“This so-called hate sex,” Darcy said then. “Is it the norm for you?” Their latest encounter, like the earlier ones, had been consummated above the sheets, and they were presently positioned near each other but no longer touching; in order to comply with cuddle avoidance, Liz had rolled away from him and lay, as he did, on her back.
Liz laughed. “If you have to ask if someone’s slutty, that probably means the answer is yes.”
“That’s hardly what I was implying. I just wonder if you find it more expedient. Though you did say you recently got out of a relationship, if I remember correctly.”
“No, hate sex isn’t the norm for me, but neither is living in Cincinnati. And as a matter of fact, I’m about to leave. I go tomorrow afternoon to Houston to interview Kathy de Bourgh, and I’ll fly on to New York from there.”
“You’re leaving town tomorrow?” Darcy seemed surprised.
“Don’t be too heartbroken,” Liz said. “Have you ever tried online dating? If not, you should.”
“Have you ever tried online dating?”
“Sure, and I definitely would do it if I lived here.”
For a few seconds, Darcy was quiet. Finally, he said, “Is the person you just broke up with Jasper Wick?”
“If it were, that’d be scandalous, wouldn’t it? Since he’s a married man and a Stanford outcast.” Liz glanced at her watch. “A part of me is tempted to offer to write your online dating profile, but I’m not sure it’s ethical to inflict you on another human woman. It wouldn’t be very sisterly, if you know what I mean.”
She had been teasing, but the expression on his face seemed to be one of genuine displeasure. He said, “I don’t need your help with an online dating profile.”
“Fair enough. You do have a PhD, I hear.” Liz swung her legs over the side of the bed and reached for her clothes on the floor. She was fastening the clasp of her bra when she heard Darcy say, “That tattoo always surprises me.”
It was two inches by one inch, an image of a typewriter on the small of her back. Without turning, she said, “Want to guess how old I was when I got it?”
“Twenty?”
“Even worse. Twenty-three. The irony is that I thought it was much cooler than a flower or a Chinese symbol. I was declaring my serious ambitions as a writer. But somehow, all these years later, it’s never been the right moment to show it to any of the people I’ve interviewed.” Liz glanced over her shoulder. “Maybe you should get the Hippocratic oath on your butt.”
“Maybe so,” he said, and Liz felt a twinge of something. She still didn’t particularly like him, but it was hard not to wonder if they’d cross paths again. He tapped his left biceps. “Or the Skyline Chili logo up here.”
She had pulled on her shirt and underwear and she stood, turning to face him as she stepped into her jeans. Presumably, it was the last time they’d see each other before she left town, and this unexpected welling of emotion—it was gaining rather than decreasing in intensity. Also, rather bizarrely, there was some chance that a few minutes earlier, during what had appeared to be the height of his pleasure, Darcy had uttered the words, “My darling.” If this had indeed happened, Liz was confident the utterance had been accidental, and certainly it had been acknowledged by neither of them. In any case, what was she supposed to do now—hug him goodbye like a co-worker? No, she would not hug him.
“You’re way too good for Jasper, if that’s who it was,” Darcy said. He seemed simultaneously like a stranger and someone she knew extremely well; there was either an enormous amount to say or nothing at all.
She tried to sound lighthearted. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”
“AFTER I LEAVE town, my parents might tell you they’ve changed their mind about selling the house,” Liz said to Shane. She had met him at Coffee Emporium on Erie Avenue. “My mom especially, but don’t trust her. If that happens, call me right away.”
“I appreciate the sensitivity of the situation,” Shane said. “But this could quickly get beyond the legal scope of what a real estate agent can do.”
“They want to sell the house,” Liz said. “Or at least my dad recognizes that they have no choice. If they say otherwise, just treat it like static. And the minute you know another agent is planning to show it, call me, I’ll call Mary or Kitty, and one of them will make sure it looks okay and get my parents out.”
Shane squinted in a way that took Liz a few seconds to recognize as fake casual. “Speaking of Kitty,” he said, “how old is she?”
“Twenty-six.” Liz felt a mercenary and possibly disloyal temptation to add, And if you sell our house, she’s all yours. But he hadn’t yet asked if she was single; he was wondering, Liz could tell, but he hadn’t asked.
“I FIGURED OUT where Mary goes,” Kitty said. “And it’s hilarious.” Liz had been lying on the Ikea couch in Kitty and Mary’s living room, reading a long article on her laptop in the newest issue of the magazine where she and Jasper had once been fact-checkers.
“Where?” Liz asked.
Kitty held up car keys. “Come with me.”
“Is it good or bad?”