front of me but keeping my eyes on the building’s front doors. At a little after five a few men in suits, plus one woman in a skirt and blouse emerged. No Eric, but he came out in the next group of three men. He wore a light gray suit, and as the three men hit the sidewalk, they all simultaneously lit cigarettes. I wasn’t surprised to see Eric smoking, even though he’d told me he quit on the day of graduation. He’d never once smoked a cigarette while visiting me in Connecticut on the weekend, but that was because he was two people. His coworkers, their cigarettes lit, began walking downtown, but Eric stood for a moment, glancing at his phone. A yellow cab pulled up, and I thought that Eric was going to get into it, but instead, a redhead in a retro minidress got out and kissed Eric on the mouth as he flicked away his cigarette.
They spoke for a moment, Eric’s hand on the curve of her hip.
My chest hurt, and the world shimmered in front of my eyes, and, for a brief moment, I thought I was having a heart attack. Then the worst of it passed. I straightened my back, and took a deep breath, studying the girl. She looked familiar, but I had yet to see her face. The fact that she was also a redhead was a twist of the knife, even though I could tell from this distance that this woman’s hair came from a hairstylist and not from genetics.
Eric and the redhead turned and for one horrible moment I thought they were going to step off the curb and cross the street toward me, but they headed north, arms linked. I watched them from over my newspaper and finally caught a good look at the face of Eric’s city girlfriend. It was Faith, a redheaded Faith. Looking back, I wasn’t really surprised at all that it was Faith—of course it was—but I remember being shocked by the way she had changed her looks, her hair now red like mine. And I was angry. I was the angriest I’d been in years.
CHAPTER 11
TED
Before saying good-bye at the Concord River Inn, after we had decided that it made sense for me to spend some time in Maine with Brad and Miranda, Lily and I had planned our next meeting. It was to be two Saturdays from our first meeting, at the same time, but in the Old Hill Burying Ground, a hillside cemetery that rose above Monument Square in Concord Center. There were benches there and we could sit beside one another and talk, and we would be less visible than we had been at the inn’s tavern.
I showed up early that Saturday afternoon. There were tourists in town, but none of them were on the hill. I sat alone on a cold, wrought-iron bench, looking out over the shingled roofs toward Main Street. The sky was low and the color of granite. A steady purposeful wind blew colored leaves through the air. I looked for Lily, studying the cars that circled Monument Square, even though I had no idea what kind of car Lily drove. I tried to guess. Something classic, I thought, but with just a little bit of flair. A vintage BMW maybe, or an original Austin Mini. But when I spotted Lily, she wasn’t coming out of a car, but walking briskly down Main Street, wearing a knee-length green coat, her red hair bouncing with each step.
I watched her walk toward the cemetery, losing sight of her when she dipped below the rooflines. I felt a surge of excitement that I was going to see her again. Part of that was my burgeoning romantic fixation, but I was also excited to tell her about my trip, and to tell her about the key I had stolen from Brad that opened his front door. In a way, I felt like a child bringing home a good report card to my mother.
Lily came back into view along the cemetery’s flagstone path. She smiled at me before sitting down on the opposite side of the bench. “Quite the view,” she said, her voice slightly breathless from the steep hill.
“I saw you coming down Main Street. Could you tell you were being watched?”
“No, I wasn’t even thinking about it. I was worried I was late and that you would have left.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t have left. I have too much to tell you.”