trees and benches to warn people away. They’d hired security guards to keep watch for months, but the only thing that cooled people’s interest was a thousand empty holes. The money wasn’t there. For a while, someone would dig a random hole in some equally random place in the park, but no one ever announced finding a chest full of unmarked bills or gold bars or whatever form they imagine twenty million dollars might take. As far as the world’s concerned, the money’s still out there.
Somewhere.
“They never found it,” Chris says when we reach the last picture, dated three months ago. “The money.”
There’s a stack of postcards available for sale for a dollar apiece. Some feature little treasure maps marking the most likely hiding spots, while others echo the most sensational headlines. Twenty Million Questions, But Just One Answer! Can You Find It?
“I know,” I say, running the edge of my thumb over a card. “It would have been big news.”
“You a treasure seeker, Denise?”
I smirk. “I couldn’t dig a hole if my life depended on it.”
“Let me buy you an ice cream. Or they have hot chocolate, too, if you prefer.”
“I want ice cream.”
“Your wish is my command.”
Chris turns, and I slip a postcard into my pocket. I shouldn’t have to pay for a souvenir that’s all wrong.
I unzip my coat and approach the display cases, the glass half-fogged so I have to lean in to make out the flavors. I opt for strawberry ice cream and Chris gets vanilla, and we sit down. The only other patrons are an elderly couple sharing a sundae.
“So where is it then?” I ask, stirring the ice cream in its cup.
Chris takes a bite. “The money?”
“Yeah. What does your research tell you?”
He sits back in his seat and eats his ice cream and ponders it. “Jesus, I don’t know. I wish it were in my bank account.”
“What would you do with it?”
He shakes his head. “Probably nothing, to be honest. I wouldn’t know where to start. You?”
I copy him and shake my head. “No idea.”
“No? Really? I think you’d get on a train and travel to the other side of the country in your red wig.”
I cough out a laugh. “A train? Am I traveling to 1875?”
He laughs, too, blushing a little, and I stare at him, trying to understand the man who’d left me so wrung out the other night that I’d slept straight through to noon the next day. My body still aches from the things we did. He did.
I can’t afford to replay those memories anymore than I can make myself stop. I told myself I’d only agreed to come here today to see if he had picked this place on purpose, if he recognized me, if I weren’t the only liar in this pair. But I think I am. I think the only thing we have in common is that we’re both lonely, and that’s a dangerous thing to share.
“I have to go,” I say abruptly, standing. There are two spoonfuls of ice cream left in my cup, but I toss it in the nearby trash and wait for Chris to get up. He looks startled but not completely surprised, and calmly buttons his coat and takes his remaining ice cream to the door, holding it open for me.
“Where?” he asks when we’re outside.
“Home.”
“I figured. Where’s home?”
“Not far. I walked.”
“Me too. I’ll walk you.”
“No, thanks.”
He sighs. “Are we back to that? Really?”
“I told you—”
“You told me a lot of things, Denise. None of which have been true.”
I’d been trying to shift past him so I could leave, but now I stop and study his face. He’s trying to hide his irritation, but it shows.
“I haven’t told you—”
“Oh, come on. You had red hair that first night at the restaurant. You told me no second dates, but you came home with me. You said no third dates, but you’re here.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Are you married?” he asks.
I cough out a laugh. “I’m not married. God.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
Everybody’s looking for something. Money. Guilt. Me. I don’t trust anybody, and they shouldn’t trust me. You can’t play with matches and say you don’t like fire.
I fumble for my sunglasses and put them on. “I have to go.”
Chris makes a frustrated sound. “Why?”
“Because I don’t want to see you anymore. Thanks for the ice cream.”
He doesn’t say anything when I walk away, and I don’t look back.
7
I LET MYSELF INTO MY apartment. It’s cold and gray and unwelcoming. It’s home.
Before I can