The heat and humidity were bothering Sara, which had to be caused by the lack of sleep. She was used to the air feeling like a wet towel on her head, since she had spent the majority of her life in Southern Florida. But she felt like she needed some water desperately, dizziness creeping up on her in unexpected waves. There was also a persistent ache in her right side that she thought might feel better if she wasn’t standing, so she forced herself to squat down on the sidewalk next to Gabriel. Pulling her skirt over her knees, she found her balance. She didn’t actually want her legs or backside to make contact with the ground.

“Is absinthe alcohol? I think I’ve heard of it, but I’m not sure.”

“It’s the famed Green Fairy, an alcoholic drink made with oil of wormwood, and served diluted with sugar water. It was thought to have hallucinogenic and addictive properties, so it was made illegal in the early twentieth century.”

“Does it?” Sara turned to Gabriel, wobbling slightly. She wasn’t strong enough to hold herself up without effort, though he wasn’t having any problem.

Gabriel stared back, close enough to her that she could see the faint blond stubble on his chin. “It’s addictive in the sense that once you’ve been to that place where you feel brilliant and charming, intelligent and attractive, you want to revisit it frequently. And eventually you never want to leave.”

Then he stood up, abruptly, and crossed the street without looking either way. It had almost sounded like he had personal experience with addiction himself. Or maybe she was just reading that into everyone because she was so hyperaware from her own problems. With the sleeping pills, she hadn’t wanted to feel intelligent and attractive, she had just wanted to sleep. Hard. To escape. And there had come a time when she hadn’t wanted to wake up, to get out of bed, and that had scared her. That’s when she’d gone to rehab.

Maybe Gabriel had a story. Maybe he didn’t. Sara watched him take pictures of the front door, of the shutters, of the street going right and left, and the street sign. It was a strange surreal moment, the lonely, lovely little house behind him, sagging under the weight of its history, yet forging ahead, while Gabriel paced in the sunlight. He was an odd juxtaposition—fast and sporadic when he was in motion, yet completely and utterly still when he wasn’t—and she liked to watch him. If anyone had told Sara two years ago she would be hunched down on the dirty cobblestones in New Orleans staring at a true crime writer she would have laughed. She hadn’t expected to go anywhere, least of all this city. Yet her life had irrevocably changed and she had arrived in this moment for better or for worse.