The tea in the foam cup warms Shelby’s hands through her gloves. She takes a sip. It tastes fresh, like grass or new leaves.
“Want me to walk you home?” the kid asks.
“Yeah, right. I want a stranger to walk me home. Maybe you’re a psycho mass murderer. And by the way, I’m twenty-six, practically old enough to be your mother. So I hope you’re not hitting on me.”
“My mother’s dead, too. Lung cancer. I was three.”
“Sorry.” Just what she needs, to feel bad for him.
The kid sits down with his back against the wall. He lights a cigarette. Camel. No filter.
“Do you get the irony in your smoking?” Shelby says.
The kid doesn’t answer. He just smokes.
“Do you think your mother came back?” Shelby asks him.
“Definitely. She’s a cardinal who lives in my backyard.”
Shelby snorts and sips her tea.
“I don’t care if you don’t believe me,” the kid says.
“How do you know it’s her?”
“How do you know it’s snowing? Some things are what they are.”
A car pulls up; the headlights are blinding. Snow falls in the streams of light. The flakes are big and wet, and they’re sticking when they hit the cement.
“Are these your friends?” Shelby asks.
“Nah. My friends don’t drive Volvos.”
It is indeed a Volvo.
Ben Mink, Shelby’s ex-boyfriend, gets out. It’s the kind of car he always said he would buy, the safest model on the road. “Shelby?” he says.
Shelby’s eyes are still aglow from the bright headlights even though they’ve been turned off. Maybe she’s going blind. Is it really Ben Mink? They haven’t seen each other since their nonexistent blind date. Shelby never contacted the dating service again, but she should have. She should have asked for her money back.
“What are you doing here, Shelby?” Ben asks.
“I couldn’t stand all the good intentions of the neighbors who came to honor my mother,” she tells him.
“So instead you’re sitting here in the cold with Aaron Feinberg?”
Shelby looks at the kid.
“Hey, Ben,” the kid says. “How about buying me a six-pack?”
“Yeah. Right,” Ben remarks. “In your dreams. I’m not getting arrested for you, Feinberg.”
Shelby is confused. “You know each other?”
“He lives on Western Avenue,” Ben says. It’s around the corner from Ben’s parents’ house. “My sister used to babysit him.”
“Could you please not mention that?” Aaron huffs. “It’s humiliating.”
“I came to the funeral,” Ben tells Shelby. “You left so fast I didn’t get to talk to you. I thought I’d see you at the house, but by the time my mom had finished the pot roast to bring over, you’d split. I’ve been driving around looking for you for close to an hour.” Ben puts his hand out to help Shelby up. Inside her coat, Buddy starts moving around. The dog sticks his head out. “What the hell is that?” Ben asks.
“A poodle,” Aaron tells him.
“My mother’s,” Shelby says.
“Let’s get out of here, Shelby,” Ben says.
They head for the Volvo with Aaron following them. “Could you give me a ride home? My friends didn’t show up and I’m freezing my ass off.”
“I don’t think so,” Ben says.
“It’s not out of our way,” Shelby murmurs.
Ben gives her a look.
Shelby shrugs. “He’s a kid.”
“Get in the back, Feinberg.”
Aaron hops in the back. Shelby slides into the passenger seat. She takes Buddy out of her coat and deposits him on the floor near her feet. He just sits there, like he’s afraid to move.
Aaron Feinberg leans forward, one arm on the back of Shelby’s seat, the other around Ben’s seat. “You wouldn’t happen to have any weed, would you?”
“What the hell are you doing with this guy?” Ben asks Shelby. “He’s bad news.”
“The hell I am,” Aaron says.
“I saw you at the funeral,” Shelby admits to Ben. “I just couldn’t talk to anyone.”
“Except for this idiot?” Ben says of Aaron. “Here we are, Feinberg,” he tells the kid as they turn onto Western Avenue. “Now get the hell out.”
It’s a pretty nice house, big, brick, with a double lot.
“Thanks, Ben Mink the big Stink,” Aaron says as he opens the door.
Shelby laughs despite herself, but covers her mouth with her gloved hand when Ben throws her a look.
“Get going,” he growls at Aaron.
“Look for cardinals,” Aaron reminds Shelby as he gets out of the car. “She’ll be there.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ben asks as they watch Aaron lope toward his house.
“He thinks that when his mother died she came back as a cardinal,” Shelby informs Ben.
“His mother’s not dead. She’s a psychologist. Marian Feinberg. My parents made me go to her a couple of times when I was a teenager and they found drugs in my room.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“I told you he was bad news.”
Shelby laughs. She nearly doubles over.
“You think it’s funny? He’s a liar and a bullshit artist looking for sympathy,” Ben says.
“I think he just wanted me to feel better.”
“Did you?”