After he opened it up, he turned on the overhead light. Tucked under the eave of the attic, his old twin bed was still covered with a navy blue quilt, and the single pillow at the head was still flat as a slice of bread. The desk where he’d done his homework, when he’d actually worked on the stuff, was still under the window, the goosenecked lamp he’d studied by cranked up to the ceiling. Over on the bureau, his Rubik’s Cube and his black Ace comb and the 1989 Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition with Kathy Ireland on the cover were where he’d left them last.

Above the dresser, his mirror had various ticket stubs, pictures, and other shit tucked into its cheapo, fake-wood frame, and as he stepped forward and caught his reflection, he wanted to curse.

Yup, still the same. He was still staring at a face with bruises on it.

Of course, this trip, his father hadn’t been the one who’d put them there.

Vin walked over to the window, and as he cracked the thing to let some air in, he felt like talking. So he did.

“You know, I took Devina to Montreal on our first date. Flew her there in my plane and we stayed in a suite at the Ritz-Carlton. She was as impressed as I meant her to be, and even today, she doesn’t know where I come from. Most of that was my choice, but the thing was, she never cared about the past. She never asked about my parents after I told her they were both dead, and I never volunteered.” He turned around. “I was going to marry her. Had the ring all bought—and what do you know, she even found the diamond this afternoon.”

“Oh…my God.”

“Great timing, right? After Jim dropped me off, I went up to my place, opened the door, and there she was, all thrilled, the box in her hand.”

Marie-Terese put her palm up to her mouth. “What did you do?”

Vin went over and sat on the bed. As a fine spray of dust rose up, he grimaced, stood again, and gathered the quilt in his arms. “Hold on a minute.”

Out in the hall, he shook the bedspread out, turning his face away from the cloud. When it wasn’t throwing off as much dust, he went back into the room, covered up the bare mattress, and sat down again.

“What did I do…” he murmured. “Well, I took her arms off my neck and stepped away. Told her that I couldn’t commit to her, that I’d made a mistake and that I was sorry.”

Marie-Terese came over and sat down beside him. “What did she say?”