I push off from my stool.
“It was great meeting you, but I should leave.” I put out my arm and ignore the growing hum in my brain. “Good luck—with everything.”
“You, too.” He shakes my hand. “Hey, we're going to the casino in a few days. What's your number? I'll text you the address.”
I don't care to become buddies with the guy I was supposed to kill, but it will seem odd if I don't accept. So I give him my phone number and make my escape.
On my way home, my phone vibrates.
My lungs stop altogether as I work the phone from my pocket. I pull over into a residential street and park on the curb to read the message.
Dimitri, it was dumb of me to be metaphoric, and I apologize. -Syd
My fingers hover over the screen. I itch to press the call button and hear the tone of her voice. Is she angry? Is she grieving?
Is this my karma for saving Mark?
Does karma even exist?
I don't really care. Syd is back. Somehow.
Because I have absolutely no idea what stupid words will come out of my mouth if I call her, I decide to text.
I shouldn't have let you down. I'm sorry. Do you want to come over to discuss it?
That sounds way calmer than I feel.
I wait, car still idling outside some unlit house. People are settling in for the night. Mark will soon be home with his kid. And, if there's anything just in this universe, Syd will soon be next to me again.
Time passes. I have to check the time stamps just to assure myself it has been minutes, not hours. Finally, the phone vibrates again.
It's Mark with the information about the casino. I grit my teeth. Maybe I should have offed the idiot.
I go back to waiting, despite how badly I want to call her and make her give me an answer.
At length, she replies, Okay. I can do that. I'll head out in ten.
I type, Perfect.
Then I floor it the whole way home.
***
I reach home with time to spare, so I try to straighten up the living room. That doesn't last long because the house cleaners keep it in shape. Instead, I check the wine bottle. A few glasses left. She might take it wrong if I have it waiting, though.
So I pace. Back and forth.
I glance at the clock every ten minutes to find it has only been two minutes instead. The urge to call her makes my fingers restless. She could put her phone on speaker and talk to me during her drive over. I just want to know she's there. That she's really on her way.
Then a car door thuds in my carport.
I still and wait. After a moment, footsteps on the porch. I force myself to stay put. Wait for the doorbell. If I'm at her too soon, she might take it wrong.
Then the bell rings. I cross the living room, silently count to three, and pull open the door.
Syd is wearing a long sheer top and tight, torn-up jeans. I somehow thought she would fall right into me, devastated and crying, but I know her better than that. She's not even in tears.
She does look tired, and the side of her mouth twitches in a sad smile.
I step back. She enters, dropping her purse next to the couch like she always did before. But I can't wrap her tight and meld into her like we used to.
So I just stand there.
“Hey, Dim,” she says, breathy, and touches her hand to my cheek.
My chest fills with hope. If I can lure dozens of people to their death, maybe I can—just once—use that people skill for good.
She studies me before speaking.
“You doing okay?” She sounds earnest.
I don't know what to say, so I just give a tight nod. I'm not alright, but she might take that wrong. She might take any of this wrong.
She sighs. “Look, I didn't mean to set you up like that. It wasn't cool of me.”
“I could've gotten you an apple.” After I say the words, I feel even worse.
In hindsight, I had a hundred opportunities to stop by a store in Virginia. But I didn't. It didn't occur to me then. I would have never guessed an apple could cause so many problems.
A chick named Eve had a similar realization, I hear.
“You're just gone so much.” Syd's voice sounds so empty and hollow. “I never really know when you'll be back, what you're doing, or anything at all. I don't want to be that needy girlfriend, but it's so frustrating. I know it was meant to be casual, but I thought it could be … more. I just wanted some way to believe you thought of me.”
She rubs her temple with one hand. “I had the story of Aphrodite and Dionysus stuck in my head since we met. Probably a little vain of me, but whatever.”
She drops onto the couch.
I remain silent, letting her guide the conversation. I'm no longer worried she might tell me the truth. If I'm going to fail, I want the chance to at least try first.