I sipped more wine, contemplating how to get his attention. It sounded like he was moving books around on the shelves. I wondered if he was looking for her current journal. He wouldn’t find it, I realized. I knew exactly where she kept it, inside a box of waffles in the freezer, the pages cold to the touch. I imagined her writing in it at the kitchen counter late at night, her toes curled around the footrest of one of the stools, then, hearing James descend the stairs, hiding the book quickly in the first place she could find. I’ve read it. The thought made a little private flower unfurl inside my stomach.

“Did you find your book?”

“Oh,” he replied. “Yeah.”

He flashed the cover of Laughter in the Dark my way as he sat down on the couch. I handed him his wineglass; I’d brought it up from the kitchen.

“You know,” I said, my voice quiet, calm, “she talks about you.”

Carlow swallowed a gulp of wine and looked at me. I didn’t say anything else; I waited for him to reply.

“She talks about me to you?” he said.

“Yeah, sometimes.” This wasn’t true, but I reasoned the best way to get Carlow’s attention was through Lonnie. I didn’t look at him; I pretended to be interested in the cover of a New Yorker on the side table.

“Well, what do you mean?”

Since Lonnie had not confided anything of interest about Carlow to me, I pretended to be evasive on purpose. “There are some things I’d like to know about you, you know?” I said.

“Go on.”

“Do you feel . . .” I paused, unsure how to proceed with the game I had in mind. “Anxious?” I said, finally deciding on a word.

He smiled. An uncomfortable smile. Took another sip of wine. “Anxious?” he said.

“Have you ever been in love?”

“Girls like you are few and far between, Elle,” he said.

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.

“Do you want to watch a film?” he said suddenly. “What do you like?”

I let him shift the conversation, decided not to press him. A movie wasn’t a bad idea. I told him about the horror flicks I’d been indulging in as of late. I stood to switch the lights off, and settled down right next to him on the big leather couch. We picked a favorite of mine—a slow black-and-white Japanese film—a hole that swallows up men’s bodies, an old woman trying to squash the blush of young lust with a haunted mask.

I figured Carlow had flirted with me to get out of answering my question. It was a way of writing me off without making me feel bad, but I felt like calling his bluff. Why shouldn’t I? What did it all come down to? We were two single people, a little drunk now, in the dark.