Z nods, but his eyes are clouded with an unmistakable pity. The ease of our conversation is gone. Z transitions to a couple of other, more boring topics that I don’t really listen to, and I’m still feeling the weight of his compassion. He goes on about an email Charlie sent him. A poster they stole while they were at University of the Arts London’s classical studies program for teens.
Then all of a sudden he whirls around like he’s just figuring something out. “What do you really need?” Z turns his gaze, leveling me. “This isn’t just a passing-through-town thing, is it, Lena? And who is that girl you dragged here with you? No offense, but it doesn’t exactly seem like you two are friends.”
“That’s Aubrey,” I tell him, sighing. For some reason I feel like, No no no, play your cards close to your chest. “I seriously am just passing through. Seeing family and all that. My parents are in Marseille now but I’ve got my aunt and uncle here. I just wanted to get away from France after the memorial service. Thought it could be good.” That’s half true, anyway. “I mean, yeah, sure, there’s this element of maybe someone knows exactly what happened the day he vanished and the events leading up to it. Can you blame me?” I let my eyes well up because the tears are coming. They come at super unexpected moments, like this one when I’m only being half sincere. This is one of the few times the tears have worked in my favor.
“Well, I don’t know,” Z says. “I’m sorry. I don’t know anything about it. But can I just be honest? I never thought he was good enough for you.” My heart freezes a little because everyone loved Charlie. Everyone.
“No?”
“I’m probably just jealous,” he says. Then he leans forward, close, and this Z who always seemed so nice, so benign, seems like some other Z with hostile motives. I move away slightly and am about to toss my beer in his face to wake him up when I feel Aubrey’s hand on my shoulder.
“He’s got nothing,” I tell her, ignoring the disappointment in her eyes. “But I’m still optimistic. There are other—”
“I didn’t say I’ve got nothing,” Z interrupts. “There’s that stupid journal he lost. When I saw him a few months ago in our hotel room, it was all he could talk about. He was obsessed. It got pretty annoying.”
“Okay,” I say. “What makes you think his journal was important?”
“Just the way he wouldn’t stop talking about it afterward,” Z said.
“When was this?” Aubrey asked sharply. “Where were you?” Her face is gray. She looks sick. I try to shoot her a question with my eyes, but she ignores me.
“It was a few months ago. Mumbai.”
“Mumbai.” Aubrey looks even more confused. “Why were you guys there?” She turns to me. “Did you know about this before?”
“Nope,” I say. “But I wasn’t exactly his keeper. Charlie traveled all the time.” It had been one of the ways we were most compatible, actually. We got each other’s desire to take off without a moment’s notice—were always surprise calling each other from exotic locales.
As we talk, Z is scrolling through pictures on his iPhone. When he stops at the one he wants, he hands Aubrey the phone. I intercept it before I can think. The picture of Charlie sends a shock I’m not prepared for through my entire body. In it, Charlie and Z’s arms are slung around each other and they’re smiling broadly into the camera. They’re sitting on the edge of a bed, the fancy kind, complete with tall wooden bedposts. Charlie’s messenger bag is lying open on the floor next to them, a couple of books spilling out. The sight of his face—his smile—hits me with overwhelming force. Aubrey eyes the photo, furrowing her brow intently. I watch her face turn from gray to white. But just as quickly, she turns to Z, her mouth set in a grim line.
“The journal he lost,” she says. “Was it this?” She taps the screen with one finger. The book she’s indicating is fairly non-descript. Simple, brown, nothing special about it.
“I think so,” Z says distractedly.
“It’s hard to see here. Do you remember what it looked like?”
“Brown leather, a front flap. Leather tie that wrapped all around, I think. He was always writing in it. I figured just notes about the trip. Why . . . ?”
“Where did you lose it?” Aubrey’s strung tight, her cheeks sucked in and her slim frame rigid.
“Taj Hotel,” he says. “Colaba. In Mumbai. That was the night before we visited Adam at his place in Andheri. Why?” Instead of responding, Aubrey’s eyes widen, and she brings a fist to her mouth. I watch her gnaw on her nails, one after the other.
“Will you relax?” I ask. “What is wrong with you?”
“I’m not—” But she can’t continue, she’s freaking out so bad. Worse than that, her whole body is trembling. I stand up and then Z stands up, moving a couple of paces away from us.
“Look, Lena,” he says. “This is messed up. I’m out of here.”
“Just wait a sec,” I plead. I still feel like there’s something I’m not getting from him.
“Nah,” he says. “Whatever this is, I don’t want it. I’m sorry about Charlie.” Then he’s off, nice guy–turned–every guy, I can’t help thinking.