Luna crawled into the warm bed. He turned on the television. They cycled through the stations for a while, searching for something decent to watch. Eventually they landed on Young Frankenstein.
Griff heard his brother’s laugh for the first time since he’d arrived. Later that night, Griff checked in on them. The pair was cozy under a blanket, fully recovered from the day’s events. Credits played on the TV screen.
“Everybody okay?” Griff said.
Owen gently shoved Luna. “She was just leaving.”
“I can take a hint,” Luna said.
As Luna met Griff in the hallway, Owen told them to shut the door. Luna went downstairs and helped Griff tidy up in the kitchen.
“He seems a little better, right?” Luna whispered.
Griff placed his hands on Luna’s shoulders and gazed into her eyes with an uneasy devotion. “You’re…insane. And amazing,” he said.
Griff kissed her on the lips. Luna felt light-headed. When it was over, Griff turned away, embarrassed.
“Good night, then,” he said.
“Good night,” said Luna.
Luna left the next morning without saying a word. She didn’t want to give Griff a chance to tell her it was a mistake.
Owen always thought of the rowboat incident as the beginning of his recovery. Just like the way you thaw out after being submerged. Your fingers go numb and turn blue in the cold. Then you put them in front of the fire and it stings. For a while there, he’d felt nothing. Then he felt pain, and then the pain softened and he started to think about things he’d like to do. Going back to Markham was out of the question.
It was Vera who suggested Owen study abroad. Since it was too late for Owen to enter any official university program, Vera managed to make arrangements for Owen to have an apartment in London and take classes at Chelsea College of Arts. It would cost a fortune, but Owen’s parents could afford it back then.
Luna still visited every few weeks, even during the last dregs of summer, when Owen no longer needed his class assignments. Griff was gone by then. He’d gotten a job in New York City and was apartment hunting.
As Owen packed, Luna read aloud from a Lonely Planet travel guide to London. She promised to mail Owen American sundries. She’d heard peanut butter was hard to come by.
“When’s the last time you saw me eat peanut butter?” Owen asked.
“You’ll want it when you can’t have it.”
“You have to visit,” Owen said to Luna. “Promise.”
Luna knew she’d be too cash-strapped to manage a trip, and she wouldn’t lie.
“Have the best year. I’ll be here when you come back,” Luna said.
Owen and Luna promised to write every week. Luna had sent three letters to Owen before she heard back. He’d taken a photo of himself, glued it to a postcard of Big Ben, added an illustrated top hat and monocle, and scribbled a quick message on the back.
Wish you were here.
October 14, 2019
Owen woke up Monday morning reeling from his encounter with Sam and still waiting to hear back from Luna. Briefly, he thought it might have all been a dream. Not the part about Irene’s death—that was firmly entrenched in his subconscious—but the part about Sam and Irene having an affair.
Luna returned his texts that morning, agreeing to meet him at the diner across from her motel. Luna found a booth in the back of the Lunch Chalet and ordered a coffee. When Owen arrived, Luna thought he seemed different. Older, tired. It had been only a week since they’d had that drink at the Halfway House and talked about Owen’s “no one.”
Owen immediately felt a chill coming off Luna. It didn’t seem right, when she was the one holding out on him. The waitress breezed by, warmed Luna’s coffee, and poured a fresh cup for Owen. Luna wasn’t eating, so Owen ordered waffles—it seemed rude to take up a booth just for coffee. The waitress forced a smile, which came off as sinister. Luna busied herself doctoring her coffee, polishing a spoon.
“I went to your house. Late last night,” Owen said, after the waitress had moved on.
Luna glanced up from her shiny spoon. She hadn’t considered the possibility that Owen would be in Sam’s orbit before she could tell Owen.
“Shit. He told you?” Luna said.
“He did.”
“I’m sorry,” she said flatly, without conviction. “You should have heard it from me.”
“Why didn’t I?”
“You weren’t around,” Luna said. “I tried to find you yesterday. Maya answered your door.”
“How’d you find out? Or when? I guess I’d like to know both things.”
“Mason found a phone in the guest room. He left it charging and it started ringing when I was—after he left,” Luna said, editing out the detail about Griff being in her home. “I answered the phone and it was Detective Goldman. Apparently, Irene had been calling that number over the last several months. They’d been trying to find the owner. It was one of those pay-as-you-go phones.”
“Sam had a burner just for Irene? Why?”
“I don’t know,” Luna said.
“It’s pretty fucking suspicious, don’t you think?” Owen said.
“They were having an affair and she was murdered. I’m not sure there’s causality there. You should understand that more than anyone.”
“Right,” Owen said. His brain snagged on something Luna had mentioned a few moments before. “What time did you come to my house yesterday?”
“Around one or two.”
“Are you sure?”
“It was definitely after one,” Luna said.
In light of everything that had happened, she thought it was a strange detail to lock on.
“And Maya was still there?”
“Yes,” Luna said. “Where were you?”
Luna could hear Owen’s heel tapping under the table. His eyes darted back and forth without any focus.
“I just drove around,” Owen said. “The point is, I left no later than eleven. What was Maya doing in my house for more than two hours?”
“I think she said she was cleaning,” Luna said. “Who gives a fuck?”