“Long time no see,” I agreed, shaking his hand. I studied his face, as if to search for his knowledge among the handsome features. Maybe he was mocking me with his words, well aware of why I hadn’t come around for months. What if they’d laughed about me, Abe and his Peach? What if they’d held their sides when they burned with laugher after Cal recounted how I’d melted under his touch, thawed by a tenderness I wished he only showed me.

My cruel mind made me imagine them having sex, wondering who took which role and how they enjoyed it. I wished I hadn’t come, that I had left The Gallery in Maksim’s hands. I stared across the desk at Abraham and saw Cal, as if they were one and I was another. I wanted to run, to pump my legs until I was away from them, away from myself.

“I would rather work with you than your cousin,” Abraham admitted, taking his cheaters off and placing the earpiece between his lips, where I was sure Cal had been. Though Abe was prepared to talk business, I was ready to vomit.

“I’ve been sick,” I said, and it wasn’t completely untrue. Coveting Cal the way I did was perverse; no man should obsess over the thought of someone the way I did about him.

“Are you a lunger now, Vik?” he asked, noticeably moving back in his seat as if a few inches spared between us would help him to avoid tuberculosis.

I laughed. “Do I look so bad?”

“No, you don’t look too bad at all,” Abraham smiled. “I was theorizing what would keep a man down for months and that’s all I could come up with.”

“Well luckily it’s not the case.” It’s just a bout of cowardice, I failed to add.

“Luckily indeed.”

“I’ve been paying attention to your orders. Your numbers have been waning.”

Abraham tsked. “Along with business.”

Grimacing I asked for the updates, which he gave me, taking my mind off Cal for a short time.

It was strange hearing Abraham speak about the down economy. Since the crash, he’d been a duck, but now it seemed the precipitation of change was saturating him too.

“The unemployment rate nearly tripled from 1929 to 1930,” he continued, shaking his head in disbelief of the figures he was sharing. “Last year it doubled. Who knows what will happen in the coming months.”

“Are you worried you won’t be able to stay afloat?” I asked, terrified of his answer. The Gallery on State was an indicator of Towertown’s health, and if it died, so would I.

“It’s impossible to fight the wind, Vik,” Abraham replied, “but we’re holding on.”

I must have looked forlorn because Abe quickly changed the subject, though the shift wasn’t necessarily to cheerier topics.

“I’m sorry about your Cubs. There’s always this year.”