She backed through the door with the stuff stacked on the pizza box. She was pretty in a messy way—dark hair piled up on her head, a sharp bent nose. I guessed she was a few years older than me, maybe mid-thirties. She was wearing ratty pink denim shorts that looked like they were about to fall apart. She put the pizza box down on the coffee table and opened the pack of cigarettes. She took one out and tossed the pack to me. “Do you smoke in here?” she said.

“Do I have a choice?”

She glanced around the musty room and into the kitchen.

“You rented this place.”

“Sight unseen,” I said. “Should’ve kept it that way.”

“Jim said you were funny.”

“I’m really grateful to you for coming out here,” I said. “You guys live nearby?”

“No, we’re over on the north side, but I’m part-time at Rattlesnake Gardens,” she said. “Almost no-time, lately.”

“So I’m not tearing you away from your duties.”

“Well, I’m missing The Price Is Right.”

“You’re welcome.”

I wanted her to recognize my vulnerable position and, unbidden, lean over the couch and give me a delicate kiss. But we had a wonderful hour anyway. She was sympathetic but not full of shit, like a good teacher or police officer. In previous summers I’d had drinks with her husband and he’d helped me on the field when I got hurt. Now I knew he had excellent taste in women.

“I’m going to go home and take a run,” Chloe said. “I’d invite you along, but…”

“I’m gonna be hearing shit like that the whole goddamn summer, huh?” I said.

“If you’re nice to me.”

My eyes followed her to the door like a well-trained dog’s.

“Call when you need things,” she said. “Don’t be a pussy about it.”

It was as if her coming by opened a lock of empathy in the hearts of my acquaintances. Chris brought me a card signed by everybody in the program and a bottle of whiskey. Mary Jo, the hip painting instructor, showed up with pot. Karen, a former student of mine who now lived in town, played Big Star songs on the ukulele and filled me in on Jim and Chloe.

“He totally doesn’t appreciate her,” she said. “He thinks he’s such a stud because he’s a climber and a biker and whatever but he doesn’t realize he’s just, like, cool for Missoula. She’s cool for America.”

“What’s so bad about him?” I said.

“He doesn’t give her enough attention,” Karen said. “I always see him with his buds at the Union, drunk as shit on, like, a Tuesday. And it’s, Oh, Chloe’s at home reading, or Chloe’s at the movies. It’s depressing.”

“You can’t really understand anybody’s relationship from the outside,” I said.