She smiled that tiny smile again and reached forward to turn the key in the ignition. Her right hand seemed to move toward me—I could see it coming to rest on my knee, her fingers sliding over the soft skin of my inner thigh—but her hand only came to rest on the gear shift between us.

All the way back I could feel her phantom hand on my leg, even though she had never touched me.

Chapter 18

On Tuesday I wanted to drive back to the garden center, to linger in the flower aisles until I saw Steph. I imagined her pulling her brown apron off, folding it, catching my eye as if she expected to see me there. We would get into her truck and she would drive us somewhere—it didn’t really matter where—but I imagined redwoods rolling past the windows, which meant we were heading west past Woodacre and toward Point Reyes. I would look over at her and we’d be laughing, the windows open and wind whipping my hair back as if we were in a movie, and she would reach out and put her right hand on my thigh.

I wanted to text her, but every message I started turned into a fantasy.

The flowers you planted are dying, you need to save them. She’d show up and we’d go to the shed, and instead of taking down the spade or the watering can she’d run her fingers through my hair to extract another errant leaf, and then her hand would cup my face. I could feel her palm on my cheek.

Do you want to go out for another burger I’m so hungry. We’d go to the Fairfax Grille again, just the two of us, and after we ate our dripping Marin burgers we’d go out to her truck, and she’d lean across the gear shift and her lips would taste like salt.

Once I hovered my finger over the send button for a good long minute, wondering what she would do if she got a message from me that said I have to see you, please come over.

I deleted the message. I didn’t even leave Joan’s house for fear that I’d be compelled to case out Steph’s neighborhood on the off chance she wasn’t working and might be sitting outside, waiting for me.

I was possessed by thoughts of her that made me want to do stupid, embarrassing things. I wasn’t myself.

Chapter 19

I took the paintbrushes I’d bought into the studio, but now that I had them, I didn’t know what to do. They stayed in their plastic wrappers on the counter next to the paints. I turned the camping chair away from the TV in the corner and toward the view out the windows. I sat down in the chair and opened up The Dream of a Common Language.