But the question still nagged: How many more bad choices before I became entirely unrecognizable? I kept dead-ending there, and a trapdoor kept opening under my feet, causing me to fall back to the start.

My phone buzzed: Atlas.

“Did I wake you?” he asked.

“Of course not.” I pressed the phone into my ear, willing him closer.

“I figured you’d be watching the news,” he said, referring to Melinda. “Turn it off, please, would you?”

“Because I’m about to throw myself off the roof?”

“You’re not on the roof,” he said. “If you were, I would see you.”

“You’re outside?” I got up and shuffled to the window. It was dark, but I could make out his figure on the sidewalk below. He raised an arm and saluted. Unsure why he was outside my building after midnight, I waved back slowly. “What in the world are you doing?” I asked into the phone. Our positions made me think of Romeo, or Lloyd Dobler.

“Honesty time,” replied Atlas, and I thought I might’ve seen him sway on his feet. “I’m inebriated.”

I wondered if Ari was at his apartment, asleep perhaps, waiting for him to get home. I wondered why he was here, and not with her. But then he hiccupped, and said “Oh, excuse me” in such a cute, polite way, I put Ari aside and told him to come on up. “I have coffee,” I said, “or your favorite bourbon.”

We ended the call—his slurry Yay!—was the last thing I heard, and I buzzed him inside. Turning off the television, I evaluated my outfit. I was wearing soft clothes in large sizes, the bathrobe did nothing for my figure, and my hair was piled on top of my head. I considered whether I should change, put on makeup, but then opted to open my door and wait, just as I was. Even if there’d been time, what did I need to impress him for?

A minute later he rounded the stairs with a broad smile. “Daisy,” he sang when he hugged me, lifting me easily off my feet. Had he always been this strong, or was it the booze? “I was grabbing pints with mates from work right around the corner, and when I walked past your window and saw the light I just had to ring.”

He was drunk, all right, and it had thickened his accent. I silently gave thanks for my own soberness. God help me if I’d been tipsy like at the wedding. Then I could officially add homewrecker to my résumé.

He followed me inside; it took him two tries to get his jacket hooked onto my coat tree. When he succeeded, he looked at me proudly, and I gave him a little applause. I’d only seen him like this once, on the trail years ago. There was something delightful about witnessing a normally buttoned-up man loosen his collar.