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Red Leaves
Paullina Simons


From the internationally bestselling author of The Bronze Horseman, the tale of an Ivy League campus devastated by the intractable mystery at the heart of a student’s deathFour students and their relationships lie at the core of this dazzling novel of mystery, murder and suspense, set in a snowbound Ivy League college. Their focal point is brilliant basketball star Kristina Kim – apparently happy and stable, but soon revealed to have hidden secrets.When she is found dead in the snow, it falls to local detective Spencer O’Malley, a man who had half fallen in love with her, to investigate the crime. The spotlight falls on her three closest friends… and a story as gothic and intense as a modern-day Wuthering Heights begins to unravel.









PAULLINA SIMONS

RED LEAVES










Copyright (#ulink_823b6aa6-3ad5-5be9-ae2c-f43c3dff305f)


Harper

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)

First published in Great Britain by Flamingo an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1997

Copyright © Paullina Simons 1996

Paullina Simons asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

HarperCollinsPublishers has made every reasonable effort to ensure that any picture content and written content in this ebook has been included or removed in accordance with the contractual and technological constraints in operation at the time of publication.

Source ISBN: 9780006550570

Ebook Edition © MARCH 2015 ISBN: 9780007396689

Version: 2015-03-09


For my Kevin,

and for Bob Tavetian, you’re in our hearts




Contents


Cover Page (#ue7d9f42e-21a2-56b6-bc97-32df867463fc)

Title Page (#ue96a435b-21dd-5f88-84f0-c56857be220a)

Copyright (#ueaf668ff-c491-546c-a03b-a458d6f9a4ac)

PROLOGUE (#ufeaab333-d2ce-5196-b197-4fed981c48a5)

I THE GIRL IN THE BLACK BOOTS (#ue930e351-7ae6-5054-8760-5cec19432feb)

CHAPTER ONE: Sunday (#uddaed6ce-9974-571e-81f4-26eb46558352)

CHAPTER TWO: Monday (#u5c06c8ce-40a6-582f-986f-6b7940af2d9c)

CHAPTER THREE: Tuesday (#litres_trial_promo)

II SPENCER PATRICK O’MALLEY (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FOUR: In the Woods and on the Wall (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIVE: Close Friends (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX: Disposition of the Estate (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN: Constance Tobias (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT: Once Upon a Time in Greenwich, Connecticut (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE: Red Leaves (#litres_trial_promo)

EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)

Keep Reading (#litres_trial_promo)

Acknowledgments (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)

Also by the Author (#litres_trial_promo)

Tully (#litres_trial_promo)

Eleven Hours (#litres_trial_promo)

Road to Paradise (#litres_trial_promo)

Paullina’s Website (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)




PROLOGUE (#ulink_52dcb849-f732-53a4-8434-a1d80f00784c)


At Greenwich Point Park, where the saltwater air from Long Island Sound fused with the earthy smell of fallen leaves, two children climbed stairs leading to what once was a castle. They were alone.

Earlier they had walked past the parking attendant, who seemed to know them well and waved them on with a smile. The park was large and it was a long walk to where they wanted to be, but the sun shone and it was still warm. The girl carried a white-and-red paper bag, while the boy carried his baseball cap and a kite. They walked around the western end of the bay and found a picnic table near the beach. The girl immediately wanted to take off her shoes and feel the smooth stones under her feet, but the boy said no. He wanted to eat first. She sighed and sat down. They ate. The girl didn’t sulk for long; she was happy to be here.

Afterward, she kicked off her white canvas shoes, stood, and happily headed for the water. Many of the stones were covered with slimy moss, but she didn’t mind. She picked up some of the scattered mussels around the beach and inspected them. She threw down the open ones, remembering what her father had told her: ‘If they are open, it means they are dead and no good.’ She put the closed black shells in her bag. The boy brought over some crabs, and she put them in her bag also.

For fifteen minutes, they tried to figure out if the moving ripples in the bay about fifty yards away were waves or otters. The girl said they were otters, but the boy laughed. Waves, he told her, just waves. She wasn’t convinced. From a distance, they looked like they had black backs and were diving in and out of the water. They dove in place, so maybe he was right, though she didn’t want him to be right. He thought he was always right. Besides, it would be fun to think they saw otters in their park.

The girl headed back up to the path. He ran past her, pulling her hair along the way. She moved her head away from him but hastened her step, trying to skip on the stones.

She was a pretty girl. Her short hair clung neatly to her head. Her impeccably tailored white blouse was starched, and her jeans were ironed and creased. Her white jacket didn’t have any grime on the sleeves as is common for children her age. Her canvas shoes were bleached white and the laces looked new. Taking off her shoes and walking on the slimy moss was the only sloppy childlike luxury the girl would allow herself.

The girl liked the picnic part and the kite-flying part on the other side of the sprawling park. It was the in-between part that made her slightly weepy. She wished they could be at the green field already, unwinding the kite string. When the kite was high in the air, the girl would let go the string and run after the boy, yelling, ‘Higher, higher, higher…’

Fall was her favorite time of year, especially here, where the fierce salt wind blew over the red leaves of the white oaks.

‘You wanna head right on to the field?’ she called breathlessly to the boy, her voice catching. She stopped to put on her shoes, and he stopped, too, turned around, and walked back to her.

‘We are. Instead of what?’

‘Instead of going up to the castle,’ she said.

He stared at her.

‘Okay,’ he said, shrugging. ‘I thought you liked the castle.’

She didn’t answer him at first and then said apologetically, ‘I do like it. I’m just tired, that’s all.’

He motioned her to come. ‘Come on, don’t be such a baby.’

She tried not to be.

They walked on the path between the tall, straight oaks, around to the little boathouse, to the wall.

The boy hopped up onto it. The wall was only three feet off the ground on one side, but it separated the walkway from the water on the other. Every time the girl climbed onto the wall, she feared that she would fall into the water. And if she did, who would save her? Not he, certainly. He couldn’t swim. Holding hands was impossible. The wall was only twenty inches wide. No, she had to get up on that wall to show him she wasn’t afraid.

But she was afraid, and she was exhilarated. She already felt moist under her arms. ‘I don’t want to do this,’ she whispered, but he didn’t hear, for he was already far ahead of her on his way to the castle. She told herself to stop trembling this minute, and, sighing, got up on the wall after him.

Little more than the high-hilled view of Long Island Sound remained of the ruined castle grounds; the view and the tangled walls of forsythia spoke softly of the castle’s once glorious splendor.

A castle with knights, princesses, armor. A castle with servants and white linen. A castle with secret rooms and secret passages and secret lives. I have secrets, too, the girl thought, taking tentative steps on the wall. The princess in her white dress and shiny shoes has secrets.

‘Wait for me!’ the girl yelled, and bolted forward. ‘Wait for me!’




I THE GIRL IN THE BLACK BOOTS (#ulink_127e4b4d-6c6e-5433-af09-81fb95205d54)


To our strongest drive,

the tyrant in us, not only

our reason bows

but also our conscience.

– Friedrich Nietzsche




CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_964f705f-7ed5-53fc-9c10-f23824cf49da)

Sunday (#ulink_964f705f-7ed5-53fc-9c10-f23824cf49da)


The four friends had been playing two-on-two basketball for only a few minutes, but Kristina Kim was already sweating. She called time out and grabbed a towel. Frankie Absalom, the referee, and Aristotle, her Labrador retriever, both looked at her quizzically. She scrunched up her face and stared back.

‘I’m hot, okay?’

Frankie, bundled up in a coat, ski cap, and blanket, smirked. ‘What’s the matter?’ he teased. ‘Out of shape?’ Aristotle panted, blowing his dog breath out into the cold air. He was not allowed to move during the Sunday-afternoon games, and he didn’t, though in a canine form of rebellion, his tail wagged.

Jim Shaw, Conni Tobias, and Albert Maplethorpe came over. Kristina took a bottle of Poland Spring out of her Jansport backpack, opened it, poured water on her face, and then wiped her face again. It was a chilly day in late November, but she was burning up.

Jim squeezed Kristina’s neck. ‘What’s the matter, Krissy, you okay?’

‘Come on! Come on!’ said Albert. ‘What are you doing? Stalling for time?’

Kristina wanted time to move quicker, to fly till one o’clock when she was to meet Howard Kim at Peter Christian’s Tavern. She wanted to get the lunch over and done with, and she was so anxious about it she couldn’t think of anything else.

‘I’m out of shape,’ Kristina admitted to Frankie, ignoring Albert’s remark. She let Jim rub her neck. ‘The season’s starting next Saturday, and I’m terrible.’

‘No,’ Conni said. ‘You’re fine. Yesterday you were fine.’

Kristina waved carelessly, hoping no one would notice her flushed face. ‘Oh, that was just an exhibition game.’

‘Krissy, you scored forty-seven points!’

‘Yeah, yeah, I know. But Cornell wasn’t playing all out.’

‘I didn’t know they knew how,’ said Jim, now massaging her shoulder.

‘What time is it, Frankie?’ Kristina asked.

‘Twelve-oh-seven.’

‘Come on, you guys, let’s play,’ said Kristina. ‘The teams?’

The first game was couples against couples. Albert and Conni against Kristina and Jim.

‘You okay, dear?’ Jim asked, touching her back.

She thoughtfully looked at him and stroked his cold cheek.

‘Nothing. Hot as hell.’

Conni shivered. ‘Yeah, I’m sweatin’ myself.’ Squinting at Conni, Kristina smiled, thinking, she’s teasing me. Conni did not smile back. Biting her lip, Kristina said to Albert and Conni, ‘You guys want a handicap?’

They half-mockingly sneered. ‘Get the hell out of here with your handicap. Put your hair in your face. That’ll be our handicap. Besides, we’re going to win,’ said Albert. Conni didn’t say anything.

They lost 20-16.

Kristina was a tall, long-legged girl with a mass of jet-black hair falling into her face and halfway down her back. She didn’t like to tie her hair back. Her raven mane was a distraction to the other team, and during the Ivy League play-offs she had been ordered to tie it up. She did, but by the end of the game the hair was all over her face anyway.

Here on the driveway of Frankie’s fraternity, Phi Beta Epsilon - one of the least notable frat houses on Webster Avenue or Frat Row, as the Dartmouth students called it - Kristina never tied her hair. They played at an old regulation post with a rusted, netless hoop. Kristina didn’t care. Two-on-two was great practice for her. It made her quicker.

Today, however, her hands were slippery; they kept dropping the ball, which even the five-foot Conni intercepted from her. Kristina tried to pass the ball from one hand to the other behind her back but she failed completely, and Conni and Albert got the ball and the shot. They all laughed at her, but Kristina’s mind was on Howard; she didn’t laugh back. Usually she could spin in the air as she jumped up to sink the shot. Not today, though she was clearly the best player out of the four.

At the end of each successful shot, Kristina high-fived Jim and held on to his fingers the way she always did. He let her, but the moment she let go, he let go also.

Kristina chewed gum as she played. Once when she came down hard on her feet, she bit her tongue. She spit out the gum and some blood with it.

Frankie kept penalties, shouted fouls, and kept score on a Post-it note. Chewing gum, he sat on a folded blanket, legs drawn to his chest. His ski cap was pulled over his ears.

When they came back to him, Kristina asked the time.

‘Fifteen minutes after the last time you asked me,’ Frankie said. ‘See, each game is fifteen minutes. That’s how I know. In a hurry?’

‘No, no,’ Kristina said hastily, pouring water all over her face.

‘Come on, let’s play.’

‘Give us a break!’ exclaimed Conni. ‘Five minutes.’

‘No, I’m pumped,’ Kristina said. ‘The teams?’

Conni looked at Kristina levelly. ‘Gee, Krissy, I don’t know. What do we usually do after Albert and I lose to you?’

‘We play the boys?’

‘Now that’s an idea.’

Kristina wasn’t going to let Conni’s peeved sarcasm get her down. ‘Great. You boys need a handicap?’ Conni was her handicap, but Kristina would never say that out loud.

Jim pushed Kristina against the basketball pole with his shoulder. ‘I have a good feeling about this game,’ he said, kissing her lightly on the cheek. She turned his face toward his and tried to kiss him on the lips, but he moved away from her. There was coolness in his eyes.

He’s upset about last night, Kristina thought. Later. Later.

Kristina and Conni beat Albert and Jim 18-16. ‘Wow, you boys came very close,’ Kristina said when the game was over. Jim’s game was off. He ran a little slower, threw the ball a little lower, and didn’t intercept the ball from Kristina or block her. She could almost swear Jim was gritting his teeth as she played, but then she wrote it off as her guilty imagination. Then what is that crunch underneath his jaw with every dribble of the ball? Kristina thought.

‘Don’t you patronize us, Miss All-Ivy,’ said Jim. ‘After we’re done here, let’s run a mile and see who’s gonna come close to who.’

Kristina thought she could run a mile in four flat right about now. What’s the time? What’s the time?

‘What’s the time, Frankie?’

From his sitting position, he glanced up and handed her the watch. Twelve forty-three. Kristina was wet from sweat. Seventeen more minutes.

In fifteen minutes, Kristina and Albert beat Conni and Jim 40-8. Kristina ran after every ball, marking and blocking even Conni, whom Kristina usually left alone. As if running faster would make the time go faster.

‘Good game,’ Kristina said afterward, breathing hard.

Conni said, ‘I really prefer basketball as a spectator sport. Like when I go to see Krissy kick Crimson’s butt.’

‘Yes, but you’re a good sport, and that’s the only thing that matters,’ said Kristina.

‘Is it? The only thing that matters?’ Conni asked pointedly, looking at Kristina. ‘Me being a good sport?’

‘Sure,’ said Kristina noncommittally.

Albert stepped in. ‘No,’ he said, putting his arm around Conni and smiling suggestively. ‘There are plenty of other things that matter.’ That made Conni smile and allowed Kristina to grab her backpack off the brown grass.

‘I’ll catch you guys later.’

‘Wait!’ Conni called after her.

Coming up to Kristina and lowering her voice, Conni said, ‘I thought you were going to help me, you know - with the - uh - you know - the…’ glancing meaningfully in Albert’s direction.

‘Oh, yeah, cake,’ Kristina whispered.

‘Shhh…!’

‘Shhh… sorry.’ Kristina was quieter, but inside her engine was revving so high she could barely hear herself speak. ‘I gotta go now.’ Now, now, now, her inner voice was shouting. ‘I’ll come by later, okay?’

‘Kristina! The nuts, the hazelnuts, they all gotta be choppéd, finely. It’ll take me forever. And then the icing - come on.’

Leaning down to Conni’s ear, Kristina said, ‘I have to tell you something about that…’

Just then Jim and Albert walked over to them, and Kristina didn’t get a chance to tell Conni that Albert hated nuts, especially hazelnuts.

‘What are you guys cooking up here?’

‘Nothing, nothing,’ said Kristina quickly.

Conni threw her hands up. Jim laughed, and Kristina tried to move away. ‘I’ll see you later,’ she called out to them, catching Albert’s eye. He was staring at her. She looked away and wiped her wet forehead.

‘Wait up!’ Jim caught up to Kristina. ‘Hey.’ They walked in silence down Webster Avenue, to North Main Street, amid the bare trees. Some students on the front lawn of Alpha Beta Gamma House were setting up a huge turkey piñata.

Kristina was hoping Jim wouldn’t notice how fast she was walking and wouldn’t ask her about last night. He didn’t, but what he did ask was worse. ‘Wanna have lunch?’ Jim said.

‘Lunch?’ Kristina was flummoxed. She hadn’t really expected to disappear after their weekly basketball session without Jim’s noticing, but in the almost three years they’d been going out, Kristina had never told Jim about Howard, and she wasn’t going to start now when a new period in her life was about to begin. They turned right at the corner of North Main Street.

‘Jim, I’ve just got to write that death-penalty piece for the Review. I’m late with it as it is.’

He squeezed her neck as they were walking. ‘You got a little time.’

‘Yeah? That’s not what you said yesterday.’

‘Yesterday?’ He took his hand away. ‘I didn’t see you yesterday, Kristina,’ Jim said pointedly, and Kristina flushed.

‘Yes, you did. Yesterday morning.’

Jim shook his head. ‘No. Not in the morning. Not last night.’

Kristina tried to suppress a sigh, but it escaped anyway between her dry and tense lips. ‘Oh, yeah, last night. I went to Red Leaves House last night.’

‘Red Leaves, huh?’ said Jim. ‘How often do they make you work Saturday nights?’

Red Leaves was a home for pregnant teenagers where Kristina had done work-study since her freshman year.

‘They usually don’t. But Evelyn - you know -’

‘Yeah, I know of Evelyn. What about her?’

‘She’s real pregnant -’

‘Oh?’ said Jim. ‘That’s not unusual for Red Leaves House, is it?’

‘And depressed,’ continued Kristina nearly without stopping. ‘She needed me, so I-I stayed over.’

‘Stayed overnight?’

‘Sure. I’ve stayed overnight there before.’

‘Yeah, yeah, yeah.’

His tone was still skeptical, but relief showed on his face. Kristina laughed and said, ‘God, you look like I just told you you won the lottery.’ She ruffled his hair without breaking her stride.

‘No,’ he said, his face becoming impassive. ‘This is much better.’

Kristina was almost shaking with anxiety. Thank God they were walking and Jim couldn’t see her legs trembling. She took his hand. They were just past Baker Library and near Tuck Mall, down which they all lived. She wanted Jim to leave her there and not follow her to Main Street.

‘You’re cold,’ Jim said.

‘No, why do you say that?’ Kristina said, taking her hand away and wiping sweat off her face again. ‘I’m like hot lava.’

‘Your legs, they’re twitching.’

Kristina was wearing black spandex shorts and a Dartmouth-green T-shirt. ‘You’re right, I’m freezing,’ she said.

Eyeing her carefully, Jim said, ‘Hey. What’s going on with you?’

‘Nothing,’ she said quickly, smiling as widely as possible. ‘Nothing at all.’

She saw that he didn’t believe her, his suspicious expression deepening. ‘Come on, have lunch with me,’ Jim said.

‘Can’t, Jimbo, sorry. Gotta do the work before Thanksgiving. Have way too much stuff to do.’

Sighing, he said, ‘Oh, well, I’ll come with you to the office then. I’ve got some work to do there myself.’ Jim was the editor of the Dartmouth Review.

‘Oh, God!’ Kristina exclaimed. She was at the end of her rope. ‘Jim, please! I just need a couple of hours. I just need to think and sit, and just be alone to put together my thoughts. Okay?’

He stopped walking, and she stopped with him but continued to walk in place.

‘Will I see you later?’ he said.

‘Jimbo,’ Kristina said, mustering a tone of tenderness. Mixed with her frustration and anxiety, his nickname came out quick and husky, caressed and spit out at the same time. She cleared her throat. ‘Jim, of course you will. We’re studying at four, remember? I’ve got basketball practice at two. I’ll see you, okay?’

‘Why don’t you just move in to Leede Arena?’ Jim said grumpily. ‘You’re always there.’

‘Jimmy, I have to go to practice. You know that. I didn’t become All-Ivy on talent alone.’ She grinned.

‘Is your work suffering?’ His tone was still sour.

‘Well, I’m not making Dean’s List this semester, if that’s what you’re asking.’

He nodded, and then almost as an afterthought said, ‘You know, I looked everywhere for you last night. Everywhere.’

She didn’t say anything, and he continued, ‘Even in the library stacks.’

Reaching out, Kristina touched his face. ‘I’m sorry. I should’ve told you I was at Red Leaves.’

‘I wish you would’ve. I couldn’t fall asleep till, like, one. Kept calling your room.’

‘One, huh?’ Kristina managed a smile. ‘That’s about two hours past your bedtime, isn’t it?’

‘Ha-ha,’ said Jim.

‘Gotta go, Jim,’ Kristina breathed out. ‘I’ll see you later.’

He leaned over and kissed her, and she kissed him back and walked away, stepping up her pace until she was running. The laces on her torn Adidas were loose, and Kristina stopped for a second to tie them, dropping the backpack she was carrying. She ran from McNutt Hall to Collis Café before she noticed. She ran back, picked it up, and sprinted under the Dartmouth-green awnings of Main Street straight toward Peter Christian’s, the basement joint.

Oh dear, here we go, Kristina thought, as she took three deep breaths and stepped inside the darkened restaurant.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ Kristina said, plopping herself down across from Howard, who smiled politely.

‘This is not too bad,’ he said, speaking precisely and slowly, looking at his watch. ‘It is only fifteen minutes.’ He put two sugars into her coffee and added some milk. As always Kristina thought it was strange and incongruous to hear him speak such perfect English. She leaned over to kiss him.

‘Why are you so wet?’ he asked, wiping his cheek.

‘We were playing basketball. I get all sweaty.’ She smiled, taking a napkin and running it over her face. Howard just looked at her.

Kristina took a sip of coffee and grimaced. ‘The coffee is cold,’ she said, putting her cup down. She didn’t want Howard to see her fingers trembling.

‘You sound like you have a cold,’ he said.

‘Howard.’ Kristina was amused. ‘Are you making a play on words?’

‘Why are you surprised by that? I do have a sense of humor,’ he said seriously.

‘I know you do, Howard,’ said Kristina, gently patting his arm from across the wooden table. ‘I know you do.’

‘You do have a cold, don’t you?’

‘Yes, yes I do.’ She didn’t really, but she knew it was important to Howard to show concern.

‘Where is your coat? You are wearing shorts?’

‘Forgot my coat.’ She shrugged as if it didn’t matter.

‘You still do it.’

‘Do what?’

‘Refuse to dress properly for wintertime.’

‘I find it invigorating.’

‘Viruses, they can be very invigorating. Strep throat. Pneumonia.’

‘Never had any of those things,’ Kristina said. He was nagging at her, playing mother, but it was all right. ‘Always been healthy as an ox.’

They waited to talk properly until after they ordered. Kristina wanted to order a salad with the delicious spicy mustard dressing, but it was her first meal of the day - the saltine crackers notwithstanding - and she didn’t want to be having mustard and vinegar for breakfast. She ordered carrot cake instead.

She tried to will herself to be less nervous. But she was wired. Last night she hadn’t had much sleep. And this beautiful morning, she had been up at seven. The bare-treed Vermont hills had sparkled in the sunlight, but now there was only anxiety as she thought about an upset Jim and the patient Howard - solid and polite, looking out at her from his black-rimmed glasses, with his gentle, unsmiling eyes.

‘How’ve you been?’ she asked, trying to calm down.

‘Good, Kristina, things are quite good. Busy.’

‘Well, busy is good,’ she said. He didn’t reply. ‘Isn’t it? Busy, it’s very good. You must be so… pleased… that you’re, you know, busy.’ She knew she was rambling. God! ‘Many interesting cases?’

He considered her for a moment. ‘How interesting can corporate law be? So let’s see these papers, Kristina.’

Kristina nervously took the manila envelope out of her backpack. Passing it to him, she said, ‘Everything looks okay.’

Howard paused before opening it. ‘Is everything okay? I am not so sure.’

Kristina chose to misunderstand him. ‘No, really. Everything is letter-perfect.’

With a glance through the documents, Howard laid them aside. ‘We never got a chance to speak about this. Has something happened?’

Something had happened. Kristina’s grandmother had died. But Howard didn’t know that. Nor would he.

‘I just think it’s for the best, that’s all,’ Kristina said, playing with her fork. She tasted the cream cheese icing of the carrot cake. It was good, but she just wasn’t hungry anymore.

‘Is it really for the best?’

‘Sure. Of course.’

‘Why? Why all of a sudden did you want a divorce?’

He was wearing a suit, and he looked so nice and familiar a pang of sadness hit her. She thought, does this mean I’m not going to see him again? I’m so used to knowing he’s there.

Shrugging, Kristina put down her fork. The coffee was cold, the cake was cheesy, and her stomach was empty. ‘It wasn’t all of a sudden. I thought it was time.’

‘Why?’

‘Howard, because I’m turning twenty-one, because I want to get on with my life. I mean, what if I want to marry someone?’ She paused. ‘What if you want to marry someone?’

‘Is there someone you want to marry, Kristina?’

‘Not yet. But who knows?’ She smiled. ‘Mr Right might be just around the corner.’

‘Hmm. I thought Jim was your Mr Right.’

Kristina coughed. ‘That’s what I meant. Jim.’ She was glad they were talking. Her hands calmed down. She wasn’t as hot anymore.

Howard leaned forward and, lowering his voice, which was already calm and low, asked, ‘Was this your idea?’

Kristina sat back from the table. They were sitting in the corner behind the stairs; the cellar was dimly lit and gloomy.

‘Howard, I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘I asked if it was your idea.’

‘I know what you asked. I just don’t know what you mean.’

‘Kristina, it is a yes-or-no question.’

‘You think everything is a yes-or-no question,’ she said, on edge.

‘Pretty much everything is,’ he said easily. ‘Let us try it again. Kristina, was this your idea?’

She felt impelled to answer him. ‘Mine, like how?’

‘Yours, like did you think of this all by yourself, or did someone else suggest we go ahead and get divorced?’

Incapable of answering him, Kristina said, ‘Who else could possibly -’ and then stopped. Howard was looking at her squarely in the face, and since she knew exactly what he meant, she thought it pointless to pretend any further. So she lied. ‘Yes, Howard. It was my idea.’

Howard stared at her impassively, but there was something heartfelt behind the serious brown eyes.

‘Eat your cake,’ Howard finally said in a gentle voice.

‘Who cares about the cake?’ she said sourly.

‘I care about the divorce.’

Kristina sighed deeply. ‘Howard,’ she said, ‘I know. But believe me. Everything’s gonna be okay.’

‘Kristina, I find that impossible to believe.’

‘Why?’

‘Kristina, your father asked me to take care of you.’

‘He didn’t ask you, Howard, he told you.’

‘Wrong. We made a deal.’

‘Yes, and I think you’ve kept your end of the bargain. But one, I’m turning twenty-one tomorrow. And two, Father is dead now. It’s time, Howard.’

‘A deal is a deal. We didn’t stipulate age or his death in our agreement.’

‘Oh, Howard.’ Kristina sighed and then said quietly, ‘Give up.’

‘I cannot,’ he said.

‘Please don’t worry about me. Things are going to be just great, I promise.’ Kristina wanted to believe that.

He looked away from her and, nodding, said, ‘All of a sudden.’

‘Not all of a sudden! Five years. Come on. It’s better this way. I was nothing but a means to an end to you.’

Kristina saw hurt on his face. Her words must have made him feel terrible. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said quickly. ‘You know what I mean. You’re a good person, you deserve better.’ She hoped she was saying the right things, but she was restless. She fidgeted with her napkin, then drummed her dirty fork against the wooden table. ‘Come on, you’ve gone above and beyond your deal to take care of me. And if you had these doubts, why didn’t you say something in September when I first told you I was filing?’

Now it was Howard’s turn to sigh. ‘You came to me and asked for an extra thousand dollars. I felt I had a right to know why you needed it. If you had had the money yourself, would you have even told me, or would I just have been contacted by your attorney?’

‘Howard. I don’t have an attorney. I hired some shyster for a thousand non-contested bucks. He didn’t even know how much the court fees were. First he said a hundred, then three hundred. I mean, the whole thing - that’s why I wanted you to look everything over.’

‘Nothing I can do about it now,’ said Howard, pushing the manila envelope aside. He cleared his throat. ‘It is very important to me that you are all right. That you are safe,’ he said.

‘Howard, I’m all right, I’m safe.’ Smiling, Kristina added, ‘The only time I’m not safe is when the other team tries to foul me on the court.’

‘How often does that happen?’

‘All the time.’

‘Still love playing?’

‘Kidding me? It’s what keeps me going. I scored record points in our exhibition game against Cornell last week.’ She grinned proudly.

‘I still do not know how this happened - you playing basketball.’

Shrugging, Kristina said, ‘How does anything happen? Divine providence. That school you sent me to. It was the only decent sports team they had.’

‘Oh, no,’ Howard said, rubbing his head. ‘Not philosophy again.’

Kristina, her mouth full of carrot cake, told him what the British philosopher Bertrand Russell said once of his lifetime pursuit. ‘As I grew up, I became increasingly interested in philosophy, of which my family profoundly disapproved. Every time the subject came up, they repeated with unfailing regularity, “What is mind? No matter. What is matter? Never mind.” After some fifty or sixty repetitions the remark ceased to amuse me.’

Steadying his gaze, almost smiling, Howard said, ‘Have I ceased to amuse you?’

‘Not yet, Howard,’ she said, smiling.

They both fell quiet.

‘Have time for your major?’

‘Two majors. Yeah, I got nothing but time,’ Kristina said. Unlike Jim, who was double-majoring because he was on track for a career and a life, Kristina was double-majoring because she was bored stiff, because she wanted to fill her wandering mind with other people’s meaningful thoughts, so that her own little by little would leave her, would fly and be gone, so that there was not one minute of the day when she had an idle mind or idle hands to do the devil’s handiwork.

‘How is Jim?’

‘Good. He’s the editor of the Dartmouth Review this year.’

‘Ahhh.’ Howard smiled lightly. ‘Does he give you good marks?’

‘No,’ she said, mock-petulantly. ‘He’s tougher on me than on anyone. He says the Review is too much hard work. He’s looking forward to graduating.’

‘What does he want to do after he graduates?’

‘Go to law school.’ She tried to keep the proud edge out of her voice, but failed. ‘He wants to be a Supreme Court Justice.’

Howard seemed utterly unimpressed. ‘That’s nice. What about you?’

‘Me? Grad school.’ That’s all Kristina had been thinking about lately. ‘What else is there to do?’

Howard smiled. ‘I do not know. Get a job?’

‘Howard, please. This is a liberal arts college. What do you think we’re qualified to do? All we are is good readers. We’re not bad on the Mac either, but that’s it.’

‘Eventually, you will have to get a job.’

She snorted. ‘Please. What for? And in what? With my majors, what am I good for?’

‘I do not know,’ Howard said slowly. ‘What do other philosophy and religion majors do?’

‘They teach, of course,’ Kristina responded happily. ‘They teach philosophy and religion.’

Howard smiled. Kristina smiled back. She was going to miss him.

Kristina sensed that Howard wanted to ask her something. His lips pursed and he took on the concentrated look he got whenever he was faced with difficult questions. There were so many difficult questions. Howard usually avoided them, but today he wrestled with himself. In the end, tact won. In the end tact always won. Kristina wanted to surprise Howard just once and answer his unspoken questions, but today there was no point. Grandmother was dead. Howard and she were now officially divorced. And tomorrow was her twenty-first birthday.

‘How is, what is his name… Albert?’

‘He’s fine,’ Kristina said quickly. ‘They’re all fine.’

‘What does he want to do when he graduates?’

‘I’m not sure.’ She shrugged, feigning indifference. ‘Says he wants to be a sportswriter.’

‘A sportswriter?’

‘Yeah, too bad he can’t write.’

‘I see.’

‘Or a fisherman.’ Kristina shook her head.

Howard asked slowly, ‘Can he fish?’

‘I think so,’ said Kristina, trying to sound jovial.

‘He went to an Ivy League school to be a fisherman?’

‘A very good fisherman,’ Kristina said, wanting to change the subject.

Howard was quiet. ‘Are you going to marry Jim?’

She smiled ruefully. ‘I don’t know if he wants to marry me.’

‘Of course he does.’

Kristina shook her head. ‘No. I don’t think so.’

Howard was watching her carefully.

‘You worry too much,’ said Kristina.

‘I worry about you,’ he answered.

‘Look at me,’ she said brightly. ‘I’m fine.’

‘Yes,’ he said, sounding unconvinced. He stood up. ‘Let’s go.’

‘I can’t spend the day with you, Howard,’ Kristina said apologetically.

‘I know,’ he said. ‘I am flying out tonight. I have not even booked my room at the Inn. There is a blizzard warning for tomorrow.’

‘What else is new?’ said Kristina.

Putting on his coat, he asked her, ‘Have you got any plans?’

‘For the blizzard? None.’

‘I meant for the holiday.’

‘I know what you meant,’ Kristina said. She smiled. ‘I think I might go down to Delaware with Jim.’ That wasn’t exactly true, but she hadn’t told Jim yet. She needed to stay in Hanover - the Big Green was playing UPenn at home on Saturday - but who the heck wanted to stay at Dartmouth for Thanksgiving? She just didn’t want Howard thinking she had no plans.

‘I thought you did not like going with Jim anymore.’

God, what a good memory he has! Kristina thought.

‘Well…’ she drew out. ‘I just don’t think his family likes me, that’s all.’

‘No?’

‘No.’

‘Why?’

‘I don’t think they like my hair,’ she said. The last time I was there, they were… they couldn’t stop thinking, I could tell, they all wanted to ask me, they were just dying to ask me, just why oh why was a nice girl like me not spending Thanksgiving with her own family?

Kristina had asked Jim to prime them ahead of time on the status of her illustrious fallen-apart family. She knew that well-mannered Mrs Shaw was still dying to ask, dying to say something. Her unspoken questions lingered in the air until they got stale and rotten, and Kristina never went back with Jim after the sophomore year.

‘You should go with Jim. I am sure he would like you to.’

‘I’m sure he would,’ she said, wanting to explain how hard it was for her to spend Thanksgiving with Jim and his well-traveled, well-spoken parents enveloping her with a suffocating blanket of concern and affection.

Kristina contemplated going down to Cold Spring Harbor with Conni and Albert. But since the beginning of the year, Kristina and Conni had not been getting along. Tension between them was thick, and it hung in the air in the same unpleasant way Jim’s parents’ questions hung in the air.

When they became roommates in their freshman year, in Mass Row, sharing a two-room double with a bathroom and a sitting room, every night was poker or blackjack night, every night was a sleepless night, because they couldn’t stop talking. Kristina and Conni took some of the same prerequisite courses together, they ate at Thayer and Collis Café together, and went to the Hop to watch movies together. They studied together in the library, and her first Christmas at Dartmouth Kristina went with Conni to Cold Spring Harbor, where for three weeks she almost had a good time. Constance Sarah Tobias had a fine family. Conni’s older brother, Douglas, was a hoot, and her parents were distant enough not to bother Kristina.

Being together became a little tougher after the problem between Jim and Albert. Soon, though, things went back to normal. Or so Kristina thought. Normal was relentless studying and term papers, lectures and study halls, Sanborn and Baker and Feldberg libraries. Normal was baked ziti at Thayer and club sandwiches at Collis, and Hopkins Center movies and frat parties on Saturday night and Sunday-morning hangovers and two-on-twos. Kristina thought they were all getting along fine, but she hadn’t read Constance right.

Kristina tried hard to forget the incident last winter on the bridge, and she forgave Conni her momentary lapse of reason.

Kristina suspected it was when she and Albert went to Edinburgh, Scotland, on an exchange program in the sophomore spring semester that things changed permanently among the four inseparable friends. But what do you do about old friendships? What do you do about your college friends? Even after Edinburgh they all had continued to study together and eat together and go to parties together. We’re like family, Kristina thought, feeling suddenly very cold. No matter how tough things get, we can’t break it off with one another.

Howard paid the check and they got outside. Instead of putting his gray wool coat on himself, he put it on Kristina. She squeezed it around herself, wishing she wouldn’t have to give it back. It was warm, and it smelled like Howard, some serious cologne he always wore. Yves Saint Laurent?

‘Kristina, I want to tell you something.’

‘Yes?’

They stood at the head of the stairs to Peter Christian’s for a few moments; Krishna’s mind was reeling.

‘There is no more money, Kristina.’

She relaxed. ‘I know.’

‘You know? What do you plan to do?’

Kristina had lots of plans. As of tomorrow. Today she was dead broke. She was thinking of borrowing a few dollars from Howard to buy Albert a birthday present, but her conscience didn’t let her.

‘I’ll get by. Don’t worry.’

‘Listen,’ Howard said, struggling with himself. ‘If you need a little, I’ve -’

‘Howard!’ Kristina squeezed his forearm. ‘Please. I don’t need anything. Really.’

‘You’re still working at Red Leaves?’

‘Yes. There’s enough money.’

They walked a few feet to the Co-op, and Howard bought himself a sweat-shirt that said, ‘Ten Reasons I’m Proud My Daughter Goes to Dartmouth.’ Reason Number Ten was ‘Because her SAT scores were too high to get into Harvard.’

He said he liked that reason best.

‘But Howard,’ Kristina said, ‘I’m not your daughter.’

‘That is okay. It is not meant to be accurate. It is meant to be funny. Besides, you know, sometimes I wish you were.’

She looked at him, surprised. ‘Why?’

‘So I could take care of you all the time. So that I would never have to say to you, there is no more money,’ he said, sounding bitter and upset.

‘Howard, please,’ Kristina said quietly. ‘Please.’

‘Listen, do you want me to walk you back to your room?’

Smiling, Kristina said, ‘No, thank you.’

She walked him to his car, a rented Pontiac Bonneville.

‘How is your car?’ Howard asked her.

‘Oh, you know. Beat-up. Old. I hate that car. The antifreeze is leaking out of the heating core on the passenger side, and it smells awful. The whole car smells like antifreeze. Plus it’s loud. I think the muffler may be going.’

‘What do you care about the passenger side? You drive.’

Kristina was going to say that sometimes she sat on the passenger side, sometimes, when there were mountains and trees, and sunlight. She sat on the passenger side on the way to Fahrenbrae, to the vacation houses nestled high in the Vermont hills.

‘You need money to get it fixed?’

It was amazing that with all the money he gave her, she could be so constantly broke. It was hard to imagine that a girl getting twenty thousand dollars a year from Howard could be poor - what an insult to really poor people out there! - but still, after the tuition, and the room and board, and the books, and gas for her lousy car, there was not five hundred dollars left. That’s the way her father had wanted it: no money left for extras. But five hundred dollars into ten months of school didn’t amount to much. About $1.66 a day. Enough for a candy bar and a newspaper. If she saved up and didn’t have a candy bar, she could go to the movies once every couple of weeks. If she was really careful, she could buy a small bag of popcorn.

Kristina reached out, touching Howard’s face softly. Hugging him hard and tight, she whispered, ‘I don’t want any money from you.’

He hugged her back. ‘Because you know, even without your father’s money, I’ve got some of my own.’ He didn’t look at her when he said that, and Kristina noticed, but she guilelessly said, ‘I’m sure, Howard. You’ve always taken very good care of yourself. I certainly don’t have to worry about you.’

He pulled away. ‘You need a ride back? You look cold.’

She shook her head. ‘Thanks. I have basketball practice. Then Jim and I are studying Aristotle for a quiz on aesthetics tomorrow. And I have to write an article on the death penalty for the Review before Thanksgiving. You know, same old, same old.’

‘Death penalty, huh? Does New Hampshire even have a death penalty?’

‘Sure,’ she replied. ‘You have to kidnap and kill a police officer while trying to rob a bank to get money to buy crack to sell to little kids, but there’s a death penalty.’

‘How many people are put to death each year?’

‘What, by criminals?’

Howard laughed lightly. ‘Funny. No, by the state.’

She thought for a moment and pretended to count. ‘All in all, including the ones who were going to be put to death the previous year, and all the years before, let’s see… one… three… twenty-seven - none.’

He laughed. ‘And what position are you going to take on this today? As I remember, you used to be against.’

‘That was then. I wasn’t allowed to have another opinion in that damn school you sent me to.’ Kristina smiled. ‘I don’t know what my opinion is yet. I haven’t started writing. I usually get a position somewhere in the middle of the article and then spend the last half defending my new opinion.’

‘You do not think killers deserve to die?’

‘I don’t know,’ she said uncertainly. ‘I think I’m reading too much Nietzsche. He’s screwing up my common sense -’

‘What common sense?’ said Howard.

Kristina poked him in the ribs. ‘If they don’t deserve to die, then what do they actually deserve? Because they do deserve something, don’t you think? What do they get in Hong Kong?’

‘Death.’

Kristina wasn’t sure about death. God was part of that somehow. There was a God out there between all her courses on eastern religion and modern religious thought, and morality and religion, between all those lofty words strung together, there was a God, and she didn’t know what He was telling her. She spent most of her life dulling His presence from her existence. What did Mahatma Gandhi say was one of the seven greatest evils? ‘Pleasure without conscience.’ Dulling Gandhi’s existence too, though his credo hung on the cork-board near her desk as an insolent reminder. What would have Gandhi thought about the death penalty? In general? And specifically - for the man who killed him? Gandhi would have forgiven him, Kristina was sure. Just as Pope John Paul forgave his Bulgarian would-be assassin, Gandhi would have forgiven his killer. But then it was Gandhi who wrote that the seventh greatest evil was ‘politics without principle.’ Gandhi was nothing if not principled.

‘Would John Lennon forgive Mark David Chapman?’ said Howard.

Kristina smiled. ‘Well, you’re really a popular culture whiz, aren’t you? I don’t think John Lennon would’ve,’ she added. ‘He had too much to live for.’

‘So that is how you determine forgiveness. You think it is easier to forgive your killer when your life is empty?’

‘Much,’ said Kristina. But the Pope’s life hadn’t been empty, no, not at all. Still, the Pope didn’t have a five-year-old Sean Lennon.

Howard stood shifting from foot to foot. ‘You’re cold,’ Kristina said, unwrapping his coat from herself. ‘Here.’

He took his coat but did not put it on. They both stood and shivered.

‘You know,’ Howard said uncertainly, ‘you’re welcome to come to New York for Thanksgiving. We could go see David and Shaun Cassidy in Blood Brothers.’

So he had asked her. Waited till the last minute, but asked her anyway. Kristina felt bad. She rubbed his suit sleeve again.

‘It’s all right, Howard,’ she said quietly. ‘It’s only a silly holiday.’

‘I know,’ he said. ‘But I do not like the thought of you alone and unhappy on the silly holidays.’

‘I won’t be alone, okay?’ she said, smiling. ‘And I won’t be unhappy. Okay?’

Kristina wanted Howard to hug her again, but he didn’t. He never reached out for her first. He carried himself with such politeness, Kristina wondered if underneath his soft, mild respect there wasn’t a bit of distaste. Almost as if in Howard’s religion it was a sin to touch Kristina Kim.

‘Am I going to see you again?’ he asked.

‘I hope so, Howard. I really hope so.’ She again felt his reserve.

‘Okay, then. Happy birthday.’

Kristina pumped her fist in the air. Her long fingers felt better clenched. Felt warmer. ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘I’m an adult now.’

‘You have been an adult all the time I have known you,’ said Howard.

‘Yes, but before you,’ Kristina said, ‘I was a child.’

‘Must have been a long time ago,’ he said sadly.

Kristina felt sad herself hearing him say that. ‘Not so long ago, Howard.’ Her nose was running, and she breathed heavily out of her mouth.

Howard was quiet for a moment and then hugged her. ‘Good-bye, Kristina,’ he said quietly.

The words stuck in her throat. ‘Good-bye, Howard,’ she said, patting his coat. She didn’t want him to see tears in her eyes.

When he got into his car, Kristina turned away.

After he was gone, she stood motionless on the sidewalk, squinting into the sun. I miss him already, she thought. I must call him and wish him a merry Christmas in a few weeks.

She was pleased with how the lunch went, but mostly she was glad it was over.

Kristina looked at the Nugget Theatre behind her. The Age of Innocence was playing. She thought briefly of going to see it; she even checked the time, but it had already started and it was a long film. The next show wasn’t until five, and by that time Jim Shaw with Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics under his arm would be waiting. Afterward there was Albert’s hazelnut torte. Besides, hadn’t Frankie seen the film and told her it was a movie about cutlery? Hadn’t he said the utensils in that film really shined in starring roles?

But she still wanted to see it. Daniel Day-Lewis reminded her of Edinburgh, where Kristina had seen My Left Foot.

She slowly walked to the Dartmouth Review office. As she went up the stairs, her gaze passed the window of the Rare Essentials boutique. She saw a pair of black boots in the window. Nice.

The death penalty could wait.

She walked inside. An attractive saleslady came up to her and asked her if she needed help.

‘I’m all right,’ Kristina said. ‘I like the boots.’

‘Oh, they’re very nice,’ the saleslady chimed. ‘They’re from Canada.’

Oh, from Canada, Kristina said, smiling. Then they must be nice. She examined them and then asked to see them in size nine and a half. The lady didn’t have a nine and a half but she had a ten. The boots fit her loosely. Still, they were quite pretty and graceful, with leather shoelaces.

‘And they’re waterproof, you know,’ the saleslady said.

‘Waterproof? And from Canada, too?’ Kristina said teasingly. ‘What else can a girl want from a black boot? How much?’

‘A hundred and eight dollars.’

She didn’t have a hundred and eight dollars. She had about three bucks in cash.

Kristina paid for the boots with her American Express card. That gave her six weeks to come up with a hundred and eight dollars. She could do that, she thought, smiling to herself.

‘Kristina Kim,’ the saleslady said, ringing the card through. ‘That’s an unusual name.’

Kristina signed her name on the charge slip. ‘You think so?’

‘It’s got a nice ring to it,’ the saleslady said, giving the card back to her. ‘It sounds… I don’t know. Asian?’

Kristina looked steadily at the saleslady. ‘Do I look Asian to you?’

‘Of course not. It’s just that -’

‘Have a nice day,’ said Kristina, taking her bag with the black boots and leaving the store. Geez.

She liked her new boots so much she wanted to wear them right away. Had Howard said there was a snowstorm coming? She hadn’t walked her stone wall this year. Maybe during this snowstorm would be her first time. First time in her new black boots.

Kristina sat down at the head of the stairs that led to the Review offices housed in the Chamber of Commerce building and started to unlace her Adidas.

Spencer Patrick O’Malley had just finished his usual Sunday lunch at Molly’s Balloon, the same Sunday lunch he’d been having every Sunday for five years. Spencer was nothing if not a creature of habit. He laid his parka next to him on the chair, and when the waitress came over, she smiled provocatively and said, ‘Hiya, Tracy.’

‘Hi, Kelly,’ he said, thinking the girl would get much further with him if she would only call him Spencer.

‘The usual today?’

‘The usual today will be fine,’ he said.

The waitress brought him a margarita on the rocks with extra salt on the rim, then Molly’s Skins - excellent potato skins - and a side of guacamole with chips and a beef burrito. For dessert he had Key lime pie.

On his way out, Spencer was delayed after bumping into a seven-year-old girl who suddenly started screaming. It took him a few seconds to notice two of her fingers were stuck in the crack of the door. He helped get her fingers out and brought her inside with his arm around her while the girl continued to cry. The waitress got her some ice for the bruised fingers, and then the girl’s mother came upstairs from the bathroom. Everybody thanked him, and Spencer left, thinking how tough it was with kids. One minute, everything was peachy, the next - you don’t know what’s going on.

With his hands in his pockets, Spencer strolled down Main Street, debating whether or not to take a walk to Occom Pond a mile away. It was cold and windy, but he was dressed for it. His sheepskin parka, knit cap, and gloves kept him warm, but even with the jacket buttoned up to the last button and his hands in his pockets, and a union suit underneath his jeans and sweater, his face hurt from the cold.

Occasionally, during the bitter cold winters of New Hampshire, Spencer wished he had driven south on 1-95 when he headed west from his hometown on Long Island to find work elsewhere. It hadn’t mattered to him then where he was going, so why had he chosen to stop in this sleepy little town with white buildings, black shutters, and impossibly cold winters?

Wondering how long it would take to get frostbite on his face in this weather, Spencer stroked his chin. He was unshaven today, a luxury he allowed himself only on Sundays and only since he’d stopped going to church.

Spencer was walking up Main past the Chamber of Commerce building when he saw a girl sitting at the top of the stairs. It wasn’t the girl he noticed, for it was too cold to notice anything peripherally with his big hood up. No, it wasn’t the girl. What drew his attention was what the girl was doing. She was barefoot, with not even a pair of socks to keep her soles from touching the cement stairs. She was wearing shorts. Next to her stood a black leather boot; the other black boot was in her hands.

It must have been in the teens with the wind-chill factor that afternoon. Spencer felt measurably colder just looking at her. One of her feet was planted firmly on the stair while the other was crossed over her knee as she was trying to pull the black boot up. she was struggling with it, finally putting the foot down on the stair and trying to pull up the boot that way.

As if hypnotized, Spencer walked slowly toward the stairs and watched her until she got the boot on. Instead of immediately putting on the other boot, she now threaded the black laces through the holes. Her foot continued to be planted on the cement stairs. Spencer’s eyes moved up from her feet to her long, bare legs, then to her dark green. Dartmouth T-shirt, then to her face and windblown hair. Spencer took his hand out of his pocket and stroked his chin again.

Her skin was very pale, though her cheeks looked ruddy from the weather beating on them. She glanced away from the boots for a moment. Her eyes locked into his. She had a big, wonderful, oval face, a young face if you didn’t see her eyes. The melting brown eyes had deep, solemn grooves around them, making her look older. Yet the eyes themselves were black-lashed, sweet and vulnerable. The combination of the innocence of the eyes and the lines around them made for an unsettling picture.

Clearing his throat, Spencer said, ‘You know, our bodies lose one degree of heat per minute.’

‘Ahh,’ she said, the corners of her lips pulling up into a smile. ‘Thank you.’

‘Yes. And I’ve been watching you for about five minutes. Maybe six.’

She flung her hair back, her hands not letting go of the laces. ‘How do I look?’

He saw her eyes and her chapped lips smiling at him. He maintained a serious expression - it wasn’t difficult, for Spencer tried to be a serious man. ‘Cold,’ he replied.

‘Actually, according to your calculations, I should be dead by now. A degree a minute, huh?’

‘Not dead yet,’ he said, nearly smiling. ‘But severely numb. Frostbitten. Lost all feeling in your limbs.’

She touched her foot. ‘You know, maybe you’re right. I don’t even feel cold anymore.’

‘See?’

He saw her lips stretch into a mischievous smile. ‘Well, then maybe you should stop distracting me, so I could put on the other boot and have at least a chance at survival.’

Spencer stopped talking, watching her until she’d laced up the other boot.

‘Where are your socks?’ he asked.

‘In the wash,’ she said, standing up. ‘And who are you?’

She was looking straight at him, and she was beautiful. Objectively, undeniably beautiful. Tall, thin, model-like beautiful, even with that unruly hair. The eyes were bottomless, Spencer thought, in their inexpressible emotion. Spencer felt a familiar pull in his stomach. He was still young enough to remember his high school days when he felt the pull every time he walked down the hall, looking at the girls in their white sweaters clutching books to their teenage breasts.

Walking up the stairs, he took off his glove and extended his hand. ‘Spencer Patrick O’Malley,’ he said.

She took his hand and shook it gently. Her hand was warm, and that amazed him. A warm hand on a barefooted girl in November in New Hampshire.

She asked, ‘Spencer, like Spencer Tracy?’

Spencer took a deep breath. ‘Yes. No relation.’

‘You look nothing like him. Kristina Kim.’

‘Nice to meet you, Kristina. Can I give you a ride somewhere so you can get warm?’

‘No, thank you. I’m going up to this building here.’

‘The Chamber of Commerce?’

‘No, the Review,’ she said.

‘Ahh,’ he said. ‘Aren’t they a bit extreme?’

‘No.’ She laughed. ‘But the reaction to them is.’ She was still holding on to his hand; then she slowly took it away. ‘If you have a Kleenex, I’d appreciate it,’ she said, sniffling.

‘I don’t, I’m sorry.’ He looked into her animated face. Her lips were smiling, too. ‘You must be from up North,’ he said. ‘Cold-blooded.’

‘I’m not from up North,’ she said. ‘But I am cold-blooded.’ She paused. ‘When I was a young girl and used to go and visit my grandmother near Lake Winnipesaukee in the winters,. I would break the ice in the lake and put my feet in the water to see how long I could stand it.’

Spencer absorbed that for a few moments. ‘How long,’ he asked slowly, ‘could you stand it?’

She smiled proudly. ‘My record was forty-one seconds.’ He whistled. ‘Forty-one, huh? How does frostbite figure into that?’

‘Prominently,’ Kristina said. ‘It was still a record.’

‘Bet it was,’ said Spencer. ‘Was it a competition?’

‘Sure,’ she said. ‘You don’t do something like that just for the heck of it.’

‘No, of course.’ He raised his eyebrows at her. ‘Something like that you’d need to do for a really good reason.’

Kristina smiled mischievously at him. ‘That’s right.’

Spencer was curious. ‘Who were you competing against?’

‘Oh, you know.’ She waved her hand vaguely to punctuate her vague answer. ‘Friends.’

This was curiouser and curiouser. ‘Hmm,’ he said. ‘Some friends. A little girl in the woods -’

‘On the lake,’ she corrected him.

‘On the lake,’ he continued. ‘Sitting there, breaking ice, looking for a hole in the ice to put her bare feet in. That just sounds so…’ He couldn’t find the right words. He remembered his own childhood and going out on the ice on the lake near his house. Even when the lake was frozen solid for weeks, he was nervous about stepping onto the ice, because ice was water to him, and he had heard of only one man who could walk on water, and Spencer was sure as hell it wasn’t himself. ‘So… intense,’ he finished. ‘Who was watching you?’

‘Grown-ups can’t watch over you every minute, you know,’ said Kristina, looking at her boots, and Spencer, thinking back to his own childhood, knew she was right. Grown-ups had rarely watched over him.

‘Why would you do that?’ he asked her slowly. ‘Why would you put your feet into freezing water?’

Shrugging, she said, ‘Because I was afraid.’

‘Afraid of what?’

‘Afraid of doing it.’

‘With good reason.’

‘I did it,’ she said, ‘to show that I wasn’t afraid.’

‘Show who?’

‘Me,’ she replied, a little too quickly. ‘Me… and my friends.’

He saw that she was shivering. He wanted to give her his own warm parka, but he didn’t think she’d take it. She didn’t seem the type.

‘Hey,’ he said on an impulse. ‘You want to go grab a cup of coffee?’

She shook her head, walking past him down the steps. He followed her. ‘Come on. A cup of coffee. It’ll make you warm.’

‘Warm?’ she said. ‘It’s twenty degrees outside. I’ll get back outside and just be cold again. I’d love to, really, but I’ve got a million things to do today.’

‘What’ve you got to do today, Kristina? It’s Sunday. Even God rested on Sunday.’

‘Yeah, well, did God have basketball practice? Did God have a quiz on Aristotelian aesthetics tomorrow? Thanks. Maybe another day.’ She looked up at him. There was something in her black eyes, something impenetrable and yet broken. He really wanted to take her for coffee.

‘Come on,’ he said. Spencer O’Malley was determined. It had been a while since he’d asked anybody for coffee. ‘It’ll be quick, I promise.’

Kristina sighed and smiled.

‘Come on,’ he repeated.

She tilted her head to the side. ‘Are you buying or crying?’ ‘Both,’ he said quickly, not wanting to show her how pleased he was.

‘Well, then, let’s go to EBA. They have Portuguese muffins that are to die for,’ she said.

‘I know,’ said Spencer. ‘I buy them by the dozen.’

They made a left on Allen Street and strolled to Everything but Anchovies, where they sat in the back next to the upright Coca-Cola refrigerators.

Spencer took off his mittens, coat, hat. He saw her watching him.

‘What’s with the hair?’ Kristina said.

Spencer ran his hand through it. He had just had it shorn to his scalp.

‘Oh, you know.’

‘I don’t. Are you in the army?’

Spencer rather liked his new buzz cut. The lack of hair made his deep-set blue eyes appear more prominent. He liked that.

‘It’s just something we did.’ He didn’t want to tell her that one of the women at work had been diagnosed with cancer and when she began her chemotherapy, he and his colleagues, not wanting her to feel awkward, had shaved their heads. Ironically, she had come to work in a wig. However, it was the men’s unbidden act of solidarity that counted. And Spencer, the mildest-looking of men with his subdued Irish features, aside from his exaggerated Cupid mouth, actually looked tough with his cropped hair.

Touching his chin, Spencer wished he’d shaved. But Kristina didn’t seem to mind.

Kristina ordered a muffin and a hot chocolate. Spencer hated hot chocolate but ordered the same.

‘Spencer Patrick O’Malley,’ Kristina said. ‘You go to Dartmouth? Like, who doesn’t in this town?’

‘I don’t,’ said Spencer. ‘I work for the police department.’

‘The Hanover Police Department?’

‘Sure.’

‘Really?’ She livened up. ‘Wow.’ She seemed impressed. She leaned into the table. ‘What do you do for them?’

‘I’m a detective,’ he said. ‘A detective-sergeant.’ He’d been promoted from plain detective only a few weeks ago, but he wasn’t about to tell this girl that.

‘A detective? Wow,’ she said. ‘Do you do a lot of… detecting?’

I detected you, didn’t I, out of the corner of my eye, he wanted to say to her. ‘Plenty,’ he said. ‘I detect cars that are parked in the wrong place, I detect meters that are out of time, I detect drunk drivers on a Saturday night.’

She looked at him uncertainly, with interest and curiosity, with warm, soft brown eyes.

‘So you play basketball?’ he asked her.

‘Yeah.’

‘I sometimes watch men’s basketball.’

‘A mistake,’ said Kristina. ‘We’re much better. We won the title last year.’

He looked at her hands, which were long and slender, capped with beautifully manicured red nails. He preferred the short, clean unpolished look on girls, but long nails were somehow right on her.

Pointing to the nails, Spencer said, ‘Hard to dribble with those?’

She studied her nails lovingly, smiling. ‘I’ve adjusted. Listen, the other team, they need all the handicaps they can get.’

‘Hmmm,’ said Spencer thoughtfully. ‘Quite rare for a university girl to have those long nails. Especially a basketball player.’

Kristina shrugged. ‘I like them.’

‘Are you good?’

‘Very good,’ she said, smiling wryly. ‘First-team All-Ivy three years in a row.’

‘Ahh,’ he said, impressed, but not letting on. ‘What is All-Ivy exactly?’

‘You don’t know what All-Ivy is? Some detective!’ She sat there in a mock snit for a few seconds. Spencer almost laughed aloud.

‘For your information, All-Ivy players are voted on by the league coaches, out of the nine Ivy League schools. For each position, there’s an All-Ivy player. The league votes on five players for the first team, five for the second team, and then five for honorable mention. I’m the senior center. I’m the only first-team All-Ivy player in Big Green basketball right now -’ She stopped suddenly, blushing.

Spencer, smiling, leaned over his hot chocolate and said, ‘Kristina, are you trying to impress me?’

Looking flustered and red, she said, ‘No, of course not.’

‘Because I’m impressed,’ he told her, and she outwardly relaxed and smiled.

‘Are you a good detective?’

Spencer was going to rattle off a list of his credentials and successful cases as a joke, but he didn’t. Nodding, he said, ‘They say some detectives have skill as interrogators, and some as crime scene investigators. To be a good detective you should be good at both.’

‘What are you good at, Detective O’Malley?’

The question sounded suggestive to him. He raised his eyebrows.

‘You must have a categorical imperative,’ she said.

He looked at her blankly. ‘A categorical what?’

‘You know.’ Kristina shrugged, taking a big bite of the muffin, chewing it thoroughly, and swallowing before continuing. ‘A categorical imperative, one that represents an action as objectively necessary in itself, without reference to any other purpose.’

Spencer’s eyes widened at her. ‘Oh, yes, of course. I got a number of those.’

Kristina took another bite. ‘No, just one,’ she said. ‘You only have one. Kant. Metaphysics of Morals. It means -’

‘I kind of figured out what it means, and yes, I suppose I wouldn’t be an officer of the law if I weren’t driven - without reference to any other purpose -’ he mimicked her - ‘to do my job.’

‘Do it well.’

‘Do it the best I can.’

‘So what are you good at?’

He decided to take her at face value. ‘I’m like a hound. I like to think that I have a good sense of intuition.’ Spencer paused. ‘But my partner, Will, would disagree with you. He says I’m a dog whose nose has been ruined by too much pepperoni.’

‘You must be thinking about my dog,’ said Kristina. ‘You seem like a good listener.’

‘I am a good listener,’ he admitted. ‘I’m also a good observer. I watch people and I usually find out more about them by how they sit and look at me than by what they say.’

She smiled. ‘What do you find out by looking at me?’

Spencer smiled back. ‘That you are not afraid of me. You stare me right in the eyes.’

‘Are you saying I’m in your face, detective?’

‘Yes, that’s what I’m saying.’ He was trying to be serious. ‘You’re looking right at me, and you are not afraid.’

‘Got nothing to be afraid of,’ Kristina said, looking away, and Spencer noticed that.

Leaning closer and speaking softer, Spencer said, ‘What are you afraid of, Kristina?’

‘What, like in general? Or most?’

He thought about it. ‘Most,’ he replied.

‘Death. No, not death. Dying,’ said Kristina. Spencer nodded.

‘How about you? What does a cop fear most?’

‘I don’t know about a cop, but me, I’m most scared about having to live with my conscience. I like to sleep at night.’

‘Has your conscience been bothering you?’ She smiled.

‘Not so far.’

She nodded, sipping her drink. ‘In your line of work, you can’t afford to make mistakes, I guess. To be wrong about people.’

‘You’re right.’ Spencer took a sip of his drink. Where was she heading with this? ‘I’m not often wrong about people.’

She smiled coyly. ‘Think you’re wrong about me?’

He willingly smiled back. ‘I’m right on about you. You are brave and smart.’ He wanted to add that she was also very beautiful, but of course one did not say those things to a Dartmouth girl over coffee. Besides, she didn’t need to be told that.

‘Are you flexible, detective?’

‘I’m as stiff as a board,’ he said. ‘One of my many failings.’

‘You don’t seem like you have many of those,’ said Kristina.

‘You’re trying to be gracious. I’m full of bad habits.’

‘Yeah? Like what? And who isn’t?’

‘You, for one.’

‘Me?’ She laughed. ‘I have more bad habits than you’ve had dinners.’

‘Name one.’

She thought for a moment. ‘I’m compulsively neat,’ she said.

‘Really? I’m compulsively sloppy.’

‘I really like to win at basketball,’ she said.

‘I really like to close my cases.’

‘I never wear enough clothing outside and always catch colds.’ As if to prove that, she sneezed.

‘Oh, yeah? I always bundle up too much and sweat profusely.’

‘I constantly do things to make my life really complicated.’

‘I constantly do things to make my life as simple as possible.’

She paused. ‘Sometimes I drink.’

He paused too. ‘Huh! Would that I only drank sometimes.’

And then they smiled at each other.

‘Are you twenty-one, Kristina?’

‘Tomorrow,’ she said, inexplicably excited. ‘Finally.’

‘I see. You didn’t tell me you drink, okay?’

‘Drink? I meant drink coffee.’

‘Good. We won’t mention it again.’ He paused. ‘So you’re happy to be turning twenty-one? For all the usual reasons?’

She nodded. ‘And then some,’ she said, raising her eyebrows. But she didn’t offer to explain and he didn’t pursue it.

They drank their hot chocolates and nibbled on the Portuguese muffins - a sort of English muffin but bigger, thicker, and sweeter.

‘So Detective O’Malley, have you had any interesting cases? I have to write this article on the death penalty for the Review. I’m thinking of writing something about the criminal.’

‘Well, that would be pretty revolutionary of you,’ Spencer said. ‘In today’s day and age.’ He was getting a good feeling about her.

‘Can you tell me anything about the criminal?’

‘Like what?’

‘Like why do people kill other people?’

Spencer thought about it. She was confusing him. She was too pretty. ‘Power,’ he said at last. ‘Power and intimidation. That’s all it’s about.’

‘Power and intimidation, huh? Serial killers, abusive husbands, rapists, all of them?’

‘Yes. All of them.’

Kristina smiled. ‘That’s really good. I like that.’

‘Enough about the death penalty. Tell me something about yourself.’

‘Like what?’

‘Like anything. What year are you in?’

‘I’m a senior.’

‘What’s your major?’

‘Philosophy and religion.’

‘That’s interesting. So what can philosophy tell us about why men kill other men?’

‘How do I know? I don’t study anything as concrete as that. Nietzsche tells us we shouldn’t be upset at evil, and we shouldn’t punish the deviant.’

‘Why is that?’

‘He says because the criminal is only exercising his free will, which society gave him, and for which it now wants to punish him, punish for the very thing it told him made him a human being and not an animal.’

‘This Nietzsche, he’s obviously never lived in New York,’ said Spencer.

Kristina laughed.

‘You know, I don’t know if I agree with that,’ said Spencer. ‘Society didn’t give man free will. God did. Society just reins in the excesses of free will in those who can’t rein it in themselves.’

‘You may be right,’ said Kristina. ‘But Nietzsche doesn’t believe in God.’

‘Well, I,’ said Spencer quietly, ‘don’t believe in Nietzsche.’

Kristina was looking at him with an expression of great amusement.

‘What?’ he asked her.

‘Nothing, nothing,’ she said quickly. ‘Where are you from, Spencer?’

‘Born and bred on Long Island,’ Spencer said.

‘Oh, yeah? My best friend is from Cold Spring Harbor.’

‘Cold Spring Harbor? I’ve read about that place in books. I don’t think mere mortals like me are allowed there.’

‘Don’t be silly. Where are you from?’

‘Farmingville.’

‘Never heard of it.’

‘No one has. Anyway, I’m from there’

‘So what brings you here, Spencer?’

‘I don’t know. Got tired of chasing after speeders on the Long Island Expressway. So I got into my car and drove north.’

‘And stopped in Hanover?’

‘And stopped in Hanover.

I liked Dartmouth Hall. I spent my first night here in the completely unaffordable Hanover Inn, and heard the clock tower out of my window playing songs. My first day they played a slow version of “Seasons in the Sun."’

Kristina laughed. ‘You stayed in Hanover because the Baker tower played “Seasons in the Sun"?’

‘I stayed in Hanover so I could give all you posh Dartmouth girls and boys parking tickets.’ Spencer said it seriously, but he was kidding, and Kristina laughed again. Spencer liked that Kristina could tell when he was kidding.

‘Now I live in Hanover so that I can feel like I’m going to Dartmouth without actually spending twenty-five thousand a year on my education.’

‘Without actually getting an education either.’

‘Touché,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Good. You think I don’t get an education watching all you people?’

‘Really?’

‘Really.’

‘You like your job then?’

Spencer nodded. ‘Very much.’

‘What don’t you like about it?’

‘The worst part is every time there’s a big case, they bring on the gang from Concord -’ He saw her quizzical expression and explained. ‘The assistant district attorneys, their own investigators, and sometimes even the state police guys from Haverhill. It really pisses me off. Like I can’t do my job or something. I tell them, I can issue parking tickets with the best of them, give me a chance.’

Kristina laughed. ‘What was your biggest case?’

‘That Ethiopian premed student hacking his girlfriend and her roommate with an ax.’

Kristina widened her eyes. ‘Oh, that was horrible.’

‘Yes, it was. I was the first officer on the scene.’

Kristina made a disgusted face. ‘You found the bodies?’

‘Yes.’

‘Yuck. Was it awful?’

‘As awful as you can imagine.’

‘I can’t even imagine.’ She lowered her voice. ‘I’ve never even seen a dead body.’

‘Really? Never?’ Spencer found that hard to believe. He’d been going to funerals of his parents’ relatives since he was two.

‘Never.’ She cleared her throat. ‘My grandmother - she died just a few months ago, but I didn’t go to the funeral.’

‘Why not?’

Shrugging, Kristina said, ‘I wasn’t invited.’

‘You weren’t invited to your grandmother’s funeral?’ It was Spencer’s turn to widen his eyes. ‘What kind of family do you have?’

‘Not a very close one,’ she admitted, changing the subject. ‘The Ethiopian, do you think that was power and intimidation?’

‘That’s all it was,’ said Spencer. ‘The girl didn’t want to marry him, and he wanted to let her know how he felt about it.’

‘I see. What’s happened to the guy now?’

‘He’s behind bars for life.’

‘Ahh. Just punishment.’

‘Just? I don’t know. He killed two people in cold blood. Maybe he should have died himself.’

‘Do you think he should have, Spencer?’

‘For premeditated murder? Yes.’

They were done drinking their hot cocoa and eating, but Spencer definitely did not want to get up and go.

Kristina asked him if he was the boss at work.

‘I wish. No, there’s the chief above me. Ken Gallagher.’

‘Irish, like you.’

He nodded.

She seemed thoughtful. ‘I didn’t know policemen made enough money to live in Hanover.’

‘I know - you kids drove the price of this town way up. Three-bedroom houses start at two hundred and sixty thousand. Two-bedroom apartments rent for nine hundred.’

‘You must be making good money.’

‘Nah - I gave up smoking.’

‘What, so you could afford a place in Hanover?’

‘That’s right.’

Smiling, Kristina said, ‘Didn’t give up taking girls out for coffee, though.’

‘Did.’ He paused. ‘But I just fell off the wagon.’

‘I see.’

‘What kind of a name is Kim?’ Spencer asked her.

‘An unusual one?’ she offered. She didn’t seem to want to talk about it, so he left it.

‘Go back much to visit your family?’

‘Not much,’ said Spencer. ‘You?’

‘Not much,’ said Kristina.

‘Your folks, they must be pretty proud of you, going to Dartmouth and all. Me, I just went to a state university for a year and then joined the force.’

‘Do you miss home at all?’

Spencer nodded. ‘I miss my brothers and sisters.’

‘Oh yeah?’ She smiled. ‘How many have you got?’

‘More than you’ve had dinners,’ replied Spencer, repeating

Kristina’s own expression. ‘Eight. Five brothers, three sisters.’

‘My God, I’ve never in my life met anyone with that many siblings. I barely read about that many siblings.’

‘Yeah, we had a big family.’

‘Are you guys Catholic or something?’

‘No, no, Protestant,’ said Spencer. ‘Of course we’re Catholic. With a last name like O’Malley?’

Kristina sat back. ‘Gosh, how did your mother do it?’

‘I don’t know. I think she was done by her fifth kid. I was pretty much looked after by my sisters.’

‘Still, though - nine kids.’

‘Eleven,’ Spencer corrected her. ‘Twin boys died of pneumonia when they were babies.’

‘Oh, no.’

‘Yeah.’

They were silent for a while.

‘Eleven names your mom had to think of,’ Kristina said thoughtfully. ‘I had difficulty thinking of one.’

Spencer studied her face before he asked, ‘Did you have… reason to think of one?’

‘No, no,’ she said quickly. ‘But you know, people - boyfriends, girlfriends talk. I thought of Orlando. Or Oscar.’

‘These are not budgies, Kristina, these are babies. Oscar? Orlando?’

‘See what I mean?’

‘Don’t feel bad,’ Spencer said. ‘When I was born, my mother forgot she’d already named one of her sons Patrick O’Malley, so she named me Patrick O’Malley.’

Kristina laughed.

‘I didn’t think it was so funny. Finally one of the kids told her. Not my brother Patrick, mind you. So she renamed me Spencer. Spencer Patrick O’Malley.’

‘After the actor?’

‘Yeah, Mom really loved Spencer Tracy.’ He paused. ‘I would’ve preferred Patrick.’

Kristina, licking the tips of her fingers, stared at Spencer.

‘I like Spencer.’

Tilting his head, Spencer said softly, ‘Well, thank you.’

‘What’s your mom doing now?’

‘Being a grandma. Eight of the nine children are married.’

‘They have lots of kids?’

‘You could say that. Twenty-one already. You know, be fruitful and multiply.’

‘God almighty. You really took to heart the multiply part.

Are you…’ She paused. ‘… one of the married ones?’

Why had Spencer steered the conversation this way? But once steered, he wasn’t going to be rude to this beautiful, curious, fresh-faced girl with black pools for eyes.

‘I was one of the married ones,’ he said slowly and quietly.

‘Ahhh,’ she said with an understanding look. ‘Didn’t work out, huh?’

‘You could say that. She died in a car accident.’

Kristina put her hand to her mouth. ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’

He waved her off. ‘It’s okay. It was tough at first. I’m learning to live with it now, you know. It’s been a few years.’

‘How many?’

‘Five.’

‘Is that why you left Long Island?’

‘Kind of,’ he replied.

They sat. The waitress had brought the check, but they still sat there. Kristina made no move to go.

‘So what was her name, your wife’s?’ asked Kristina.

‘Andrea. Andie.’

‘That’s a nice name. Was she pretty?’

Pausing for a few moments, Spencer reached into the back of his jeans and pulled out his wallet.

‘Aren’t you guys required to carry a weapon?’ Kristina asked, trying to look behind him.

‘Not off duty,’ Spencer said, showing her a picture of his Andie. ‘Here.’

Kristina stared at the picture. ‘She looks so young,’ she said. ‘She looks kind of like… me.’

‘Really?’ said Spencer. ‘I hadn’t noticed.’ Was that just a coincidence that his Andie looked a little like this girl? Yes. Yes it was.

While Spencer was paying, Samantha, the owner of EBA, came over to Kristina, patted her on the head, and said, ‘Great game last week, Krissyface. How many points?’

‘Forty-seven,’ said Kristina. ‘Fifteen rebounds.’

‘It’s almost not fair, is it? Those poor girls at Cornell, they just never win.’

Smiling and getting up, Kristina said, ‘They’ll never win. As long as there is breath in my body.’

‘Atta girl!’ exclaimed Samantha.

On the way out, Spencer whispered to Kristina, ‘I gotta come and see you play.’

‘Please do. We’re playing -’ She stopped. ‘A week after Thanksgiving. Friday and Saturday. Come then.’

Sticking out her hand, Kristina said, ‘It was real nice to meet you, Spencer. Thanks for the muffin.’

Spencer shook her hand gently. ‘Anytime, Kristina.’

She looked at the clock outside Stinson’s. It read 3:45. Shaking her head, Kristina said, ‘Want you to know, I blew off basketball practice for you.’

‘Hmmm,’ Spencer said. ‘Was I worth it?’

She smiled, waving to him as she hurried away.

After she turned the corner, Spencer stayed put for a minute, and then walked and turned the corner himself, wanting to catch another glimpse of her.

Kristina’s heart was beating so fast she wanted to skip to its pounding along Main Street. Blew off basketball practice looking into the blue-eyed, full-lipped face of a man with no hair who looked at her in a way she hadn’t been looked at for a long time. Spencer Patrick O’Malley. ‘Spencer Patrick O’Malley,’ Kristina whispered his name to herself, and began running to Tuck Mall, her backpack in her hands.

When Kristina got back to Hinman Hall, where she lived, her room was unlocked and empty. Aristotle wasn’t there, nor was Jim. She dropped the backpack on the floor and picked up a hairbrush. But her hands were numb from the cold; they wouldn’t obey her. Kristina felt bad she had been such a mess for Spencer.

Some first impression. Spencer himself hadn’t shaved, true, but he was just so cute it didn’t matter.

Sitting down on the bed, Kristina waited for a few minutes. Her hands were tingling, and she put them between her knees to keep them warm. She knew she wouldn’t wait long.

There was a knock on the door. Albert peeked in.

‘There you are,’ he said, opening the door further and letting in the dog. Aristotle bounded in, jumped on the bed, and then on Kristina. She petted him without taking her eyes off Albert.

‘I walked him.’

‘Thanks. Where’s Conni?’

‘She is incommunicado this afternoon. Don’t tell me she’s baking me a cake?’

‘I won’t tell you,’ Kristina said absently. She was still thinking of Spencer.

Albert continued to stand in the doorway. She wanted to ask him to come in and close the door, but Jim was going to be coming by any minute.

‘Going with Conni to Long Island for the holiday?’ Kristina asked Albert.

‘Yup. Same as last year. Want to come with us? Or are you going with Jim?’

‘Oh, yeah, sure…’ Kristina trailed off.

He took a step toward her. ‘So come with us,’ he said.

Sitting on the bed, Kristina shook her head, never taking her eyes off him. Albert had wanted to be a gymnast when he was younger but had grown too fast, gotten at once too broad and too angular. Now he wanted to be a Zen Buddhist. His long, dark hair was slicked back in a ponytail. He had a small gold loop ring in the left ear.

‘Listen,’ Kristina said. ‘I gotta tell you some -’

‘How did it go?’ Albert interrupted her.

For a moment, Kristina didn’t know what he was referring to.

‘Howard,’ he said impatiently. ‘How did it go with Howard?’

‘Good.’ Kristina paused. ‘Everything’s done.’

‘And?’

‘And nothing,’ she said, rubbing her hands together to warm them up.

Albert came closer to her. ‘Was he okay with it?’

‘Yeah, he was okay with it,’ Kristina replied. ‘He did ask me if the divorce was my idea.’

Albert laughed loudly. Kristina for once thought his laugh sounded gaudy. ‘Did you tell him the truth?’ he asked.

‘The truth?’ said Kristina. ‘Exactly what is that?’

‘A conformity to fact or actuality,’ replied Albert.

‘Ahh, of course,’ said Kristina. ‘Well, I told him it was my idea. Is that a conformity to fact?’

‘It’s good enough, Rocky,’ Albert said, smiling and coming closer to the bed. ‘It’s good enough.’

Kristina loved it when he called her by the old familiar nickname, but she put out her arms to stop him from coming too close. She didn’t want to stop him, but it was broad daylight.

‘Listen,’ he said. ‘I have an idea for Thanksgiving. What would you think of -’

He stopped abruptly. Jim Shaw was standing in the doorway.

‘Jimbo,’ Kristina exclaimed weakly. ‘Hey. Ready?’

Albert nodded to Jim, who curtly nodded back.

‘I’m ready,’ said Jim, and then stood motionless and silent at the door.

Tense, Kristina petted Aristotle and then broke the awkward silence, ‘How’s your birthday been so far, Albert?’

‘Good,’ he replied. ‘It’ll get immediately worse once I taste Conni’s cooking.’

‘You call it cooking?’ asked Kristina, trying hard to lighten the mood.

‘At least she’s making you something,’ Jim said in a voice tinged with hostility, and then the three of them just stood there again.

‘Well, I’m sure it’ll be very nice,’ said Albert with an edge to his voice. Kristina was surprised to hear it. Albert never had an edge to his voice.

‘Krissy, let’s go,’ said Jim.

‘Yeah, Krissy,’ Albert said mockingly. ‘Run along now.’

Flustered, Kristina got up off the bed, picked up her books off the floor, and walked toward the two guys.

‘Don’t forget your coat,’ said Albert. ‘It’s freezing out.’

‘Where’s your coat?’ Jim asked, standing with his backpack swinging in his hands.

Kristina looked around her messy room. Though outwardly Kristina maintained that a clean room was a symptom of a diseased mind (for how could she, while studying the world’s greatest thinkers, be bothered with such mundane earthly issues as cleaning?), inwardly she hated untidiness and made a point of spending as little time in the room as possible. Once upon a time she had been the neatest girl in the world, but it had become clear to her even before Dartmouth that an untidy room made it easier to hide stuff from Howard. When everything was in its place, Howard found it.

Every once in a while, though, Kristina compulsively cleaned everything up before throwing it all around again.

She wished today had been a clean day, because today she couldn’t find her coat.

‘Wonder where my coat is.’

‘Sometimes it helps to put coats in the closet when you want to find them again.’

‘Thanks, Jim. Where’s my coat?’

‘You weren’t wearing it this afternoon,’ Jim said. Albert was quiet.

‘I usually don’t wear my winter coat when I play basketball,’ Kristina said. She didn’t mean to snap, but she had just remembered where her coat was.

It wasn’t at Red Leaves House, because Kristina hadn’t spent last night there. She had left her coat up at Fahrenbrae Hilltop Retreat.

It was her only coat. Her mother had bought it for her fifteenth birthday, and six years later, the red cashmere was faded and there were some permanent stains on it. It remained one of her favorite things. Next to whiskers on kittens and hot apple Strudel.

She didn’t look at Albert as she walked past him and said to Jim, ‘Come on, let’s go.’

‘Kristina, put something -’

‘Come on, Jim,’ she said, raising her voice.

She saw Jim widen his eyes at Albert, who shrugged his shoulders and smiled, folding his hands together in a prayerful Zen salute.

Jim followed her.

‘You should try locking your door once in a while,’ he said. ‘It’s the house rule, you know.’

‘Yeah, and what happens to the dog?’ she asked.

They walked down three flights of stairs and went out the side door closest to the woods and the steep hill. Nearby there was a long path with shallow wood steps that wound down to Tuck Drive far below and then to the Connecticut River. Between the wood steps and Feldberg Library was a fifty-foot-long concrete bridge that led to Feldberg’s service entrance. Three-foot-high walls made of crystalline stone flanked the bridge, which was suspended over a steep wooded gradient and a concrete driveway seventy-five feet below.

‘Hey,’ Jim said, pointing to the bridge. ‘You haven’t walked that thing yet.’

Kristina glanced at it and then at him. They continued to walk away from the bridge. ‘Haven’t been drunk enough,’ she said. ‘Hasn’t been cold enough.’

‘Oh yeah, I forgot. You don’t do it unless it’s subfreezing. Otherwise it’s not a challenge, right?’

‘Right,’ she replied, thinking, he is trying to bait me. Why?

‘They’re expecting a snowstorm tomorrow, you know,’ Jim said.

‘Well, maybe I’ll walk it tomorrow then,’ Kristina said mildly.

Jim didn’t reply, and they hurried on to Baker Library.

They studied in the Class of 1902 room. Kristina’s mind was far away from Aristotle, as she recalled earlier Thanksgivings. Soon it would be Wednesday and her friends would be gone. Were the mess halls even open during the holidays? She couldn’t recall her first year. She remembered eating a lot of soup at Lou’s Diner and Portuguese muffins at EBA.

And oranges in her room.

Jim kept reading and occasionally asking Kristina a question or two about the material, but she had just had enough. Let’s go, she wanted to say. Let’s go, let’s get out of here, let’s go back and eat Conni’s creation and sing happy birthday” to Albert.

Kristina stroked Jim’s hand. There was a time you used to like me so much, she thought, or was that just my imagination? You’re very smart, you’ve been all over the world, and you have a bright life ahead of you. But what’s happened to us? We’re getting so bad at this.

She stood up.

‘Jim, let’s go back.’

‘Krissy, I’m not done.’

‘I know,’ she said. ‘But Conni’s baked a cake. And I gotta walk my dog.’

‘Albert will walk him,’ said Jim.

She closed her books and picked them up off the dark cherry table. ‘I’m going to go. Please come.’

He looked back into Aristotle. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I’m going to stay here and finish my work.’

Aristotle wrote that piety required us to honor truth above our friends. Kristina shook her head. Nicomachean Ethics was always hardest on Kristina. And Kant’s Metaphysics of Morals. Kristina had fought most of her life against her own categorical imperative. People who didn’t always impressed her. Spencer impressed her.

Men are good in one way but bad in many, wrote Aristotle. Kristina wondered about that. To her badness had always meant lack or suppression of conscience.

Gently touching Jim on the neck, Kristina kissed the top of his head. ‘Jimbo, I’m sorry.’ And she was sorry for innumerable things. ‘I just don’t feel like studying right now. Come back soon, okay? We’re going to have cake.’

‘Yeah,’ he muttered without looking up.

* * *

They were gathered around the complex torte Conni had made for Albert. The cake had uneven puffs of mocha icing, ground nuts sprinkled over the top, some chocolate chips, and twenty-two candles.

Conni, though dressed up for the occasion, did not seem to want to celebrate. Underneath the perky pink lipstick, her lips were tense, and the blue eye shadow couldn’t hide the hardness around her eyes.

The five of them were looking at the cake as if it were a slaughtered lamb. Aristotle, however, gazed at the cake as if it were the last piece of food on earth.

Frankie Absalom arrived. Usually it was hard to get Frankie out of Epsilon House, but there was little that Frankie wouldn’t do for Albert, his old roommate.

Albert had moved out of the room he’d shared with Jim and in with Frankie during the last semester of the freshman year when Jim and Albert decided it would be best if they didn’t room together anymore. Now Albert had a single a couple of doors down from Kristina, and Frankie was an Epsilon brother.

Kristina glanced at Conni, who forced a happy smile and started to sing ‘Happy Birthday.’ Everyone sang, including Albert, who sang loudest of all.

‘Albert!’ exclaimed Conni. ‘Make a wish, and blow out the candles. But make a really good wish,’ she said suggestively, standing close to him with her hand in his back pocket. Kristina thought Conni was trying too hard to act normal. What was bugging her, anyway?

Albert glanced at Conni to his left, and Kristina to his right, and Jim across the table from him, and said, ‘A really good wish, huh? Well, all right.’ He closed his eyes and blew out the candles, every one of them. Conni and Kristina clapped, Frankie hollered and began singing ‘For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow,’ while Jim just stood and halfheartedly said, ‘Yeah.’ Aristotle barked twice.

Kristina stood stiffly as Conni fussed over the cake and plates and plastic forks. She did not want to be here. The high of this afternoon, first with Howard and then with Spencer, was replaced by depressing thoughts. Conni had told her a few days ago that Albert and she were thinking of getting engaged. Oh, that’s nice, said Kristina. How nice. Are you going to have a party? Engaged to be married? Gee, that’s swell.

And then Jim had been acting awful today. Never a particularly affectionate guy, Jim had been acting stranger and stranger. Tonight, he doesn’t even want to stand next to me, Kristina thought sadly. Some couple. Maybe we can become engaged to be married.

Frankie was talking heated nonsense to Jim, but then Frankie always talked in a heated nonsensical manner that reflected his eccentric attire - plaid shirts and striped pants, hot neon track suits, and jeans so big they had to be held up by rainbow-colored suspenders. Conni handed a piece of cake to Kristina, who ate it, nodded, and said, mmm, it’s good. The cake was dry and terrible. She watched Albert’s face when he put the cake in his mouth and chewed slowly. Oh, he said, this is not bad at all, not bad at all. And Conni stood beside him and beamed, her hand never detaching itself from his shirt. She laughed in delight.

Conni’s high-pitched, squeaky voice grated on Kristina, but her laugh was infectious, and Kristina liked that. Conni also made it a point to dress sexy. She wore black bras and black underwear, bustiers and too tight jeans, and occasionally stockings and garters under her skirts. Kristina felt that sometimes Conni dressed to upstage her, because Kristina never dressed up. She was a jock and dressing up was uncool. Track suits and spandex shorts, and leggings, and Dartmouth sweatshirts, were cool. Jeans were cool. Basketball players did not wear bustiers.

She and Conni had been best friends until Kristina started playing basketball. That’s what Kristina said when asked what had happened to their friendship. But it was a lie. It wasn’t basketball that had happened to their friendship.

Why is she laughing so loudly? thought Kristina as she sat there trancelike, not laughing at all. Jim, too, was stone-faced. Albert bantered with Frankie, flirted with Conni, and when he hoped Conni wasn’t looking, pushed his cake toward Kristina, who immediately pushed the plate back to him. Kristina lifted up her eyes and saw Conni watching Albert push his cake plate toward her. The laughter faded in Conni’s blue eyes. Kristina ignored the plate, didn’t even glance at it.

They had all chipped in and bought Albert a Pierre Cardin watch, because he was never on time, anywhere. Rather, Conni and Jim - the only ones with money - chipped in.

Kristina wished Jim would stop looking at her with that unhappy expression. What right does he have to be unhappy? She thought. He studies as much as I practice, he works at the Review as much as I work at Red Leaves. He is the one who never wants to sleep over because he has to be in bed by eleven.

Trying not to look at Jim, Kristina sat across from him at the table, an old university-issue Formica table with steel reinforced legs. She felt bad for him without even knowing why. Kristina fed Aristotle the rest of her cake, and the rest of Albert’s cake, too. They got up; other people were waiting to use the kitchen facilities. The party was over.

The Hinman lounge was a semicircular TV room and kitchenette, attached like a peninsula to the front of Hinman Hall. The kitchenette, or the ironically named Hinman Café, didn’t even have a refrigerator. It had an ice maker, where the students stored their drinks, an electric stove, a microwave, and dirty dishes in the sink. The chairs in the TV lounge were so old they must have come with John Holmes Hinman, Class of 1908.

Kristina and Jim sat in the low maroon chairs, while Conni and Albert sat together on the torn brown sofa, and watched the 32-inch Mitsubishi. Other residence halls had rear-projection screens. Not Hinman. Kristina remembered Mass Row fondly, where in their freshman year they had study lounges, separate kitchens, and a TV lounge with a 50-inch Sony in it.

Conni held Albert’s hand. She was always holding some part of Albert, Kristina thought uncharitably, and then caught herself and felt ashamed. She is his girlfriend. That’s what she’s supposed to do.

Frankie had gone back to Epsilon House. Aristotle lay on the floor. The four friends watched TV and didn’t talk, though Kristina could recall a time when they gabbed so much that other students often asked them to leave. They usually left, and went up to one of their rooms and played cards on the floor and argued politics and philosophy and God and death. Or they argued about movies that no one ever got to see, but argued about in principle anyway. Most of the arguments were in principle.

Only the history major Jim wanted facts in his arguments. Albert would try to explain that philosophy and religion majors were not that interested in facts, but Jim didn’t understand. Conni was a sociology major, and Kristina wasn’t convinced Conni knew the difference between fact and theory. When they first became roommates, Conni had once looked up innocently at Kristina and said, ‘Krissy, what’s socialism?’

A year earlier the four of them discussed the party conventions, then the presidential debates, and then the lurid revelations in Penthouse about a would-be president.

After the elections, the junior year was spent talking about health care and gays in the military. None of the issues really affected them: Conni and Jim were on their parents’ insurance, Kristina and Albert never went to the doctor. And as far as Kristina knew, no one was planning to join the military, not even Frankie, who had plenty of opinions on gays in the military, on any men in the military for that matter.

They were university students. Everything was fodder for a good fight, including harvesting practices in Iowa, where none of them had ever been. But nothing meant anything. Jim was passionately opinionated. Albert was the devil’s advocate. Kristina was moderate. And Conni had few opinions.

Once, Conni had meant something to Jim. When Jim found out that Conni wanted his roommate, Albert Maplethorpe, that had meant something, too. Jim had somehow worked it out. He seemed to have forgiven Albert, and he and Kristina had started going out. The four of them became very close. So close that in their freshman year, very late at night, having downed many beers, they played truth or dare. They didn’t do anything outrageous, but the conversation took a definite X-rated turn.

That was as far as it went, because Kristina wanted to keep them all friends, and they all managed to remain good friends. It would have been a shame to ruin their intimate, eager college friendship over the Albert and Conni thing, which was supposed to mean nothing.

Except Kristina knew that Constance Tobias didn’t think so. Albert meant everything to Conni. Earlier this year, a classmate had asked Conni, ‘Albert still your boyfriend?’ and Conni had replied, ‘Now and ever.’

After watching the news at eleven, they all got up. Kristina stretched. Conni lifted up her face to Albert, who obliged and kissed her. Kristina lowered her eyes.

‘Well,’ Conni said, grabbing Albert’s hand and thrusting her chest at him, ‘good night now. I have a seven-forty-five tomorrow.’

‘Kristina, will you walk the dog?’ Albert asked, looking straight at her.

She had been lost in thought and it took her a while to answer. ‘Yeah, sure, course I will.’ She tried to smile.

‘You don’t want me to walk him?’ Albert said patiently. ‘I don’t mind. I know you’re afraid to go out at night.’

Jim moved forward. ‘She’ll be fine, thanks.’

Kristina gave Jim a quizzical look. ‘I’ll be fine, thanks,’ she said.

‘They’ll be fine, Albert,’ said Conni, pulling on his arm. ‘Let’s go.’

After Albert and Conni left, Jim said gruffly, ‘Want me to walk him? I’ll have to get my coat.’

Shaking her head, she said, ‘It’s okay, Jimbo. I’ll walk him.’

‘You don’t have your coat either. Where did you leave your coat, anyway?’

‘Don’t know,’ Kristina said quickly, wondering when she could drive up to Fahrenbrae and get it. Tomorrow she had classes, basketball, and then Red Leaves at two. Well, I’ll have a long weekend to go get my coat. I’ll have plenty of time.

She should have let Albert or Jim walk the dog; she really didn’t want to walk him. It was late and she was tired. Aristotle was a fiend for the dark spooky woods behind Hinman and Feldberg. Kristina wasn’t.

‘So, you want me to walk the dog or not?’ Jim asked.

‘No, that’s okay. I’ll do it.’ She paused. She was so tired. ‘You want to stay over?’

‘Stay over?’ Jim repeated.

‘Yes,’ she said, trying to smile.

‘Krissy, I have a seven-forty-five tomorrow.’

‘I know. I do too.’

‘I’m really beat,’ he said. ‘Maybe tomorrow night?’

She looked at him, resigned. ‘Yeah, sure, Jimbo. Maybe tomorrow.’

He must have caught something sad in her tone, because he said, ‘Tomorrow is your birthday? Yes, yes, definitely tomorrow.’

She managed a smile. ‘Good.’ She kissed him. ‘You’re not mad at me anymore, are you, Jimbo?’

His mouth was tense when he said, ‘No, why? Should I be?’

‘No, you shouldn’t be,’ Kristina said without looking at him. ‘Well, good night.’

Kristina walked Aristotle quickly in the cold night. He was pulling the leash to the wooden steps in the woods. ‘No, Aristotle,’ Kristina said firmly, pulling him to the lighted common area in front of Hinman. ‘I’m not taking you there, you dog. You should know that by now.’ Aristotle obeyed reluctantly. After he sniffed around the ground for a bit, Kristina walked him to her bridge. It was poorly lit, but she walked the length of it and let Aristotle pull her a few feet into the darkness of the woods to do his business. Her heart already thumping, she waited for Aristotle to finish while she listened to the woodland’s muffled noises. When Kristina heard something crack nearby, she yanked on the dog’s leash. ‘Come on, Aristotle, let’s go!’ she breathed, and ran back.

After Kristina got back to her room she turned off the overhead light and looked out the window onto the courtyard and Feldberg Library.

It was nearly midnight.

She took off her brand-new black boots and remembered Spencer O’Malley.

A handsome young detective looking at me like I was the best cup of hot chocolate he’d ever had. A nice man with cold hands whose pupils dilated at the sight of me. But what can I do with dilated pupils now? I thought my mission was to right my life. What year was that my New Year’s resolution? Like, every year. I’ve been trying to do that since I was eleven. Every year that was the first of ten items stuck to my bulletin board with a blue tack. Ah well. That’s my mission again for 1994, but this time I really mean it.

Kristina took off her jeans and put on clean black underwear. She took off her sweatshirt and bra and put on the pink tank top she slept in. When she was younger, she had been proud of her sleek toned lines, of her fair color. She looked like her mother. As a teenager, her hair had always been short, and her mother hadn’t allowed her to go to school in anything but dresses. She had once been a proper young lady, but at Dartmouth she played basketball, where speed and stamina counted most. At Dartmouth she didn’t own a single dress.

Kristina went out in the hall to the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash her face.

When she returned, Albert was sitting on her bed in the dark. Locking the door behind her, Kristina came to sit next to him on the bed, relieved to see him. He wiped her still wet cheek with his fingers. In return, Kristina brushed the hair away from his face. His ponytail was unbound, and his hair hung loose past his shoulders.

‘I can’t stay long,’ he said. ‘I could barely get out as it was. Told her I had to get my condoms. She said she had some. I said I wanted the colored ones. Red, white, and blue. With the rocket’s red glare…’

‘You’re so patriotic’ She smiled, moving closer to him. He wiped her other cheek and forehead. She stared him straight in the face, her eyes inches away from his eyes, gently running her fingers through his hair. ‘I understand,’ she said softly. Their arms were touching.

‘I wanted to talk to you about something,’ he said.

‘Anything,’ Kristina said tenderly. ‘What is it?’ She was so happy he had come. Earlier she had thought it had to stop. She knew it had to stop. But when she was with him, alone, she didn’t want to stop anything.

‘Let’s go somewhere,’ he said.

‘When?’

‘Now. For Thanksgiving.’

She sat quietly by his side in the dark; silently she sat and looked out the window.

‘Go where?’ Kristina finally said.

‘To Canada!’ he breathed out. ‘We’ll rent a car and cross the river, to the other side, make a right, and just keep on driving. We’ll find some nice little cottage, somewhere nice. In Quebec. On the way back, we can stop in Montreal. What do you say?’

Albert looked back at her stare. ‘What? We got no money again?’ he said with a peculiar lilt to his voice.

‘No, we -’ She stopped. ‘We got a little. Howard gave me some for my birthday.’

‘How much is a little?’

She thought very quickly. ‘Ten thousand dollars.’

Albert watched her intently. She tried to keep her face impassive. ‘That’s enough to get to Canada,’ he finally said. ‘Or is that money all for you?’

Rubbing his arm, Kristina said, ‘Don’t be like that. It’s for us.’

‘It’s not for us,’ he said. ‘It’s for you.’

‘For us,’ she insisted.

‘For you,’ he repeated, with the same peculiar lilt to his voice. Then with his right hand he cupped the side of her face. ‘Rocky,’ he said gently. ‘Want to?’

‘Please,’ she whispered. ‘We can’t. I’m playing on Saturday.’

Albert sneered. ‘UPenn. I can beat them myself with my eyes closed and shooting into their net. Your third team can beat their first, with or without you.’

‘Albert, I can’t skip the game!’

Shrugging, he said, ‘Not like you haven’t done it before. It’s no big deal. The coach yells at you for two minutes and then you dazzle her at practice for a week and everything’s okay.’

‘Yeah, well, she told me last time I missed a game that she’d make me sit out, like, a month, if I did it again.’

‘Kristina,’ said Albert, smiling. ‘The coach knows she’d be cutting off her nose to spite her face. The only thing she’d do without you is lose, and lose big.’ Albert drew Kristina closer to him, squeezing her. ‘You’re too good.’

She squeezed him back.

Albert prodded on. ‘Come on, Rock. What do you say?’

She put her arm tighter around him and shook her head. ‘What, disappear for a few days? And then? We got to come back, you know. We have to come back and live here. There’s no escape.’

‘Who wants to escape? I just want us to go -’

She interrupted, ‘If we could drive to Alaska, you’d say go there. If we had more money, you’d say, let’s never come back to this place, let’s travel the world, and be free of this life, of Dartmouth, of Howard -’

‘We are free of Howard,’ Albert said sharply.

She continued, ‘- of Connecticut, of Luke and Laura, of Jim and Conni. You’d even forsake Aristotle, if it would mean…’

‘Mean what?’

‘Mean no one would know us. You’d forsake everything. Wouldn’t you?’

Albert placed his hand on her chest to feel her heart. ‘Wouldn’t you?’

Kristina tried to pull away from him. ‘Not everything. Not everything.’ She choked up. ‘Though God knows,’ I want to -’

‘Do you?’ he asked intensely. ‘Do you want to?’

‘To be free? More than anything,’ she said, equally intensely. Her brown eyes flashed at Albert. But he misunderstood her meaning.

‘Then let’s go!’ he whispered. ‘Edinburgh, Kristina! Remember Edinburgh?’

Remembering Edinburgh made her hands weak. Her fingers tensed and relaxed, and her heart squeezed tight with memories of Edinburgh. ‘Sure, I remember. But what then? I’d still have to come back and face Jim. And what about Conni? Remember how it was when we came back? It would be just like that, only worse.’

‘I’ll make something up.’ He smiled tenderly. ‘I’m good at that.’

‘No,’ she said. They were speaking in hushed tones, and her no was an octave higher.

Albert said, ‘It’s no big deal. I’ll do anything to get away for a few days.’

‘What’s the big hurry? We’ve just been to Fahrenbrae.’

He waved at her impatiently. ‘Fahrenbrae is too close to here. We can go far into Canada for a few long days. We’ll go sledding. Remember how much you like sledding?’

‘Sure, I remember,’ Kristina said, getting weaker, the fight sinking out of her. ‘God, we just can’t.’

‘Rock, stop,’ he said kindly, keeping his arm around her. Keeping her to him. ‘Stop fighting me.’

‘It’s just a holiday,’ she said.

He was not easily dissuaded, but he took his arm away.

‘This is no good,’ Kristina said with a miserable, hollow laugh.

‘I agree,’ he said. ‘What do you think we should do? Stop?’

‘Yes,’ she said immediately and laughed mirthlessly.

‘Oh, Kristina. Oh, Kristina! How many times a year do you think we can continue having this conversation?’

‘Until we stop.’

‘Well, gee,’ he said. ‘I don’t exactly remember you saying that this morning at Fahrenbrae.’

‘The hills were too beautiful,’ she replied quietly, with emotion in her voice. ‘You were too beautiful.’

He leaned into her face. ‘I’m not beautiful now?’ he asked softly.

She averted her eyes. ‘Too beautiful.’

They were silent. She imagined going to Canada with him.

‘Albert, I know you agree with me. We have to stop. We have to get sane. You go with Conni. I go with Jim -’ Kristina stopped. ‘Or not. But whatever. Go our separate ways.’

‘We’ve done this before. It didn’t work. I don’t know how to get sane.’ He paused. ‘Do you? I didn’t think so. We’re just crazed all the time.’

Her mouth was dry when she whispered, ‘Yeah, crazed.’

‘Crazed!’ he exclaimed. Grabbing her, he pulled her close to him on the bed. ‘Rocky, why are you doing this to me? Why do you do this to me all the time?’ he said hotly, feverishly kissing her open lips, his hands gripping her wrists so tight it hurt.

She shut her eyes and pulled his head into her face, closer, if that were possible, into her, his lips overwhelming hers, pushing them apart with their intensity, their violence.

She groaned, moaned under his arms. He pushed her down on the bed. ‘Kristina,’ he whispered. ‘What are we going to do?’

Her only response was a stifled, raspy moan. Albert pulled her up to lift her pink tank top and expose her breasts, and then pushed her back down on the bed again. She whispered. ‘We’re going to go a little crazy. And then we’re going to escape forever.’

‘Escape?’ he whispered into her mouth, grinding against her with the hardness in his jeans, hurting her, making her ache and moan with pain and desire. He was grinding as if he were trying to push himself whole inside her. ‘Escape? What are you talking about? There is no escape.’

‘Sweet hell,’ she whispered. ‘Almost like heaven.’ His big hand covered her mouth roughly. ‘I don’t want to be damned,’ she said through his closed fingers. She wanted to cry.

He bent down to her breast, putting her nipple between his teeth. She stroked his arms, his head, his hair, his face. ‘Kristina, Kristina,’ he whispered back. ‘We’re not damned. We’re in love.’

‘No,’ she moaned as his hands moved down to her thighs. ‘We’re damned.’

She arched her back to help him take off her panties.

He pulled himself back up to her face and kissed her lips. ‘Rocky, darling,’ he said. ‘Rocky, Kristina, Rocky…’

‘Oh, Albert,’ Kristina whispered. ‘Please… please… let’s stop.’

He pulled back for a moment, to look at her, his hands near her face and neck. ‘How can I stop?’ he whispered fiercely.

‘How can I when you make me so fucking weak, I can’t see straight…’

When he pulled off his jeans and she reached down to feel him, he was ready for her. She moaned softly into his neck, and he breathed hard, clutching her with his hands, propping himself up, one hand underneath her back, thrusting into her.

A knock on the door stopped them.

‘Kristina?’

It was Conni.

Kristina instantly fell silent and put her hand over Albert’s mouth, whose heavy belabored breath continued to be the only sound in the room.

The knock came again. ‘Kristina, I’m looking for Albert. You know where he is?’

Kristina held her breath, held Albert with her arms, and then let out, ‘Conni? No, I don’t see him. Listen, it’s real late.’

The doorknob turned.

‘Could you open the door, please?’ Conni said impatiently.

‘Conn, I’m so tired, I can’t see straight,’ said Kristina, as she stifled Albert’s moan. ‘I’m half asleep,’ Kristina finished, finding his mouth with her hand. ‘I’ll talk to you in the morning, okay?’

‘Could you just open the door for a second? I need to talk to you.’

‘Conni, tomorrow, okay?’

Conni banged loudly on the door. ‘No, it’s not okay, Kristina. No it’s not okay. Open the door.’

‘Conni, leave me alone, will you? I had a long day. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.’

Conni continued to bang on the door and carry on, but Albert and Kristina stopped listening. Albert turned Kristina over. Kristina put her face in the pillow to muffle her sounds. She felt Albert’s hand in the back of her head, pushing her face into the pillow, his body hard behind her.

But Conni’s banging and yelling did not subside.

Finally, Kristina heard someone out in the hall telling Conni to shut the hell up or they would call security. Conni wouldn’t stop. A few minutes later somebody came to the door and asked Conni to come away. She refused. The security man knocked on the door and asked Kristina to open it. By this time Albert and Kristina were spent. Albert’s hands were stroking her, caressing her. He blew on her perspired face to cool her.

Kristina told the security man she was trying to sleep, wasn’t well, and wasn’t dressed. Eventually he led Conni away.

Later when they were lying next to each other in the little bed, Kristina said quietly, ‘God, Albert, we can’t live like this.’

‘You’re right. Let’s go to Canada.’

‘What, forever?’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Let’s go to Canada forever.’

She pushed him lightly. ‘Boy, you’ll say anything right now, won’t you?’

He smiled. ‘Anything.’ He was lying sideways, propping himself up on his elbow. He blew on her face again and then kissed it.

Kristina wondered about Conni. What was Albert going to tell her?

‘Canada, huh? Albert,’ Kristina said, ‘why Canada? Seems far away.’

‘The farther the better,’ he said. ‘Tell me you don’t want to go.’

‘I didn’t say that,’ she said cautiously, thinking.

‘Let’s go,’ he beseeched her. ‘We’ve got the money - you said so yourself. There’s nothing stopping us.’

She wanted to ask Albert about his imminent engagement to Conni. How are you going to take me to Canada and get engaged to her at the same time? she wanted to ask.

Albert poked her gently. ‘Well?’

‘And when this money is gone, then what?’

‘Then nothing. Then we’ll get more money,’ he said.

‘From where?’

Albert pulled away from her and stared at the ceiling.

‘Howard and I are now officially divorced,’ Kristina said. ‘Grandma is dead.’

‘There must be some money tucked away somewhere,’ said Albert.

‘What are you talking about?’ Kristina said, a little shrilly. ‘There’s no money, I’m telling you.’

‘So? We’ll get jobs. We’ll have money.’

Smirking, Kristina said, ‘You’re gonna get a job, Albert?’

‘Sure, why not?’ He put his hands behind his head. ‘I’ll try anything once.’

Now Kristina lay on her side, propped up by her elbow, and stared into his face. She wanted to tell him about the money, but she was just waiting for the right time. When he was married to Conni, maybe. She smiled at her own little joke.

‘What’s so funny?’ he asked.

‘Nothing, nothing,’ she quickly said. This was not a good time.

‘Rocky? If I break up with Conni, will you break up with Jim?’

Oh, not this again. She wanted to say, break up with Conni? Is that before or after you get engaged? But she didn’t.

‘Albert, please,’ she said. ‘Please.’

He gritted his teeth. ‘I just don’t know about that Jim of yours.’

Getting defensive, Kristina said, ‘Why, because he’s a nice guy? Because he treats me well?’

‘Because having sex with you is against his religion.’ Albert said meanly. ‘Some relationship.’

‘Well, I didn’t know he didn’t like to have sex when I started going out with him, did I?’

Staring passionately at her, Albert said, ‘No, Rocky, not just not like to have sex. Not like to have sex with you.’

‘But it’s easier for you this way, isn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ Albert said instantly. ‘At first I couldn’t stand the thought of him touching you.’ He paused. ‘Of anybody touching you.’

‘Well, how do you think I feel about you and Conni?’ Kristina said. They fell silent. Kristina was thinking about Thanksgiving. To be with him. Not to be alone. Not to be with Jim or with Conni or with Howard, or alone, but with him, far away - in Canada.

‘We don’t have to go anywhere,’ Albert said. ‘The ten grand, the ten thousand goddamn dollars we have. We could save it.’

‘We could,’ she said tentatively.

‘Yeah. We never have any money.’ He pulled away farther.

‘I never have any money.’

‘What do you need money for?’ Kristina asked. ‘Conni always pays for everything.’

‘Not just Conni, dear Rocky,’ said Albert, staring at her in the night light. ‘Not just her.’

And then they slept together in her room, naked on her narrow bed.




CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_07439ea5-e147-5742-ae1a-3582f5846ecf)

Monday (#ulink_07439ea5-e147-5742-ae1a-3582f5846ecf)


Kristina rushed to get ready for her seven-forty-five Modern Christian Thought class. To save time, she put on the same clothes she’d worn on Sunday.

Albert was sitting on the bed, next to Aristotle spread out on his back.

‘Get him off,’ Kristina said. ‘His hair gets on everything.’

Albert didn’t touch the dog. ‘His hair is already on everything.’

‘Albert!’ she said, raising her voice. ‘Aristotle! Down!’

The dog got down sheepishly. He knew he wasn’t supposed to be on the bed.

Sitting next to Albert, Kristina rubbed his leg. ‘What are you going to tell Conni?’

He looked sullen. His black eyes were sunken in his face, as they always were after a night of little sleep. His pale face with huge black eyes made him look slightly cadaverous.

‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘I’ll think of something.’

Kristina, unsmiling inside or out, said, ‘I’m sure you will. Tell her you fell asleep in your room.’

‘Rocky, you’ll never make a convincing liar. What, and didn’t hear her make a public nuisance of herself? Yeah, good.’

Kristina looked outside into the blue post-dawn darkness. It looked very cold. She felt bad for Conni, standing outside their door, banging, fearing the worst, being lied to.

Albert said, ‘I’m going to tell her you hadn’t walked Aristotle and I went to walk him. I’ll tell her I went through the woods to Frankie’s and was so tired I fell asleep there.’

‘What if she called Frankie?’

‘Frankie doesn’t pick up his phone after midnight.’

‘What if she went to see Frankie?’

‘She didn’t. She wouldn’t.’

‘Well, aren’t you going to have to inform Frankie of your little plan?’

‘Yeah, it’s not a problem.’

‘Oh, I see. Frankie is a stooge for you, isn’t he?’

‘Not a stooge, just my friend,’ Albert said, getting up off the bed and eyeing her grimly. ‘What’s gotten into you?’

Kristina shook her head, feeling worse and worse. ‘Nothing, I just…’ What had happened to starting over? Starting a new life? Hadn’t she been beginning to do that yesterday? Wasn’t that what she had told herself?

‘Conni will believe it, you’ll see.’ Albert took Aristotle’s leash and fitted it over the dog’s head. ‘Remember, she wants to believe it. Why would she want to hear the truth? What’s she going to do with the truth? That’s the most important thing to remember. All I have to do is let her believe what she wants to believe in the first place. It’s that simple.’

Getting off the bed, Kristina said bleakly, ‘Is it that simple? It’s really the dumbest excuse.’

He shrugged. ‘So think of a better one.’

Picking up her books off the table, Kristina said, ‘We can’t do this, Albert. I can’t do this.’

He came to her. ‘You say that now…’ he drawled suggestively, running his free hand over her back.

‘I mean it.’ She pushed him off her. ‘I just - I can’t do this anymore. I’m starting to hate myself, and -’ She broke off.

‘And what?’

‘Nothing.’

‘And? You’re starting to hate me?’

‘I didn’t say that.’

‘You didn’t have to.’ His black eyes blazed. She backed off, not used to seeing his rare temper.

“I gotta go,’ Kristina said.

He shrugged. ‘Where’s your coat?’

‘Fahrenbrae.’

‘Ahhh,’ said Albert. ‘So take my jacket.’

‘What about you?’

‘I’ve got two.’ He unlocked her door and peeked outside. ‘All clear,’ he whispered and walked quickly down the hall to his room. She followed him.

‘I can’t take your jacket,’ Kristina said. ‘Jim or Conni is going to see me wearing it, and what am I supposed to say then?’

‘Make up something clever.’

‘Yeah? Oh, I left my coat up at this place Albert and I shack up at, and then he let me borrow his.’

‘No, something cleverer than that.’

She sighed deeply. ‘I’ll see you, Albert.’

He studied her for a moment. ‘I’ll see you tonight,’ he said, handing her his brown leather jacket. She shook her head and backed away toward the glass doors that led to the side stairs.

‘Rock,’ Albert called after her, almost as an afterthought. ‘Happy birthday.’

She nodded, unsmiling.

‘Will you at least think about Canada?’ he asked her.

Shaking her head in disbelief, Kristina smiled ruefully at him.

The glass door slammed shut behind her.

After her last class, Kristina had basketball practice, then showered and went to her car. Her long hair was still wet when she got in and started up the car. The Mustang coughed and spluttered for a few moments.

Nice car, she thought, trying to goad it on. Come on, come on, nice, dear, sweet car. I’m gonna take care of you when you get sick. You’re my friend. You’re nice, come on. And then the engine finally began to run smoothly. Kristina closed her eyes, thank God. You piece-of-shit car.

Someone knocked loudly on her window. Kristina opened her eyes. Conni stepped back, her arms folded.

Oh, no, Kristina thought, rolling the window partway down.

‘Hi, Conn, what’s up?’ she said. ‘I’m late.’

‘You’re always late,’ said Conni.

‘Doesn’t make me any less late,’ said Kristina pleasantly. Inside she felt terrible.

‘What’s up?’ said Conni, furiously curling a strand of hair around her index finger. ‘How come you didn’t open the door last night?’

‘I told you I was real tired. I was asleep when you knocked.’

Conni stared steely-eyed at Kristina. ‘Sleeping, huh? You could’ve opened the door.’

‘Could’ve, yes,’ Kristina said. ‘But didn’t want to. I was naked and tired. And it sounded like you had company in the hall.’

Conni narrowed her eyes to slits. ‘Did you have company in the room?’

Kristina got scared. Was this where it was going to happen? Right here, in the parking lot? ‘Constance,’ she said slowly. ‘What are you accusing me of?’

‘Nothing,’ Conni said quickly. ‘Nothing. I was just mad you wouldn’t open the door. Usually you never even lock it.’ She paused. ‘And I know you 7veren’t with Jim.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘Because I was looking for Albert.’

‘In Jim’s room?’

‘Anywhere.’

Kristina sighed. ‘Conn, how often have you found Albert in Jim’s room? Albert never goes to Jim’s room. Never.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘Because that’s what Jim tells me.’ Actually it was what Albert told her. Albert didn’t feel comfortable with Jim anymore.

Relaxing a little, Kristina said, ‘I’m sorry you were upset. Next time I’ll open the door, okay?’ She rolled down her window.

‘You know,’ Conni said, ‘I was just… I just didn’t know where Albert was. He said he was going up to his room for a minute.’

‘Ahh,’ said Kristina and didn’t know what else to say. ‘I hope he showed up eventually.’

‘No,’ Conni said tearfully. ‘That’s the whole thing.’

There was a pause, while Kristina looked away from Conni, who seemed to be collecting her thoughts as she stepped from foot to foot in the cold. Kristina turned to face the front windshield and the parking lot and Hinman Hall ahead. She could see her own windows up there on the third floor. How nice it would be to be alone up in the room right now. She looked over to the right and stared at her bridge vacantly. Kristina’s Bridge. Maybe if it snowed soon… Kristina could have a few drinks, and walk her bridge, and not be scared anymore.

She turned back to Conni, who obviously was trying hard to come to grips with something.

Clearing her throat, Conni said, ‘Krissy, umm, listen. Was the dog with you?’

‘With me when?’ Kristina asked, wanting to roll the window back up.

‘Last night.’

Kristina’s heart was pounding. She is trying to trap me. But what can I say? I don’t even know if she spoke to Albert today. She is definitely trying to corner me into something, but what?

‘I don’t know,’ Kristina replied vaguely. ‘Listen, I really gotta -’

‘Albert said he walked Aristotle for you last night.’

Kristina kept her face passive, but inside she was relieved.

‘Yes. He came by, and took the dog,’ she told Conni.

‘He did?’ she exclaimed. ‘So you saw him?’

‘Briefly,’ Kristina replied.

‘And then?’

‘And then what? Then I locked the door.’

‘Why did you do that?’

‘Because I wanted to go to sleep, and he was gone a long time.’

‘How long?’

‘I don’t know, Conni. He never came up to bring the dog back.’ She didn’t know what else to say, and Conni still seemed dissatisfied. So Kristina said, ‘Maybe he’d gone to Frankie’s?’

‘That’s what he said he did. But he said he came back and knocked, you just didn’t answer.’

‘What time was this? I didn’t hear him,’ said Kristina without missing a beat, but thinking, God, Albert, I wish you had talked to me about this.

‘How long was he gone before I came up?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe a half hour.’

This wasn’t the first time Kristina had been interrogated by Conni. She wished it could be the last time, though. Since Edinburgh, Conni had been increasingly suspicious about Kristina and Albert. When Conni and Kristina roomed together in their freshman and part of their sophomore years, Kristina had never fallen under suspicion, but Conni had been sure Albert was seeing someone else.

Kristina lifted her black eyes to Conni, who was staring at her with the expression of someone who had just swallowed an unbelievable excuse, had bought it, and was now hating herself for it. Feeling very bad, Kristina said, ‘Conn, I thought he was with you. I thought he just took Aristotle down to your room and stayed there.’

‘Well, he didn’t,’ Conni said, struggling to keep her voice even.

Reaching out, Kristina took Conni’s arm. ‘I’m sorry you’re feeling down. It’ll be okay. You know Albert loves you.’

‘Do I? Do I know that?’

‘Sure you do,’ Kristina said comfortingly. ‘It’s obvious. Every time he looks at you, it’s obvious.’

Conni stared at her. ‘You’re kidding, right?’

‘No, of course I’m not.’ What was she getting at?

‘The way he looks at me?’ Conni laughed aloud. ‘You are kidding me. Kristina, have you ever seen the way Albert looks at you?’

Kristina had. She knew how Albert looked at her. Turning up a blank expression, she said, ‘Conn, I don’t know what you’re -’

‘Kristina!’ Conni became agitated. ‘He looks at you, and you at him, like - I don’t know, like you’ve been - I don’t know - friends for life. Like he is about to go the front and die and he’s looking at you for the last time. God, it makes me crazy. Don’t tell me you don’t see it!’

‘Conni, I’m sorry, I really don’t.’

‘Yeah, Albert says the same thing. “Conn, you’re crazy,” he says. “Conn, it’s probably just hunger.” “Conn, I look at Frankie the same way,” or “Conn, you silly. What about the way I look at you?'”

Kristina was beginning to feel sick to her stomach. ‘What do you want me to say, Conni?’ she said weakly.

Conni continued as if not hearing Kristina. ‘I said to him, it’s not that he touches you, because he doesn’t, and it’s not that he says things to you, because he doesn’t, it’s just the way he looks at you. I asked him not to look at you anymore.’ Conni took a deep breath and swiped the hair off her face in a manic gesture. ‘God, this is just so ludicrous.’

‘I agree,’ said Kristina quietly. Glancing at the dashboard clock, Kristina got out of the car and went to put her arms around Conni, who didn’t protest but didn’t hug back either.

‘Conn, I’m sorry you’re so upset. Come on, girl.’ Kristina’s arm remained around her shoulders.

‘Am I crazy, Krissy? Am I just plain nuts?’

‘Yes,’ Kristina said, still feeling queasy. ‘Bonkers.’

‘Krissy,’ Conni said, ‘once I saw you guys.’

Kristina missed a beat, maybe two, imagining the worst, before she said, ‘Saw us where?’

‘In Baker Library, sitting in the reserve corridor, looking into the same book.’

‘When?’

‘I don’t know. A few weeks ago.’

‘We were studying. Nietzsche, I think.’

‘Not one part of your bodies was touching, yet I just felt so bad when I saw the two of you.’

‘Conni,’ Kristina said softly, soothingly. ‘We were just studying.’

‘Yeah, I know,’ said Conni in a depressed voice. ‘That’s what Albert told me. I mean, look, I know he loves me, I know that, okay? I just can’t help feeling these things sometimes. I’m sorry.’

Kristina hugged Conni tighter, incredulous. How did I get her to apologize to me?

Conni’s face brightened slightly, and Kristina felt even worse. I’m not going to lie anymore. That’s my new motto, too. I’m going to right my life and I’m not going to.lie anymore.

Getting back into the car, Kristina shifted into reverse and said, ‘I gotta go.’

‘Go, go,’ said Conni, stepping away from the car. ‘Thanks for talking.’

‘Sure,’ said Kristina, hating herself as she drove to Red Leaves House.

At Red Leaves, Betty her friend and boss, had bought Kristina an ice cream cake. It was the thought that counted, because Kristina’d hated ice cream cakes since childhood.

Betty’s assistants and some of the resident girls at Red Leaves had pitched in to buy her a black leather handbag.

Kristina thankfully made a hazy wordless wish that had to do with the smell of pines and the mountains and cold and hope, and blew out the candles. Then she cut the cake and Betty served it, while Kristina went to sit in her favorite chair in the living room.

Despite hating ice cream cakes, Kristina ate every bite and asked for seconds. Afterward, she took her wallet and assorted letters and papers and magazines out of her backpack and stuffed them all into the new handbag. Seeing the pleased, affectionate faces around her made Kristina feel better about her life.

Betty was a woman of about thirty, a graceful, slightly severe-looking woman with pale skin and a sharp nose. Red Leaves House was hers. It had originally belonged to her parents, John and Olivia Barrett, local philanthropists who wanted to do something for their community. They had already contributed plenty to libraries, charities, homeless shelters, and soup kitchens. Red Leaves House was their primary charitable cause. Because it was the first of its kind in the area, it had gained immediate notoriety.

In her freshman year, Kristina had picked up a brochure about Red Leaves House at the Dartmouth-Hitchcock Medical Center and agreed to work there as part of her work/study program. She had been coming every Monday and Thursday afternoon for the last three years. Kristina wished it paid more, especially during the lean months. More important, it got her away from Dartmouth College for two days a week, and getting away from Dartmouth College was essential for Kristina from time to time. Also, all the pregnant girls adored her.

The drawback was being around babies. Kristina got reluctantly but intensely attached to these infants. When the babies left Red Leaves House, with either their mothers or their adoptive families, Kristina felt as if her own were being taken away from her.

Quitting wasn’t an option. Quit and do what? She was loved by the girls and liked by the other counselors, and Kristina was the only one from Dartmouth. It felt like being on another basketball team - Kristina was the All-Ivy center of Red Leaves.

Before Kristina went upstairs, she and Betty chatted.

‘How are your friends?’ asked Betty. ‘Still see them much? You sound like you’re always so busy.’

‘Yeah, I’m busy, but I see them all the time. I’m writing a piece on the death penalty for Jim, and Conni and I went to the movies last Friday night. Saw -’

‘And Albert?’ said Betty. ‘See much of him?’

Suppressing a smile, Kristina eyed Betty. ‘Yeah, I see him once in a while. He’s doing well.’

‘Oh, good, good. You know you’re welcome to invite them over here one Sunday if you’re not busy. You guys were a big hit with all the girls when you came a few months ago and played basketball in our driveway. Maybe you can do that again sometime.’ She spoke shifting her gaze from left to right and not looking straight at Kristina.

Kristina smiled and touched Betty’s arm. ‘Thanks. Yeah, sure. Sure. Maybe I can round them up the Sunday after Thanksgiving. How would that be?’

‘That would be good,’ said Betty, controlling her voice.

‘Where’s Evelyn?’ Kristina asked.

Betty told Kristina, ‘Go upstairs. She’s not feeling well. She’s been asking for you.’

Kristina started upstairs. Betty called after her, ‘She can’t spend a day here without asking when you’re working next. What do you do for that girl?’

‘Oh, you know,’ demurred Kristina. ‘I stick pins in a doll named Evelyn and kill chickens on Fridays.’

‘Nice.’

Fifteen-year-old Evelyn Moss, pregnant with twins, had come to Red Leaves House last summer when she was barely out of her first trimester. A tall, pretty strawberry blonde, Evelyn, racked with morning sickness, was very depressed. Kristina spent her summer term at Dartmouth working at Red Leaves and talking to Evelyn, who slowly turned into a thickset shadow of her former slender self. During the summer all Evelyn wanted was not to be pregnant anymore. She trailed after Kristina, ate nonstop, and gained too much weight. Her blood pressure was out of control.

Evelyn ate through her second trimester and cried through her third. The feeling of not wanting to be pregnant anymore gave way to not wanting to give up her babies. Kristina told Evelyn that that too was normal, but Evelyn would not listen.

Kristina tried convincing Evelyn with statistics. ‘They’re all against you, kid.’ Kristina told her about the number of teenage mothers who are high school dropouts, the number on welfare, the number below the poverty line, and the children’s psychological problems. Nothing Kristina said would bring relief to Evelyn, who now wanted only one thing and would not listen to reason. Evelyn’s parents had told her she had to give the children up for adoption, and Evelyn was still at an age when she listened to her parents.

Kristina could hear Evelyn crying in her room as she opened the door and entered.

‘Hi, Evie. It’s me,’ she said brightly. Evelyn cried harder.

‘Nice welcome,’ Kristina said, sitting on the bed next to the girl and patting her belly. ‘How are you holding up?’

Evelyn couldn’t talk.

‘Come on, honey, come on, girl. Hang in there. Only a few more weeks to go.’

‘No more weeks to go,’ Evelyn sobbed. ‘My show fell out.’

‘Oh wow,’ Kristina said excitedly. ‘Oh wow.’

Evelyn grabbed Kristina’s hands. ‘Krissy, please talk to my mom, please! I don’t want to give up my babies!’

Evelyn had told Kristina about her parents, who had lived in Lyme their whole lives. They had simple dignity and pride, and they could not allow their only daughter to have a child out of wedlock at fifteen. That would be a first in seven Moss generations. For Donald and Patricia Moss it meant having to send their daughter to Red Leaves and telling all the neighbors she had gone to visit a sick aunt in Minnesota. Evelyn couldn’t very well return from Minnesota with two babies who did not know their father. Evelyn had confessed to Kristina during one of their many weepy talks that Evelyn herself was not precisely sure who the father was, though she had a couple of strong hunches. When both boys were individually confronted by Evelyn’s parents, they denied any impropriety, admitting, however, that if there was any impropriety, it was all Evelyn’s. The two boys were scared and didn’t want to get married at fifteen. They wanted to finish high school.

Kristina knew it wouldn’t help to talk to Evelyn’s parents. ‘Evie,’ she said gently, ‘I’ll try to talk to your mom next time she comes, okay? I’ll talk to her.’ She paused. ‘But Evelyn, even if they are adopted, it’ll be okay. I promise. They’ll be so loved.’

‘Oh, please!’ Evelyn snapped. ‘Don’t you understand anything? I don’t want to give them up!’

Kristina patted the girl’s belly. ‘I do, Evelyn, I understand everything,’ she said quietly.

Evelyn tried to move away from her. ‘How could you possibly?’

What could Kristina tell this grieving, crying girl? ‘Evelyn, they’ll be loved,’ she repeated. ‘And you’ll have a life. They’ll have wonderful parents. They’ll have two grown-up, wonderful parents -’

‘I don’t want them to have parents!’ Evie cried. ‘I want them to have me!’ Evelyn was sitting on the bed in front of her, looking flushed, uncomfortable, and heavy. She was breathing hard.

‘Evie, don’t get yourself all excited,’ said Kristina, trying to calm the girl down. She smiled and tried to make a joke. ‘I don’t know how to deliver babies.’

‘Betty does,’ Evelyn replied seriously. ‘She delivered a baby once when her car broke down and they couldn’t get to the hospital in time.’

Kristina knew about that. But they hadn’t broken down, they had been in an accident. The baby had not been saved. And Betty had suffered a spinal injury that had left her with a permanently bad back.

‘Can we have some sanity here? Nobody but the doctor is going to be delivering your babies.’

‘That’s right. My babies.’

‘Evelyn, please.’

Evelyn fell back on the bed. Her large belly remained up, nearly perpendicular to the rest of her body.

‘I want them to stay inside me forever,’ she whispered.

Kristina took off Evelyn’s socks and started rubbing her feet. ‘When I was a young girl,’ she said quietly, ‘I thought that was possible. I thought babies just stayed inside you until you wanted them to come out.’

Evelyn went on plaintively, ‘Just stay inside me forever, never leave me, never leave their mommy…’ She started to cry again. Her belly heaved. It was the only thing moving in the small bedroom.

‘You know,’ Evelyn said, sniffling, ‘I’ve even been thinking of names for them. ‘Joshua and Samuel. Josh and Sam. Do you like that?’

Kristina wanted to tell Evelyn what Betty had trained her to say when counseling pregnant teenagers about giving their babies up for adoption: that one was never supposed to give the baby a name or think of it in personal terms. One was never supposed to buy the baby anything, or knit anything, or think of spending the first few days with the baby. Josh and Samuel. Well, wasn’t that just cozy? Josh and Sam were the two boys who had dallied with Evelyn Moss and then refused to own up. Kristina thought Evelyn was insane for even thinking about them.

‘Did your parents come yesterday?’ asked Kristina.

Evelyn nodded. ‘Mom said it will all be over soon, and then we can go back to being a family again.’ She wiped her face.

Kristina wanted to say having babies changed everything forever, but she just rubbed Evelyn’s belly, feeling little legs and feet push against the skin.

Then it was five o’clock and time to go.

Downstairs she thanked everybody again for her cake and purse and left.

About to get into her car, Kristina heard a tapping from one of the second-floor windows. She looked up. It was Evelyn, who opened the window and shouted out, ‘Krissy, are you going to come to the hospital when I have my babies?’

‘Sure I will, Evie,’ said Kristina. ‘Sure I will.’

‘Good,’ Evelyn yelled out of the window. ‘You’re not going away for Thanksgiving, are you? I’m going to go into labor any minute!’

Going away for Thanksgiving. Well, today was already Monday. Tomorrow was the last full day of classes. The chances of going away anywhere for Thanksgiving were looking slimmer and slimmer. The odds against it were lengthening like the pre-dusk shadows. Kristina knew Evelyn could use her support.

‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m going to stay put. Have Betty call me as soon as you go into labor. I’ll come to the hospital.’

‘And hold my hand?’

Kristina nodded. ‘And hold your hand,’ she said softly.

Evelyn blew her a kiss and disappeared from the window.



* * *

Usually, Kristina drove home down Route 120 and made a left onto East Wheelock and a right onto College Street to get to Tuck Mall, but today she went a little farther west in Lebanon and made a right onto Route 10. It was a nicer road during the day, and in the summers she regularly took Route 10. She liked the view from the road. Tonight it was dark, though, and she didn’t know what had made her drive down to Route 10, except maybe she was thinking about Evelyn and adopted babies, and her mind, distracted from being in ten different places at once, hadn’t thought quick enough to make a right onto Route 120. Kristina made her way on Route 10 at thirty miles an hour down the winding two-lane road as she thought of Joshua and Samuel. And subsequently Albert and Canada. Albert was right. Canada would be wonderful. Like Edinburgh.

The three months they had spent at Edinburgh in the spring of 1991 had been the happiest months of her life.

They had no money, the dorms were old and cold, and they got no studying done. Kristina lost fifteen pounds in Scotland, eating soup mostly and spaghetti. They saved their pennies to go out to the pubs on Friday nights. Kristina remembered the cobblestone streets, the Tudor houses, the churches, the first she’d been to on a regular basis, and the Mull of Kintyre. They went there for New Year’s Eve, staying in a tiny bed-and-breakfast, got drunk on bitter and ale with the locals, and then spent New Year’s Day by the stark Irish Sea. She remembered the mountains, she remembered the lakes, the dandelions and daffodils coming to bloom. She remembered herself and him at Edinburgh. She remembered most of all how she had felt then - no hopelessness, no despair, no shame. Just the two of them, freed by their anonymity.

Until one day, as a lark, they stopped by a street fortuneteller and gave her two quid to read Kristina’s palm. Kristina went behind the dirty paisley curtain, and the hunched woman grabbed her hands and turned them over. Kristina tried to pull her hands away, but it was no use. The hag was strong. The old woman’s heavy Gaelic brogue Kristina barely understood, but the contorted expression of horror on her face was etched into Kristina’s mind. The expression of horror she understood well. She’d seen that expression before. The old witch wouldn’t let go of Kristina’s hands; she kept mumbling, then yelling; she became frenzied. Finally Albert stepped inside and pried their hands apart. As they hurried away down the street, Kristina could still hear the old woman holler shrilly after them. The fortune-teller was the only thing that had marred their one-hundred-and-thirty-day idyll.

The wind was howling outside, and it was very cold. Route 10 had no streetlights, only oaks and maples and plenty of American mountain ash, whose leaves were so delicate and pretty and yellow in autumn. Now, three nights before Thanksgiving, the trees were mere silhouettes on the side of the road.

Kristina drove with her mind in Edinburgh. In the moments before the curve near the reservoir, she was thinking about going to Scotland to live. Deeper in her subconscious, she was thinking of Thayer dining hall and whether they would have macaroni and cheese tonight as they always did on Mondays or whether they would go on some unspecified and certainly unjustified holiday schedule when they only served hamburgers and heroes.

The radio’s country station was playing ‘We Just Disagree.’

And do you think That we’ve grown up differently? Haven’t been the same Since you lost your feel for me…

As she went around the bend in the road, she saw an oncoming car, and because it was dark, and she judged the narrowness of road conservatively, Kristina instinctively turned the wheel to the right. But the lights were rushing headlong toward her. The other car still seemed perilously close. She turned the wheel a little more and heard the noise of her right tires hitting gravel. The Mustang bobbled, and the wheel became unsteady in her hands. To compensate, Kristina quickly turned the wheel to the left.

She overcompensated.

The car jerked, and she panicked and slammed on the brakes. The Mustang swerved, the brakes locked, and the car reeled sideways on the narrow road - directly into the headlights of the oncoming car.

Kristina heard the insistent and unremitting noise of the horn and the screeching of the other car’s brakes. The instant the Mustang was bathed with light, there was a loud crash and Kristina was thrown against the driver’s side window. She heard glass breaking.

The Mustang swirled around twice and flew backward down the embankment. Kristina’s life came to a standstill. She had just enough time to think, ohno, ohno, ohno, I’m going to die, I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die! and then the car turned over once in midair, and came down with a thump to stand on its tires, a few feet from the water.

Kristina opened her eyes and closed them again, opened them and closed them. She could see nothing at first, it was so dark. She thought, am I dead? Open-eyed, yet unable to see, just dead. No feeling anywhere. Nothing moved. Dead. But something gave away life. Something. She couldn’t figure it out at first, something real-life, familiar, unotherworldly.

She heard the radio.

So let’s leave it alone, Cause we can’t see eye to eye There’s no good guy There’s no bad guy There’s only you and me And we just disagree...

She reached over to turn the damn radio off and thought, I don’t think they play easy-listening music in the afterlife.

She felt no pain. On the other hand, that was good. Who wanted to feel pain? On the other hand, dead people felt no pain.

There was a rustling of leaves, branches, the sound of feet shuffling down the slope, hurrying. Somebody at her driver’s side window. A man, with terror in his eyes and a bloody nose, mouthing, are you all right? Are you all right?

Kristina tried to roll down the broken window, but it was jammed. Actually, she couldn’t get a grip on the handle. Her hand was not obeying her. The fingers were not closing.

She tried to nod, but that didn’t work either. I’m all right, she tried to reply, but couldn’t hear herself. She just wanted to get out of the car. Wait here, she heard the man say. Wait here, I’m going to go and get help. Just you wait, he said.

She leaned back in her seat. Well, I’m not going anywhere, she thought. Where would I go? And then she thought: home. I wouldn’t mind going home.

But where was home?

My room. My messy room with my little bed and my desk and my dog lying on the bed smelling up all the blankets with his dog smell and dog hair. It’s the only home I have, and I want to be back there right now.

She reached down and tried to pry the seat belt off herself. Was the car still running? She couldn’t hear very well. The seat belt had locked, and was digging into Kristina’s rib cage and right hip. What possessed me to put one on tonight? she thought. Well, doesn’t God protect the wicked and the damned?

She clicked open the seat belt and moved her right hand across her body to the door, which would not open. And the window would not roll down. The headlights of the Mustang weren’t on, though she was sure they had been on. What had happened?

And then she felt cold. She wondered if it was because she was dead, and getting colder by the second. But no, her right hand was moving, and her legs were moving sluggishly. The passenger window was broken.

She slowly moved over to the passenger seat and tried to open that door. It was jammed. So she got up with her knees on the seat and tried to climb out through the broken window. Climbing out was not easy. She couldn’t lift her left arm to prop herself up. Finally she nearly fell out with a thump down to the ground. She fell on her good arm, but not her good side. She was still feeling no pain.

Shit, Kristina thought. Hope I’ll be okay for Saturday’s game. Hate to sit out the first league game of the season.

It was very dark. She tried to orient herself. Where’s the lake? Okay, it’s in front of me, because behind me is the hill, so if the lake is in front of me, that means it’s on the left side of the road, which would be west, and that means Hanover is just a few miles north as the crow flies.

First she had to get up the brutal hill. She couldn’t see. She groped around, lost her footing, and fell - on her left side. A sharp rocket of fire exploded in her arm, and she fainted.

She came to some time later. It was still dark, still no sign of police or an ambulance, still eerily quiet.

All she wanted to do was get back up on the highway and start walking home. Maybe someone would pick her up. She didn’t want the man to come back with help. Help invariably meant an ambulance, which - from everything Kristina knew about ambulances - would probably take her to the hospital.

Kristina hated hospitals. She had been in one only twice in her entire life, and once was when she had been born.

She certainly didn’t plan to be taken to a hospital tonight by a well-meaning stranger just because of a locked seat belt and sore ribs.

So she got up off the ground and tried again, groping at something to hold on to while with one good hand she dragged her body up the hill.

Two cars went by. She heard them slow down - probably to see the car that had hit hers - and then speed on ahead. But the few seconds gave her enough light to see that the highway was only another ten feet up, and there were some shrubs she could hold on to.

Hurry up, hurry up, she kept telling herself. Hurry up, Krissy, hurry up, Rocky, pull yourself up. She slipped on the hard ground every couple of seconds. Like a football team after a penalty, moving ten yards back after winning the territory, she kept slipping.

She felt a rock with her knee. Oh, that hurt. I felt pain! That’s so great. She grabbed on, pulled herself up, felt in front of her for something else to hold on to; there were a few pebbles, but little else. Where are those damn shrubs? As she struggled up the hill, she whispered haltingly, Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear the very stories prate of my whereabout… Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear the very stones prate of my whereabout… Hear not my steps…

Kristina heard other cars coming, thank God, and here was some more light. Not far to go at all, we’re almost there. But there was nothing to clutch now, and in desperation, she started to claw at the ground with her hand. Her left arm was immobile. She felt her nails bending back and breaking, but she didn’t care. What was important was getting back up. With her new black boots she kicked into the ground like a rock climber.

Finally, Kristina climbed up onto the two-foot-wide shoulder, and rested for a moment to catch her breath. She felt fluid dripping from her head. Kristina told herself it was sweat.

The man had said he was going to get help, but how he would do this was a mystery to Kristina, since his car was smashed and off the road. She didn’t give it any more thought than that. She was glad he hadn’t come back. In a childish gesture, she wiped the dirt off her knees.

Then she began to walk to Hanover. Slowly at first, but then faster and faster, she eventually broke into a slow jog on the shoulder of Route 10, just to get farther away from the Mustang, the reservoir, her new purse, and the man who had gone to get help.

When she got up to Hinman, she realized she had left her keys in the ignition and had to shiver near the doorway until someone came out and let her in.

Aristotle wasn’t in her room. The bed had not been made from this morning. The desk had all kinds of stuff on it, and the computer was covered with dirty glasses, Post-it notes, and scattered papers. Her clothes were all over the floor.

She was home.

Locking the door, Kristina sat down on the bed and slowly examined her hands. They were dirty and bloody from clawing at the ground. Most of the nails were broken. The nail polish was chipped. She stared at them and then tried to get the dirt off the index fingernail, until she asked herself what she was doing and stopped.

She had left all of her identification in the car. Great, just great, she thought. The police were sure to have a bunch of questions for her. Miss, could we give you back the stuff that belongs to you, please? You forgot it all in your inexplicable hurry to get away from the scene of the accident. Why were you in such a hurry? Is there something you should be telling us? Were you drinking?

And then Kristina remembered Spencer O’Malley and wondered if maybe he would come to investigate her. She smiled lightly to herself. That wouldn’t be half bad.

Drinking. Now that wasn’t a terrible idea. Her mouth felt wet already at the thought of the old Southern Comfort. Reaching over to her night table, Kristina opened the top drawer and took out a nearly empty bottle. There wasn’t enough to comfort her. She got up, went to her closet, and reached up to get an unopened bottle from the top shelf. Then she sat back down on the bed, opened the cap with one hand, opened her mouth, tilted the bottle, and poured forth enough liquor to comfort herself and forget about her car and about her three friends who at this time were certainly waiting for her to come and celebrate her twenty-first birthday with them.

The pint bottle was a third empty when she was done. She hated seeing the bottle emptying, but when she was finished she felt immeasurably better. The shock of the accident was wearing off, and she was beginning to throb and ache.

Slowly and uncertainly, she sat on the bed, bent over, and started to unlace her boots. The arduous procedure would have taken her five or six minutes under the best

of circumstances. Tonight, under the haze of alcohol and the distant blur of pain, it took her three times as long. She thought she might even have nodded off in that position, hunched over her boots, as if she were about to throw up.

It was difficult undressing. She pulled off her sweatshirt with one arm over her head. Her pink tank top came off the same way. The five-button-fly jeans were as hard to remove as the boots. She had to wriggle out of them in the end. The left arm just wasn’t pulling down those jeans. Then the socks. Then the underwear. And when she was naked, Kristina walked unsteadily to her closet and stared at herself in the full-length mirror on the back of the door.

Her face was covered with blood that had streamed down her right temple and cheek and neck, clotting and drying below her collarbone. So it wasn’t sweat she had felt dripping off her, she thought. Her black eyes shone blacker than ever, glistening with the warm wet dilation of Southern Comfort. Her knees were skinned, and her left arm hung limply at her side. Kristina looked closer. Her left shoulder was a swollen, maroon-colored mess. God.

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit. During her first year, in a rough-and-tumble practice, six weeks before league play began, two girls had knocked into each other, one suffering a dislocated shoulder. The poor kid had to sit out eight weeks, and soon quit basketball altogether. Kristina had been glad not to have been on the receiving end of that one.

She became so frightened, she actually thought of going to the hospital. Anything, dear God, anything. I have to play basketball again.

However, the idea of getting the shoulder looked at terrified her. What if it was bad? She couldn’t deal with thinking about it. She pretended it wasn’t even that painful and tried to be brave. She gritted her teeth and moved her left arm. It’s okay, it’s okay. It won’t be so bad.

Her right rib had the beginning of a large ragged black-and-blue mark that looked like a Rorschach blot.

Kristina moved closer to the mirror; her face was almost touching the cool smooth surface. There was something stuck near her right temple, above the eye. Kristina lifted her hand to touch it. It was a piece of safety glass. It was not a big piece, Kristina thought, trying to comfort herself as she pried the glass from her skin. The empty bloody gash the glass left behind was scarier than having the glass in her head.

Kristina went to have a shower after taking another sip of Southern Comfort. Her hand holding the bottle was steady.

The hot water felt wonderful on her aching body but miserable on her shoulder, so she turned it off. Washing under cold water felt only marginally better. Every once in a while she would try to move her left arm and wince from the pain. But she didn’t feel like screaming, Kristina told herself. It wasn’t that bad.

When she was trying to dry herself, another student, Jill, entered the shower rooms. They nodded to each other, and Kristina continued to pat her body. Jill looked over at Kristina and stared.

‘Hey, what happened to you?’ she said.

‘Nothing, why?’ Kristina said quickly. Rather, she tried to say it quickly, but the words came out dead slow, methodical and precise. It was more like Nooo-thinnnn-ggg. Whyyyyyy? Alcohol always made Kristina walk and talk slow but think she was walking and talking fast.

‘I don’t know,’ Jill said. ‘You look… terrible. You need help or something?’

‘Thanks, but you know, I just gotta get to my room, and I’ll be all right. Really,’ she said, staring into Jill’s disbelieving eyes. ‘Honestly.’

‘What happened to you?’ Jill repeated. ‘Did you get hurt at a game or something?’

‘Yeah, that’s it,’ said Kristina. ‘That Cornell, they’ll do anything to win.’

Jill smiled thinly, helped Kristina dry her back, and then went and got her a bucket of ice and carried it to Kristina’s door.



* * *

When Kristina opened the door to her room, Aristotle greeted her. Albert was sitting on her bed, looking at her accusingly. Is that really accusingly? she thought, trying to get a better look at his expression. What did I do now?

‘God, what the hell happened to you?’ he said, getting up and walking over to her.

Kristina pondered his question as she put down the ice bucket and threw the towel off her body. Albert was in a bad mood. His tone was inflammatory, not distressed.

She didn’t reply. He’s mad at me. He doesn’t realize I almost died. Kristina decided to tell him.

Albert’s tone softened. ‘What happened, Rock?’ he said, standing up and coming close to her. His fierce-tender way of looking at her usually made her crazy. This time it nearly made her cry.

‘What are you upset about, Albert?’ Kristina asked quietly, putting three ice cubes on her shoulder.

‘Everybody’s been waiting for you for two hours. You said you were coming back at six.’

‘I don’t know if you noticed,’ she said slowly, rubbing the ice over her arm, ‘but I’ve been hurt. My car was totaled.’

‘I didn’t know your car was totaled.’

‘No, how could you?’ said Kristina tearfully.

Kristina sat nude in front of him. He looked at her breasts and then at the big black bruise on her side. The expression in his eyes made her feel better.

‘Look at you,’ he said in a throaty voice, coming closer to her. ‘You look so - what is that?’

She rubbed her side with the ice. That’s nothing, she thought, and said so.

‘God, what happened to your face? And your shoulder? It’s bleeding.’

She shook her head. ‘It’s nothing. It’s not bleeding,’ she said, not even wanting to look at it. ‘It’s just… discolored.’ Then, ‘It could be worse, you know.’

‘I don’t see how. How?’

‘I could be dead.’ Should be dead, she thought, and stood up.

‘You’ve been drinking.’

‘Not then.’ Kristina thought he meant she was drinking and driving, but then he didn’t even know what had happened to her.

‘Not then, when?’

‘Just now. I drank a little now. To take the edge off.’

‘The edge off what?’

‘The edge off the pain.’

‘What happened to you?’

‘My car turned over.’

‘God, how?’

‘An oncoming car hit me.’

‘Hit you? Where?’

‘On the side of the Mustang.’

Albert stared at her perplexed. ‘No. I mean, where?’

‘Route Ten.’

‘It swerved into your lane?’

She vaguely remembered the other car’s headlights, being caught in them, trying to avoid them.

‘No,’ she said. ‘I swerved into his.’

‘Why?’

‘Why? I don’t know,’ Kristina said slowly. ‘It seemed like a good idea?’

‘Kristina!’

‘He seemed really close.’

‘I see. So you drove into his lane to get farther away from him?’

She wanted to answer him, but turning her head away from him, she caught their reflection in her full-length mirror. She was standing naked in front of him. He was dressed in black jeans and a black sweater, black-headed, pony-tailed, black-eyed. They stood a foot apart, arguing about semantics. Is this what my life has become? Kristina thought. A bad Marx Brothers movie. Grotesque, ridiculous. Aristotelian theater where the absurd is the norm and the norm does not exist.

Kristina shook her head and moved toward the closet. ‘I gotta get dressed,’ she muttered.

‘You have to get that shoulder checked out. Can’t you move your arm?’

‘I can move it okay,’ she said. ‘I just choose not to.’

He stood solicitously next to her. ‘Maybe it’s fractured.’

She shook her head again. ‘The sockets would be popping out of the skin. It’s swollen. I think it’s just a sprain.’ She was trying her best to minimize it.

‘You don’t know anything. You should get it looked at. Go to the infirmary.’

‘No!’ she said. ‘No doctors. You know how I hate them.’ Kristina didn’t want to tell him how scared she was. Basketball meant nothing to him, but to her it was her whole life. That, and Red Leaves. And him.

Kristina walked over to the bookshelf and sifted through the pile of books until she found a soiled paperback copy of the Family Medical Encyclopedia.

She handed the book to Albert and said, ‘Look up “shoulder.” ‘

He scanned a page. ‘Doesn’t say anything useful.’

‘Now look up “joints."’

After reading for a few moments, Albert said, ‘"Sprain… painfully twisted or wrenched joint… following some kind of violence… “ ‘

‘Perfect,’ said Kristina.

Albert continued, ‘"Violence may dislocate or fracture the ends of the bones that make up a joint."’ He looked up at her. ‘What did I tell you?’

‘Thank you, Dr Maplethorpe,’ she said. ‘Read on.’

‘"X-ray pictures from several angles should be taken to make sure the bones have not been fractured or dislocated."’ He stopped reading. ‘See?’

‘Go on, go on,’ she said impatiently.

‘"Blood may seep out and discolor the skin,"’ he read aloud. ‘"… The synovial membranes are inflamed and reacting by pouring out fluid."’

‘Gee, that all sounds so nice,’ said Kristina, bending down to take more ice. She groaned. Bending down hurt her ribs.

Glancing at her, Albert went on, ‘"The immediate treatment for a sprain is application of cold wet bandages or ice bags to keep down the swelling…” ‘ And louder, he finished, ‘"Medical attention and x-rays should be obtained to make sure a sprain is just a sprain."’

‘Well, I’m not going,’ Kristina said stubbornly. ‘It’s fine. It’ll be much better tomorrow. Tomorrow, we’ll go and get some kind of infrared massager for heat treatment.’

‘Tomorrow you’ve got to go to the police.’

‘I’m not going to the police,’ Kristina said. ‘If the police want me, they’ll come to me.’

‘When they come to you,’ Albert pointed out, ‘they’ll bring handcuffs. Why are you being so stubborn about this?’

‘Who’s being stubborn? I don’t remember you going to the doctor when you broke your toe.’

He stared at her, perplexed. ‘When?’

‘Two years ago.’

A look of recognition passed over his face. ‘There is nothing they can do for toes. Besides, I had no money.’

‘So? I had money.’

‘I didn’t want your money!’ Albert yelled. ‘Do you understand?’

‘Perfectly!’ said Kristina. ‘Better than you think.’

‘Look, I don’t care what you do.’

‘I’m sure of that, Albert,’ Kristina retorted.

He ignored her comment, ‘don’t go to the doctor. Don’t go to the police. See if I care.’

‘I see already.’

Falling silent, Albert sat down in the lounge chair. Aristotle sidled up to him, dragging his tongue over his hand. It was a loving gesture, and Kristina, looking at them both, thought, Aristotle loves Albert. He’d gladly spend all his days with him if I weren’t around.

Bending down, Albert patted the dog on the head, and Aristotle, encouraged, licked his other hand. Albert sat next to the window and stared at Kristina with his impenetrable eyes.

Kristina hated fighting with him. Nowadays making up was harder and harder, and nothing felt worse to her than knowing they had argued and then weren’t kind to each other.

‘What are you looking at?’ Kristina asked him.

‘You,’ Albert replied. ‘God, you’re so beautiful. You’re amazing. Look at you.’

‘Yeah, look at me,’ Kristina said plaintively. ‘I’m a mess.’ ‘No, you’re all right. You could’ve died.’ His voice was peculiar. ‘You’re lucky you’re alive, you know.’

‘I know,’ she said weakly. ‘I know that better than anyone.’

Slowly she walked over and stood in front of him. He reached out and touched her lightly on the ribs. She flinched from his fingers. ‘It hurts a little,’ she said, trying to keep her voice even. ‘Albert, can you imagine it? Me, dying?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘I can’t. I can’t imagine living without you.’ Kristina wanted to tell him again that he was going to have to, but thought this wasn’t a good time.

‘Is the car a total wreck?’

She shrugged. ‘Who knows? You think I stuck around to find out how the car was?’

Quietly he said, ‘You should’ve gone to the hospital.’

‘What, and be even later?’ she asked. ‘I mean, they would’ve probably kept me there overnight. And look at what I got just for being two hours late. Can you imagine if I was away somewhere overnight?’

‘I would’ve thought something terrible happened to you. I would’ve been worried sick.’

‘Yeah, sure. You look really worried, sitting there.’

‘I’m sorry, Rock,’ he finally said. ‘I know you’re upset with me. Listen, please, let’s go to Canada. I’m asking you. Please.’

‘Albert, no. You, please. You have Conni, remember?’

‘I’ll work it out. Maybe I’ll pick a big fight.’

‘I don’t believe you,’ she said. Crouching in front of him, still naked, Kristina whispered, ‘Albert, please. I want to stop.’

He looked her over. ‘You’re naked.’

She got up and backed away from him. ‘I mean it.’

‘Let’s go to Canada and then you’ll tell me if you mean it.’ He smiled sexily.

‘No. I’m serious. I’ve had enough. I want us to be done. Okay?’

Kristina wasn’t smiling, and Albert stopped smiling.

‘You’re still naked,’ he repeated.

‘Clothes aren’t the problem, Albert. I can get dressed.’

‘Please,’ he said coldly.

‘The problem is us. We. We’ve got to stop.’ She looked away from him. ‘I want us to get over each other.’ She coughed, causing severe pain to her head. ‘I want to get over you. I want you to go with Conni to Long Island, and I don’t want to think about it anymore. I don’t want to lie, I don’t want to sneak around, I don’t want to worry about Howard. Or anybody.’

When he sat there impassively, Kristina said, ‘We’re not meant to be together.’

‘You’re wrong.’ His tone was flat. He could’ve been saying, ‘You’re right.’

‘We were never meant to be together,’ Kristina said firmly, knowing she didn’t sound firm, knowing she couldn’t shield herself from his eyes. She was stuck in front of him with nowhere to go.

‘You’re wrong,’ Albert repeated, in the same tone.

Kristina continued, undaunted, ‘Never. We screwed up real bad, but there’s still time to have a life - good lives. Don’t you want one? Conni loves you so much.’

‘I know. So? Jim loves you so much.’ He sounded bitter.

Shaking her head, Kristina said, ‘No, he doesn’t. No, he doesn’t. Not the way Conni loves you. And you know that.’

Albert got up out of his chair and stood, loomed, before her. ‘Kristina, this is absurd. I cannot not have you in my life.’

She rubbed her face with her good hand, but it was more like closing her eyes at the sight of him. ‘Albert - please. We can’t. We can’t continue.’

‘You’re wrong.’

She sighed deeply and then groaned from pain. She wasn’t wrong, she was just so tired of standing, of being naked, of this conversation falling again on his deaf ears.

There was a knock on the door. Albert looked at Kristina and sat back down in the armchair. Kristina looked at Albert. Aristotle barked once and started to wag his tail.

‘Hold on!’ Kristina said loudly.

‘Kristina?’ The door opened a notch. It was Jim.

‘Jim, hold on!’ Kristina repeated, throwing some clothes on.

‘Is everything okay?’

Jim couldn’t see her, for she was behind the door and out of his line of vision, but she knew he could see Albert sitting in her chair. Thank God he wasn’t sitting on her unmade bed. Aristotle ran to the door, and his behind started to move from side to side just like his tail.

‘I’m fine,’ Kristina said. ‘Come in.’

Jim came in, looking at them suspiciously. But Kristina knew Jim wouldn’t act on an emotional impulse; he didn’t trust emotional impulses. Jim glanced at Albert,.then at Kristina again. She was wearing her pink tank top and a pair of pull-on Dartmouth green shorts. At first his gaze was hard, but then he saw her face. Kristina knew she was a sight. There was a bloody gash where the glass had been, and her eyes had a glazed look that she knew was from alcohol. Jim could easily have mistaken the look for signs of concussion. Her tank-top collar was dark with dried blood.

‘God, what happened to you?’ Jim said, giving Albert a stare that made Kristina suspect Jim thought Albert had beaten her.

‘Nothing,’ she answered, touching her face. ‘I was in an accident. My car crashed. Everything’s okay. I’m fine.’

‘You look terrible.’

She felt terrible. The alcohol was wearing off.

‘I feel pretty good,’ she said, trying to smile.

‘Did you go to the hospital?’

Kristina remembered clambering up the hard ground, just to avoid going to the hospital. ‘No, I felt okay, so I came home.’

Jim became agitated. ‘You felt okay so you came home?’

Kissing Jim on the cheek, Kristina said in her nicest voice, ‘I’m okay, Jimbo.’ But her arm, swollen by her side, betrayed her. She tried to move it to show him, and failed. ‘Really,’ she said. ‘I’m fine.’

Albert got up. ‘I’d better go and see how Conni’s doing.’

‘She’s okay,’ Jim said, not looking at Albert. ‘She’s waiting for us. Maybe we should all go down.’

Kristina managed a pasty smile. ‘Why don’t you two go on ahead? I’ll be right down.’

Albert didn’t say anything, nor look her way; he just walked out of the room, taking Aristotle with him. Jim looked at her accusingly for a second and said, ‘Yeah, fine,’ and then left, too.

Kristina waited a few seconds to make sure they were way down the hall and couldn’t hear her before she locked the door and collapsed on the bed.

She lay there for what seemed like hours. Her eyes were opening and closing and she was looking at the lightbulb burning in the middle of her ceiling and wishing it would shut itself off, so the room could be dark, dark like it was in the car, in the middle of nowhere, when she thought she was dead. Now as she lay on her bed, she wondered why God had spared her, why he had spared her certain death in a collision of such suddenness.

It was the closest she had come to death. The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse had come to her, looked into her face, and galloped away. It wasn’t the first time she had seen them. When she was twelve, she had fallen off a wall into cold water. She was a good swimmer, but fear paralyzed her. She couldn’t move her arms or legs, couldn’t even scream for help. She just went down without a fight, gulping for air and feeling her lungs fill with water.

And last year she had seen them again on her bridge, when she tumbled down to what she was sure was certain death. She had survived that too, but lived her life prepared at any moment to meet God, adding up the tally of her life every time it snowed, and she, drunk beyond reason, praying under her breath, walked the ledge on the bridge, her hands outstretched.

She didn’t want to die. However, most of all, she was scared that it wouldn’t be God’s face she would see upon meeting her master. ‘I have only one master on earth,’ she whispered, ‘and I’m trying to exorcise him from my life because he’s no good for me, but he won’t let me, he’s stronger than me, and he won’t let me leave him.’

She opened her eyes and touched the temple that had had the piece of tempered glass wedged in it. I feel pain, she thought. Do dead people feel pain? Do they feel tenderness, anger, regret? Profound regret?

Do they feel love? A love more overwhelming than summer air?

I’m alive, Kristina thought, because I still feel pain. ‘I’m not ready to die,’ she whispered. ‘I’m not done living, I don’t want to die…’

I need a drink. I need another, and another and another. I need to pour it all over my wounds to numb them, to forget them, to not feel pain.

Leaning over she reached for Southern Comfort and then fell back on the bed. With her good hand, Kristina unscrewed the cap and lifted the bottle Comfort over her head. Closing her eyes, she poured the liquor over her face. Some of it got into her mouth, and some of it got into her nose. But some of it got on her cut, too. It stung then numbed her bruise, and that’s what she wanted. She poured the rest on her shoulder.

Kristina dragged her aching body from the bed and put on a track suit. The track suit’s biggest advantage was that it wasn’t the same jeans and sweatshirt in which she had faced the darkest unknown. Kristina had always believed one should be well rested and nude - as newborns - to face one’s darkest unknown, and she had been neither.

Her friends were waiting for her downstairs in the Hinman lounge. Albert was reading a textbook and taking notes. Jim was writing. Conni was biting her nails.

‘Hey,’ Kristina said weakly.

They looked up at her.

‘Krissy, what happened to you?’ Conni got up immediately and went to Kristina, peering up into her face. ‘Jim told me you were in an accident. I was so worried.’ But those were only words. Conni didn’t look worried. She looked bitter. She looked as if she was trying to contain anger with a fixed smile.

‘I’m all right,’ Kristina said. ‘Really. I’m fine now.’

‘Accident?’

‘Yeah,’ Kristina said. ‘I crashed the car.’ Kristina figured if she said that often enough, she soon wouldn’t want to cry.

She tried not to show she was unsteady on her feet. She felt herself moving with deliberate slowness toward the cake, as if in a fast-forward search on a cheap VCR, with all the horizontal lines on the screen. And soon maybe someone would say, ‘Geez, this is awful; I want a four-head model.’ And turn her in.

They all stood up, Aristotle barked, somebody lit the candles. Kristina didn’t count them, but it looked like a lot of candles. About twenty-two, she guessed. She noted that no one had baked her a cake. This cake had been bought at the Grand Union on Main Street. Pepperidge Farm German Chocolate Cake. So what if it was her favorite and everyone knew it. Nobody had baked her a cake.

Last September when it was Jim’s birthday, Kristina had knocked herself out to make his favorite lemon meringue pie. The egg whites took an hour and three attempts because she wanted to show Jim she cared.

Kristina stood in front of the lit candles, in front of the kind of cake she bought often for herself, and dimly heard someone say, ‘Make a wish, Kristina.’

She thought of her Mustang, and of Albert pressuring her to go to Canada and about to be three hundred miles away from her for Thanksgiving - about to be three hundred miles from her forever, really - and of Jim, wanting her all to himself and not wanting her at all, and of Howard in New York, and of her mother, lost, a million miles away, and of her dead father, and of herself nearly dead too, without a decent coat.

She thought of the pipe music from Edinburgh, and she closed her eyes, bent over the cake, and blew, thinking, I hope Donald and Patricia Moss let Evelyn keep her babies…

Then she sat down.

Aristotle nudged her in the calf. Kristina sluggishly cut the cake. She gave the first piece to Jim with a labor-camp forced smile. She gave the second piece to Conni without a smile. The third piece she gave to Albert without even looking at him.

Aristotle nudged her in the calf again. She smiled down at him under the table, cleaned the knife off with her thumb and index finger, and put the fingers under Aristotle’s nose to lick.

‘Krissy, aren’t you having any cake?’ Conni asked her.

The alcohol’s magic was wearing off. She wished she had some with her. Pursing her dry lips, she sat silently staring at the cake, feeling Aristotle’s tongue licking her fingers. After he was finished, she gave him some more. The dog liked store-bought German chocolate cake as much as the next Labrador. And Aristotle never got offended that someone hadn’t baked him a cake for his birthday or that he wasn’t going to Canada. Aristotle’s life was very simple. Three walks a day and a comfy bed to shed all over.

Kristina saw a card on the table but didn’t move toward it. Conni pushed the card across the table to Kristina.

‘This is from all of us,’ Conni said, smiling open-mouthed and happy. ‘Go ahead, go ahead, open it.’ Reaching under the table, she pulled out a bottle of Southern Comfort with a red bow taped to the side of it. ‘This is a little something from all of us, too,’ Conni said. ‘We thought you might like it.’

‘Conni’s idea,’ said Albert.

‘Not!’ said Conni in a high-pitched voice, laughing. ‘Yours!’

‘Not!’ said Albert, smiling.

‘Totally yours,’ said Conni again.

Why are they squabbling over whose idea it was? thought Kristina as she stared at the bottle. ‘You guys got me a bottle of liquor?’ she said incredulously.

Albert said, ‘We thought you might like it.’

Shrugging, Kristina opened the card, wishing she hadn’t shrugged. Her left shoulder burned with pain.

‘Wow,’ Kristina said without enthusiasm. Yesterday she would have been grateful for a fifteen-dollar bottle of Southern Comfort that would keep her going through Thanksgiving. If it hadn’t been for Kristina’s turning twenty-one, if it hadn’t been for the fact that she and Albert couldn’t go to Canada, and if it weren’t for the fact that she had almost died, Kristina Kim would have been delighted to get Southern Comfort from her closest friends.

‘No, guys, really,’ she said, staring into three drawn, disappointed faces. ‘Wow. I’m sorry. It’s a great present. I’m just hurting, my body hurts, you know. I had a little to drink a while ago to dull the pain, and it’s made me seem ungrateful, but it’s fantastic, really.’

She leaned over to one side and kissed Conni on the cheek. Then she leaned over to the other side and kissed Jim on the mouth. Albert was sitting across from her at the table, and she wasn’t about to get up, and he did not move either, so she just said, ‘Thanks, Albert,’ and he said, ‘Don’t mention it. It’s our pleasure.’

Conni asked, ‘Krissy, how are you going to play basketball? Look at your arm. What are you going to do? I’d go to the hospital or the infirmary if I were you, really, something, you know? ‘Cause you don’t want to just collapse or something, I mean, I’m just trying to be helpful.’

Kristina waved dismissively with her good arm. ‘This is my dribbling arm. I don’t need the other arm.’

‘You need it to shoot the ball,’ said Albert.

‘I’ll shoot it with one hand,’ said Kristina. ‘UPenn needs a handicap.’

‘You’re not that good,’ said Jim. He had said little.

‘Oh, yes, I am,’ said Kristina, managing a small, genuine smile. She didn’t want to tell them how badly frightened she was about her injuries, about what they might mean for basketball.

Livening up a little, Kristina talked about the Christmas tree going up in the middle of the Dartmouth Green, though Jim was Jewish and didn’t care much about the tree, so they talked about Schindler’s List




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