I checked my overnight bag, packed the toothbrush I’d forgotten, and put the house in relative order. Logging onto a weather site, I learned I’d be arriving tomorrow in the midst of a snowstorm.

Low: fifteen, high: twenty-nine. I pictured white skies and sidewalks, the flicker of Manhattan lights in our window as Allison and I holed up in a nice warm suite with butler service.

Why had Rand called me?

The phone rang. Allison said, “Thank God, I caught you. Alex, you won’t believe this.”

Strain in her voice. My first thought was something had happened to her grandmother.

“What’s up?”

“Gram’s friend, the one who was coming from St. Louis, suffered a stroke this morning. We just got the call. Gram’s taking it hard. Alex, I’m so sorry, but I can’t leave her.”

“Of course not.”

“She’ll be fine, I know she will, she always is— is your ticket refundable? I’ve already called the hotel and canceled. I’m really sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said, sounding calm. No act, I was relieved that I wouldn’t be going. What did that say about me?

“. . . despite the situation, I’m going to try to get out of the two-week extension, Alex. One week, tops, then I’ll call my cousin Wesley and ask him to do a shift. He’s a chem prof at Barnard on sabbatical in Boston, so his hours are flexible. It’s only fair, right?”

“Right.”

She paused for a breath. “You’re not too upset?”

“I’d love to see you but things happen.”

“They do . . . it’s freezing, anyway.”

“Fifteen to twenty-nine in New York.”

“You looked it up,” she said. “You were all prepared to go. Boo hoo.”

“Boo hoo hoo,” I said.

“The suite had a fireplace. Dammit.”

“When you come back we’ll light mine.”

“In seventy-degree weather?”

“I’ll buy some ice and sprinkle it around.”

She laughed. “That’s some picture . . . I’ll get back as soon as I can. One week, tops . . . uh oh, there’s Gram calling me again, what now? She wants more tea . . . sorry, Alex, talk to you tomorrow.”

“Sounds good.”

“Are you all right?”

“Sure. Why?”

“You sound a little distracted.”

“Just disappointed,” I lied. “Everything will work out.”

“Nothing like optimism,” she said. “With all you see, how do you manage that?”

Allison had been widowed in her twenties. Her basic disposition was a good deal sunnier than mine. But I was a better faker.

“It’s a good way to live,” I said.

“Oh, yeah.”

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 13

Monday night, I reached Milo at his house. It was just after ten and his voice was thick with scotch and fatigue.

“It’s one a.m. in New York, dude.”

“I’m still on Pacific Standard.”

“What happened?”

“Allison’s grandmother needed her.” I filled him in.

“Sorry about that. What’s on your mind?”

“Just checking in,” I said.