We watch the Rollerbladers in silence for a minute. It seems to be some kind of race, four athletes zooming down a ramp together, flying over huge jumps, mostly elbowing one another out of the way.

“Why don’t they go one at a time?” I ask.

“Because they wouldn’t crash as much.” Chase smiles a little. “It’s television.”

It seems gladiatorial—it has that same kind of baying crowd—and my attention wanders. To the left of the huge television is a stacked bookshelf, but from where I’m sitting none of the books look like Alex’s. She read fantasy as a kid and these titles are all Bear Grylls’s books on things like how to survive in Patagonia without a tarp. I glance to my right at the golden-boy smoothness of Chase’s skin. He doesn’t look like a guy who’s spent much time out in the cold without top-of-the-range gear. If he’s roughly Alex’s age, works intermittently but can afford this loft, my guess is he’s survived under the shelter of his parents’ steady handouts.

“Did you play sports as a kid?” he asks.

“Yes,” I lie.

“Did Alex?”

I could fill him in on how wiry she was, how she made it a mission to beat all the boys in her grade on sports day, and how most years she managed it. Instead, I bunch my mouth and say, “Not much.” Only an hour’s gone by since I promised I wouldn’t mention the past. Did she mean her past or mine? Did she mean everything or just the secrets? Maybe it’s all the same anyhow. It might be impossible to separate one thing from the other. But nobody lives or thinks only in the present tense. Not Alex. Not me. If Chase is going to be around a lot, I’ll have to be on my guard.

“Where did you meet my sister?” I ask.

He sits up straighter, smiling wide. “In the grocery store two years ago. I helped her get shortbread from the top shelf.”

Shortbread. My mother’s favorite.

“She had one thing in her shopping basket. Do you know what it was?”

“A chocolate bar?”

“Yes! How did you know that?” He turns the volume down on the TV. “It was a Kit Kat. Nothing else. Not a vegetable to be found.”

“She always loved junk food. My mom hid cookies in the highest kitchen cupboard, but Alex would just climb for them.”

I bite my lip. It’s impossible. The past spills out even when I’m trying to avoid it. I have to get this back on track.

“She gave me her number in the store,” Chase says. “I’d left my cell in the car, so Iwrote it on a banana with a pen I found in the bulk food section. I called her that same night. And I never did eat the banana.”