“Through the summer!” Cricket exclaimed. “I don’t believe it. You absolutely can find excuses to come back up here, surely. We’d miss you entirely too much.”

“My mother has been flexible with me up until now,” Blake replied, halting, awkward. It was strange behavior for a man usually so confident. “But she’s pulled rank, so to speak. I have to commit myself to the work in South Carolina.”

“I suppose Wallis will join you down there soon enough,” said Cricket. “We can spare her some weekends, I suppose.”

Blake’s eyes fixed over Cricket’s shoulder, at the neat rows of metal mailboxes on the wall. When he didn’t respond, Cricket looked at me with amazement.

“The Charleston office must really need you,” I said softly, wondering at my desire to console him. “I know you wouldn’t be leaving so suddenly without good reason. We understand, right, Cricket? We—” I almost said We trust you, but I stopped myself when he shook his head.

“I don’t really want to keep doing this,” he said, pained. “The conversation I had with Wallis was hard enough. I have to go. Can you let me through? Sorry, but I just have to go.”

We could do nothing but move aside, and he brushed past us without a backward glance, pushing open the door with enough force that it crashed into the railing outside. Cricket and I, from the doorway, watched him fumble for his car keys at the curb. Within moments, with a squeal of tires one doesn’t often hear in the city, he was gone.

“What in the world was that about?” Cricket asked, letting the door shut before moving swiftly toward the stairs.

“They must’ve had a fight,” I said, close behind her. We had made it to the second-floor landing and were trucking it toward the third. A lovers’ spat was the sensible explanation, but my mind revolted. I couldn’t picture an argument between two people so determined to be in perfect love.

Cricket and I entered their apartment, looking for signs of Wallis. She wasn’t in the main room, so Cricket knocked gently on her closed bedroom door. “Wallis?” Cricket’s palm rested on the door. “We just saw Blake downstairs. Are you all right?”

“No,” Wallis cried.

“Ask her what’s wrong,” I whispered to Cricket. “Ask her if we can come in.”

“Stop muttering about me,” Wallis ordered. “You’re making it worse.”

“We just want to talk to you,” Cricket said.

“Then just come in already.”

Cricket charged in first; I followed. Wallis was curled on her side on the bed, and when she removed her hands from her face, I could tell she’d been crying. My throat tightened.

“What’s going on?” asked Cricket, emphasis on the final word.