“Fine,” he says, cutting me off, mercifully. “I’m good at secrets.”

“I imagine so.”

I’m good at secrets, he dares to say, mocking me on my ground, but I can play with subtext too, and yes, now that I’m all the way off-book, my next move feels inspired: a whisper from a muse. Excessive, but delicious. “There’s another reason to keep quiet,” I say, almost high from how perfect it is. “It concerns Elizabeth.”

His eyes meet mine. “Elizabeth?”

“Yes.” My skin tingles, and I’ve come this far, so: “She’s pregnant.”

He twitches, then fixates on me, and only by engaging so suddenly, with such intensity, do I see how disengaged he’s been until now—as though he’d been a figure in a dream letting news pass through him. A ghost, but now he’s real. “Pregnant?”

“Yes,” I say, and then the kicker: “Two months along.” Two months ago, Nick was far away from my wife. Two months ago, he was cramming for exams and wondering how to cause trouble. Two months means Nick couldn’t be responsible for this new development. He doesn’t need to know about my vasectomy or the likelihood of Elizabeth conceiving naturally. He only needs to believe that Elizabeth is carrying the wedge that will come between them. “It’s a very high-risk pregnancy, and she’s been warned, gravely, to avoid stress. Do you understand? She’d never forgive you if something happened as a result of distress. Over this.”

Nick shudders, and he’s a ghost again.

“Jonah doesn’t even know yet. Do you see why this is so sensitive? He’ll tell you when he sees you in the fall. If he doesn’t, that means something went wrong. In which case: all the more reason to keep your mouth shut.”

“I won’t tell them,” the ghost says.

My body feels lighter. “Let me know if you need a ride to the train station later today. Tomorrow at the latest would be best. I’d love to offer advice, but it wouldn’t be responsible.”

“I understand.” His face is ashen. His eyes are dry. A husk of a man.

“Now, off the record? You didn’t hear it from me, but there are clinics down in Mexico trying things the FDA won’t approve.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Unconventional methods, but rumored to show promise. I guess people figure: ‘What do I have to lose?’ And really, who can blame them?”

He musses his hair, straightens his spine, flicks a nod. “I’ll look into it.” This time, he’s the one who says, “You won’t tell them, right?”

“Of course not, Nick,” I promise. “I’m good at secrets too.”

16.