The One In My Heart

Was it an accusation? His tone was without a hard edge anywhere, but for some reason I felt an impulse to defend myself. I tamped down that irrational desire. “Make sure you’re free for the Boyfriend Roundup and Zelda’s birthday party.”


“Text me the dates and the times and I’ll finagle my schedule.”

“I’ll do that. Take care.”

“You too,” he said.

There, a friendly but businesslike good-bye. Exactly as it should be.

I was about to hang up when he asked, “And how are you, by the way? Feeling any better?”

I had never, as far as I remembered, admitted to feeling anything but normal in front of him. And really, was it a fake boyfriend’s place to be concerned about my actual well-being?

I’m not better, if you must know. I want you with the kind of covetousness that might bring down plagues. And I’m afraid my fear is getting out of hand. It might be taking over the driver’s seat—or maybe it took over a long time ago and I didn’t even know. I’m fucked-up, Doctor. All fucked-up.

“A little tired,” I replied. “I’ve been awake since half past three this morning. But other than that, I’m good.”

“If you say so, Professor.”

Was there a hint of disappointment in his voice? But he had already disconnected. I put the phone back in my purse, sighed, and took a sip from my thermos. Then I stared at the thermos. Zelda and I both had the same one in different colors. I’d bought them and had them engraved with, Not all those who wander are lost, a famous line from The Lord of the Rings.

The words had been meant as encouragement for Zelda, to let her know that even if her life must take many more twists and turns than she wanted it to, she was still on the right path.

Now, however, I saw the quote in an entirely different light.

Not all those who wander are lost.

But those who never set a foot wrong often were—that was the reason they did and said all the right things, so nobody would realize that they’d lost their bearings long ago.


I WAS YAWNING AS I came out of the train station on 79th—it was past midnight in Italy and I had to stay awake for a few more hours yet. But as I approached my house, some of my sleepiness turned into tension.

Bennett and I had landed late, well past Zelda’s bedtime. Because of the time difference, before she got up I was already out of the house, leaving behind a note and a necklace made from squares of cobalt-blue glass that I’d bought for her on Capri. We’d texted each other throughout the day but hadn’t talked yet—one might make the argument that I was trying to put off a certain conversation.

Zelda already had coffee waiting when I walked in the door. I hugged her. “What would I do without you?”

The question of my life.

“And to have with your coffee…” Zelda handed me a box of miniature pastries. “From the Somerset boy.”

Who had also sent an extravagant arrangement of mango-colored calla lilies. I pulled out the accompanying card. Thank you for a lovely interlude. I hope for many more.

So did I, with an intensity that scared me. The Somerset boy was an agent of chaos—like Gandalf, appearing out of nowhere to shove innocent, unsuspecting folks who just wanted to live safe and secure in their nice hobbit holes into messy, dangerous adventures.

“Still not sure about the boy?” asked Zelda.

I realized I was scowling at the card. “It’s early days. Anyway, we had an interesting time. Had dinner with his parents. Did Mrs. Somerset tell you about it?”

“Yes. Bennett too.”

“You already talked to him?”

“About half an hour ago. To thank him for all the lovely food—he sent dinner also, by the way. Guess what he asked me? Whether I knew where his parents would be staying on the Amalfi Coast when I strenuously recommended La Figlia del Mare to you. Catches on pretty fast, doesn’t he?”

“Doesn’t he indeed.”

“Made me feel like quite a mastermind. Anyway, I invited him to my birthday party and he said he’ll try to get that weekend off.”

“You’ll also invite his parents?”

“Of course. It’s for a good cause.”

There was a mastermind at work, all right, but it wasn’t Zelda. “Looks like you’ve got their reconciliation well in hand.”

“I certainly hope so. But of course there’s only so much use to these civilized encounters. Nothing changes when everyone is polite. They have to shout, hurl accusations, and then break down in tears and sob about how empty their lives have been without one another.”

She was being melodramatic, but she was right. If Bennett wanted to be part of the family again, at some point he must openly admit that not only did he care, but he cared a hell of a lot.

Somehow I couldn’t see him doing that.

I bit into a custard tart that was hardly bigger than a quarter and wondered what to say next. I could tell Zelda more about my trip to Europe, but I’d only be postponing the inevitable.

“By the way, Larry de Villiers called yesterday. He said he invited himself to Mrs. Asquith’s place when he heard you’d be there.”

The custard tart was stuck in my throat. What had he told Zelda? “I was about to tell you that.”