say his plane had landed, Sam was at the international arrivals gate feeling like she might throw up.
When she saw him, she was nervous, unable to think of how to stand, or what to say.
“Babe!” he yelled, coming over and kissing her right away, which was appropriate, and yet Sam felt shy and awkward, like this was the first meeting of two strangers entering into an arranged marriage.
“How was the flight?” she said stiffly, willing herself to act normal.
“Fine,” he said. He gave her a curious look. “You all right?”
“Yeah,” she said. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
When they reached the van it was somehow understood that they should climb into the last row and have sex, right there in the crowded parking garage. His bare butt and pale legs on the blue vinyl seat, pants at his ankles. Sam straddled him in her summer dress, with a full view through the rear window of travelers coming and going.
After that, she felt better. They lay down together for a bit, and she told him about the party, about Isabella’s meltdown over a guy whose name she had forgotten.
On the drive back, he pointed out everything that was different from the UK, just as she had done when she first went there.
Clive told her about the book he’d started on the plane, a history of the Labour Party. Sam tried to follow along, but she didn’t know any of the backstory or who the players were. He was so smart. He liked nature documentaries and never went anywhere without a book in his hand. Clive made her wonder about the American education system. He was better read than any college graduate she knew.
Sam sometimes lied to make Clive sound better. His résumé did not reflect him.
When they reached the dorm, she heard the party raging in the dining hall and hurried Clive upstairs.
The platform hallway was empty, strewn with red plastic cups and paper plates. Sam felt relieved. They wouldn’t be bombarded by a wall of nosy drunk girls, like she’d feared. Not tonight, at least.
The recycling bin lay on its side. A thin trickle of sangria had made its way to the outer edge, and onto the green carpet.
Sam opened the door to her room. Isabella was gone, her bed neatly made.
“I recognize this place,” Clive said.
Sam was confused, but then she remembered their video chats.
“I’ve never seen this half of the room before,” he said.
She had imagined them going for a walk, though there wasn’t much to see. Clive said he was exhausted. They lay down in bed and he held her. He fell asleep right away.
Sam stayed in his arms, breathing in his familiar soapy scent, amazed that he was actually here.
Usually at this hour, she’d be wondering what he was doing. Sleeping, most likely. If it was a Saturday, Clive would be out at a club, dancing with friends. When they lived together, Sam had never joined in these outings. He often came home at four or five in the morning. Once she had asked his roommate, Ian, how they managed to stay up so late. Ecstasy, my darling, Ian said. Then, seeing the look on her face, he added, Sorry. I forget what an innocent you are.
Sometimes Sam looked at online reviews for the walking-tour company and searched for mentions of Clive, though afterward she always regretted it.
My girlfriends and I have done the Haunted London tour three times, mostly because of the hottie guide, one woman had written.
Another wrote: We did the Highgate Village walk on Sunday. Small group size. Interesting look at an area I knew nothing about. My husband said the sexy tour guide played it fast and loose with the facts, but I think he’s just jealous.
Sam got up and went to her desk. She switched on the lamp and started reading her art history assignment. This was nice, she told herself. This was what she wanted. Clive was here, and she was living her regular life, with him in it.
She tried to focus on the book. They were to read three hundred fifty dense pages over the weekend, which seemed impossible, but Sam knew that, somehow, she would get it done.
Before college, she had attended public school. Teachers usually liked her because she was well behaved and required nothing of them. She was a good student, without having to try. And she was known for her paintings, which always won a blue ribbon at the school art fair.
In ninth grade,