.”
Asher didn’t laugh, just looked at him with concern. He said, “If you need legal help getting what’s yours out of your old place—or anything financial—I’m just saying, this is what I do, and I’d be glad to help.”
The water clung to Asher’s shoulders and chest hair in perfect spheres.
“It means a lot that you’d say that.”
He hadn’t thought much about the things he’d left behind at Charlie’s. He’d been wearing Allen Sharp’s sweaters for several days now, and Allen Sharp’s very soft bathrobe, and he had all the music and furniture and dishes he needed, for now. But the fact that Asher would help him instead of helping Charlie—it made his skin warm in the cold water. After Asher left, he sank to the bottom of the pool and looked up at the streaks of pale blue light.
* * *
—
Fiona called Yale at the office on Wednesday to say Roscoe was ready to be picked up. Yale didn’t ask about the money, and Fiona didn’t mention it either; he paid the 360 dollars. He brought Roscoe home in the cardboard carrier they gave him.
Yale hadn’t mentioned the cat episode to Julian—because it was upsetting, and because he didn’t trust himself to tell the story without also telling the story of getting tested—so when Yale opened the box, when Roscoe took a tentative step out, Julian stared bewildered from the couch. Yale said, “Remember this guy?”
It took only a second of blank confusion before Julian was down on the floor, clutching Roscoe like a long-lost security blanket. “Where did he come from?” he said, and—mercifully—didn’t give Yale time to answer. “Hey, buddy, you’re living in the penthouse now! Is he gonna stay? Can he stay?”