As the water ran down my face, I thought about how funny Cal had been sitting on the curb talking to Ingrid, and it made me laugh all over again. But then a switch flipped and I started to cry. Hard tears. I hadn’t even cried like that when Sam died, and I guess I’d built up quite a reserve, because I couldn’t stop; after a while I couldn’t tell if it was the scalding water or the tears that were burning my skin.

When I finally got into bed, I had a dream that Cal was a centaur. His top half looked like him only younger, the age he was when I’d last seen him; the bottom half was a shiny, buckskin-colored horse. In the dream I was chasing Cal through Muir Woods. He was dodging trees, weaving in and out of the brush; as he galloped up the Dipsea Trail, I cut him off and we came face to face at the top of a hill. I had a hat on like Robin Hood and a bow and arrow in my hands; I yelled for Cal to stop, to freeze, but he kept running, and without blinking I pulled back the bow and let the arrow fly.

I shot him clean through the chest, but then, in a weird twist, I woke up clutching my own heart, trying to catch my breath.

Chapter 12

TWELVE.

It was almost noon and I was still in bed when I heard footsteps on the stairs up to my apartment. I had a headache the size of El Capitan, my eyes burned like someone had poured gasoline in them, and the only reason I got up and went to the door was because Cal wouldn’t stop pounding on it.

“I know you’re in there, Harpo! Get your ass up!”

I opened the door and he smiled and said, “We’re neighbors! How awesome is this?”

It was the best and worst thing imaginable.

“You look as bad as I felt this morning, my friend.” He handed me a mug, and for one second I anticipated the rich, soothing salvation of coffee. But the mug was cold and contained a thick green sludge. “Avocado and spinach smoothie. Really good for a hangover.”

It smelled like the compost bin in the backyard. I carried it to the kitchen, set it in the sink, and went about making coffee while Cal poked around my room. He had come over to tell me he was having a dinner party that evening and insisted I come.

“Does October know you’re inviting me?” As soon as the words fell from my mouth, I worried the question might seem suspicious. I added, “I mean, I’m just an employee.”

He was inspecting a book on my nightstand called The Forest Unseen. “Fuck off,” he said, skimming the back cover. “You’re family, you nerd.”